INNER VOICE
I’ve lived with my inner critic for a long time — and I’m still learning how to make peace with it. I know what it feels like to look in the mirror and only see tiredness: dark circles, wrinkles, uneven skin. Sometimes it’s so hard to say something kind to yourself. And this voice isn’t just mine. I hear it in the words of the women who come to my shoots: “I’m not photogenic, ” “Erase my wrinkles, ” “Make me look thinner.” But when I look at them — I see something else. I see the living: the flutter of eyelashes, the shadow on the collarbone, the movement of hair, the spark in the eyes. And I recognize it — because I’m on the same journey. Photography becomes not just my work, but also a mirror — where I reflect, too.
PHOTOGRAPHY AS TOUCH
For me, photography is a form of touch. A way of saying: “You are already beautiful. Already real. Already worthy of being seen.” It’s not about the perfect image, not about performance. What matters is capturing a moment where it’s safe to just be: disheveled, tired, quiet — and still beautiful. I look for beauty in what is usually hidden: in the curve of a neck, in breath, in wrinkles, in scars. In touch. In light and shadow. In the moments when a woman stops thinking about how she looks — and just stays with herself. I often shoot through glass, using masks, blur, long exposures — not as technical tricks, but as part of my inner lens. That’s how I feel people.
BEING ALIVE
My art is my way of speaking to myself. I heal through every woman I photograph. I see the living beauty in them — and I learn to be gentler with myself. I photograph women because I want to give myself the same permission — to be myself. My practice holds both the documentary and the deeply personal. I create spaces of trust — and that trust becomes part of the frame. Through each open, vulnerable, tender gaze — I move closer to myself. Not to be always beautiful. But to be alive.
