Photography

My Story with Analog Photography

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These photographs are fragments of the worlds I walked through — moments where light shifted, paused, or lingered long enough to be held. They were taken during my younger years, from around 1997 to 2000.
 

Growing Up, Holding Time

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The story behind them begins when I became independent at sixteen, living, working, and studying on my own. At eighteen, after saving money from a part‑time job selling posters, I bought my first camera. Like many young people moving through a melancholic coming‑of‑age, I wondered who I would become, how I would change, and whether I would remember the person I once was. Life was not gentle with a kid forced to grow up quickly. Time felt too fast, pushing me forward before I was ready. I was afraid I would forget my youth.

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Out of that fear — and curiosity — I decided to take one photograph every day. And I did, until I turned 23. My skills improved, but I never wanted to become a photographer. The camera was simply a way to keep a record of time, of moments that spoke to me. A way to look back one day and say: I was there. I lived that life.

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Through the lens of an analog camera, I learned to slow down. To see the world with patience. To notice beauty in the ordinary. Photography became a quiet gift — a way to appreciate life, and later, a way to train my eye as an installation artist. It taught me to observe space, light, and the subtle details that make the everyday unexpectedly intriguing.

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I treat the camera as another form of scenography: a way to frame emotion, texture, and the delicate choreography between people and place.

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From Photography to Scenography

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I rarely take photographs now — not because I’ve lost interest, but because my practice has shifted toward creating spaces as my primary medium for exploring thought, memory, and human connection.
 

Still, I hope you enjoy these moments of life that shape my artistic journey.

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