Exhibitions 2025

The Long Shadow of Chornobyl

There are no words for the devastation caused by Chornobyl. Gerd Ludwig made 13 visits into the Exclusion Zone over a period of 30 years. The result is a deeply personal journey into a landscape forever changed and a frightening record of an environmental and human tragedy. From victims living with emotional and physical consequences, to the Exclusion Zone created after the evacuation of over 250 000 people, to the abandoned city of Pripyat—once a scientist’s dream for its quality of life, yet now uninhabitable—it is a record of almost unbelievable suffering and desolation. Working under enormous time and radiation pressure, Ludwig ventured deeper into the belly of the beast than any other Western photographer, repeatedly documenting the destroyed reactor No. 4, which has now disappeared under a “New Safe Confinement” for at least 100 years. First and foremost, it is a project to remember the people—those who lost their lives, and those who continue to suffer this tragedy—standing as an emotive, thought-provoking, and necessary testament to the world’s worst nuclear disaster to date. Thus, it becomes an important voice in the continuing political, environmental, and economic discourse on the safety of using nuclear energy—and a warning against human hubris, serving as a reminder that not everything that is technologically feasible is also wise.

The Reactor #4

“An easing of the bureaucratic barriers helped me to venture deeper into the reactor than any western still photographer. After donning my protective gear, state-of-the-art Geiger counter, dosimeters, and an extra layer of 3-4 mm thick plastic overalls, I followed a group of six workers into the belly of the beast. The workers, assigned to drill holes in the concrete to stabilize the roof, additionally wore gas masks and oxygen tanks. We had to move fast. The radiation levels in this area are so high that, despite our protective gear, access was limited to a maximum of 15 minutes per day.

It was the most challenging photographic situation I’ve ever encountered. The space was dark, loud, and claustrophobic; we rushed through dimly lit tunnels strewn with wires, pieces of shredded metal and other debris, and I struggled not to trip; while photographing I needed to dodge the spray of sparks from the drillers in highly contaminated concrete dust; and I knew that I had less than 15 minutes to capture arresting images of an environment that few have ever seen, and that I might never access again. The adrenaline surge was extraordinary. To exacerbate the situation, after little more than halfway through the allotted shift, our Geiger counters and dosimeters began beeping—an eerie concert reminding us that our time was up. Torn between my natural instincts to survive and my desire as a photographer to stay longer, it was challenging to stay focused and work efficiently and fast, but without haste.”

Pripyat

In the 1970s, the town of Pripyat, less than 3 km away from the reactor, was constructed for the plant’s personnel. Once a beautiful town by Soviet standards, its 50 000 inhabitants were evacuated 36 hours after the accident. Today a chilling ghost town, its buildings stand as silent witnesses to the hasty departure. Dolls are scattered on the floors of abandoned kindergartens; children’s cots are littered with shreds of mattresses and pillows; everywhere, floors rot and paint peels. Amidst the surrounding decay, decades after the catastrophe, nature reclaims the town: trees grow through broken windows, and grass pushes up through the cracks in dormant roads that once were glorious promenades—but the town remains unfit for human habitation for hundreds of years to come.

While television audiences watched the nuclear tragedy at Fukushima unfold in Japan, others were experiencing the aftermath of nuclear disaster firsthand. They were traveling to Chornobyl—as tourists. Tours were underway for 10 years until Russian troops senselessly invaded Chornobyl in 2022. Before the invasion, the most arresting attraction for them was the ghost town of Pripyat, where tourism left its biggest mark: less and less the town bears honest witness to the hurried abandonment of its former residents. Instead, there are signs of the visitors’ need to simplify the message—most noticeably the placement of forgotten dolls amidst the ruins of abandoned kindergartens.

Victims

An estimated 800 000 liquidators participated in containing the reactor, and the gargantuan clean-up efforts following the nuclear catastrophe. Most of them received high doses of radiation, resulting in cancers and other exposure-induced diseases, often only flaring up decades after the event. 70% of the fallout drifted into southern Belarus, contaminating nearly a quarter of the country. As a direct response to the accident, a children’s cancer facility was established in Minsk with Austrian aid. Even though the Belarusian government is downplaying the role of Chornobyl, those scientists and medical personnel who are able to speak out openly see a clear connection between the increasing health problems and the radioactivity released by the disaster. To help the innocent and most needy, international charities fund several institutions for mentally and physically disabled children. While some in the scientific community question that birth defects and intellectual disability are directly attributable to the disaster, noted scientist Alexei Okeanov has described the health effects of the accident as ‘a fire that can’t be put out in our lifetimes’.

“As engaged photographers we often report about human tragedies in the face of disaster and take our cameras to uncharted areas with the understanding that our explorations are not without personal risk. We do this out of a deep commitment to important stories told on behalf of otherwise voiceless victims. While covering this story, I met many caring and courageous people who allowed me to expose their suffering solely in the hope that tragedies like Chornobyl may be prevented in the future.”

The Zone

Ignoring radiation levels, over a thousand people, most of them elderly and women, had returned to their village homes inside the Exclusion Zone, preferring to die on their own contaminated soil rather than from a broken heart in anonymous city suburbs. At first, Ukrainian officials discouraged them, but soon turned a blind eye and began providing medical check-ups. Living in complete isolation, surrounded by devastation, they depended on the state to deliver the basic necessities of life, such as flour, sugar, salt, or soap.
With their numbers rapidly dwindling due to old age and health issues, the number of re-settlers in the villages dropped to a dozen, imparting more loneliness than ever before. Today, most of the 50-60 returnees permanently reside in Chornobyl-town and work alongside 2 000 shift workers who monitor radiation, staff the small hospital, and operate the shops, among other important jobs. These individuals often put their own health at risk to manage the ongoing challenges.

Russian military invaded the Exclusion Zone in 2022, digging trenches, bunkers, and firing spots in the highly radioactive Red Forest. Now, an additional invisible danger looms: Before retreating, they scattered landmines in the vicinity of their fortifications.