On the same day Wisconsin became the first state in the nation to officially condemn Russia’s forced deportation of Ukrainian children, visitors to the Capitol experienced a hauntingly immersive window into the war’s toll on civilians.
The War Up Close virtual reality exhibit, part of the traveling VR Museum of the War in Ukraine, was set up inside the Capitol building on October 16. The project uses 360-degree photography and immersive video to place viewers in the center of destroyed Ukrainian neighborhoods, hospitals, schools, and homes.
Mykola Omelchenko, one of the lead documentarians behind the effort, was on hand to guide attendees through the exhibit and answer questions.
“When the full-scale war began, I saw my own country being destroyed — cities I had photographed for years, places that held memories, were suddenly unrecognizable,” Omelchenko said. “As a documentarian and a 360° photographer, I realized I had the tools to show the world what was happening not through headlines, but through immersion and empathy.”
The VR footage, filmed with high-resolution 360° cameras, includes scenes captured in recently liberated areas that show the scars of missile strikes and Russia’s brutal occupation. Viewers wearing VR headsets are dropped into real locations devastated by war, but framed with intentional restraint and human dignity.
“I didn’t want people to just see photos — I wanted them to stand in those places, to feel the silence, the absence, the reality that Ukrainians were living every day,” Omelchenko said. “The motivation wasn’t just artistic. It was deeply personal.”
Omelchenko described the photographed areas as places that he was intimately familiar with.
“Many of the locations I documented were close to people I knew — friends, families, even places where I once worked. ‘War Up Close’ became my way of preserving truth and dignity,” he said. “It’s not about showing destruction for shock. It’s about connecting humanity through perspective.”
The exhibit’s arrival in Madison coincided with a joint resolution introduced by the Wisconsin Legislature condemning what it described as Russia’s “cruel abduction and forced deportation of Ukrainian children.”
Lawmakers said the display reflected the state’s interest in human rights and international accountability.
Omelchenko said the goal of the project was to help viewers abroad understand the personal cost of war.
“‘War Up Close’ isn’t about horror — it’s about education and remembrance,” Omelchenko said. “Every exhibit is designed to engage empathy, not pity. The realism helps viewers understand the scale and impact, but respect guides how it’s presented — through careful curation, tone, and storytelling.
Omelchenko hoped that international viewers would see beyond statistics and headlines, believing that numbers alone could never capture the experience of standing in a destroyed street, witnessing personal belongings scattered through ruins, or feeling how abruptly ordinary life can vanish.
“Every home, school, and church you see in ‘War Up Close’ once held stories, laughter, and memories,” he added. “My goal was to bridge distance — to help viewers in New York, Berlin, or Tokyo feel the emotional truth of what Ukrainians are living through.”
As the exhibit travels globally, Omelchenko said it serves as both a record and a form of advocacy.
“Ultimately, I hoped that by experiencing this reality in immersive form, audiences would come away with empathy and awareness, not just information — and perhaps a renewed sense of responsibility to stand with those defending their freedom and humanity,” he said.
Capturing those emotional truths, however, came with significant logistical and personal obstacles.
“The biggest technical challenge was working in unstable and unpredictable conditions — both physically and emotionally,” Omelchenko said. “These were not controlled environments or safe shooting locations. Many areas were still dangerous, with damaged infrastructure, no electricity, and very limited time to work.”
He explained that precise 360° imaging typically requires careful setup, stable lighting, and the ability to re-shoot if alignment or exposure is off. They were all luxuries he didn’t always have.
“War-torn areas often had no power, broken windows, heavy smoke, or only partial daylight filtering through dust,” he said. “To create an accurate 360° image, you need stability, multiple exposures, and precise calibration. But in those moments, there was often no chance to repeat a shot. Every panorama had to be right the first time.”
Omelchenko worked with professional-grade equipment, including the Insta360 Titan, while carrying backup batteries and hard drives to make up for the lack of infrastructure. But none of those elements came close to the biggest pressure he faces.
“The hardest part wasn’t just technical — it was staying steady enough to focus on accuracy, while knowing that every frame represented someone’s loss,” he said.
That sensitivity carried through the project’s curation. Omelchenko emphasized the importance of balancing realism with respect for survivors and victims.
“My approach is built on three core principles: dignity, context, and purpose,” he said. “When I photograph or film war-torn areas, my goal is never to exploit pain but to preserve truth. I focus on human presence — not just destruction — and ensure that every image tells a story of resilience, not only tragedy.”
He said conversations with residents were also a crucial part of the process.
“Whenever possible, I speak with survivors and local residents before documenting,” Omelchenko said. “I want them to understand why I’m there — that this isn’t just about an image, but about helping the world see what they’re living through.”
“If someone doesn’t want to be photographed, that decision is respected completely,” he added.
The use of VR and immersive visuals also offers a new way to connect global audiences with faraway tragedies, Omelchenko said.
“Traditional photojournalism captures a single frame, but immersive imaging allows people to step inside the scene, to look around freely, and to experience the environment almost as if they were standing there,” he said. “Combined with drones, it becomes possible to document both the scale of destruction and the intimacy of loss — the big picture and the human detail together.”
For Omelchenko, the work is deeply personal. His voice sometimes wavers when speaking with visitors.
“These are my cities, my memories, my people,” he said. “I’ve walked streets where I once met friends or photographed locations, now silent and destroyed. It’s impossible to separate the professional from the personal.”
He said the emotional weight of the work accumulates over time.
“There are moments when I have to stop filming, take a breath, and remind myself why I’m doing this,” Omelchenko said. “It’s not just to record tragedy — it’s to preserve truth and dignity.”
Between assignments, Omelchenko said he has learned to step back, allowing himself brief moments to absorb the reality of what he documents. Without that pause, he said, it would be harder to carry the weight of what he had seen.
“Over time, the sadness turns into responsibility — a feeling that if I can show the world what is happening, maybe silence won’t win.”
© Photo
Lee Matz and War Up Close
