Since moving to Berlin, I’ve started paying a lot less attention to all the noise—politics, endless media, stuff that doesn’t really add much to my life but somehow always ends up making me feel anxious or helpless.

Instead, I’ve been focusing more on the things that actually matter to me: my work, my health, my relationships, my dog, my family. Just real life, really.

And something shifted. I’ve had way more space—mentally and emotionally—to make beautiful things, to meet and work with amazing people, and just enjoy the process again.

So here’s some of what I’ve made recently. Art instead of overthinking. Creating instead of scrolling.

Love,

I’ve been digging through my archive lately—nearly two decades of images, sketches, shoots, and fragments. Thousands of files. Whole bodies of work. Some finished, some abandoned halfway through. Most of it hasn’t seen the light of day in years. Some of it never made it beyond the shutter click or the export folder.

Even now, most of it lives in digital limbo—buried in old drives, half-forgotten cloud folders, or storage I haven’t opened in years. I have a good cloud deal, sure. But what does that mean if the work just… sits there?

It makes me wonder: how much great art never gets seen?

How much beauty, truth, risk, or experimentation remains tucked away—not because it wasn’t good enough, but because we didn’t have the platform, the confidence, or the context to show it?

As artists, we live in an age where visibility is everything—and yet, visibility is filtered through algorithms, performance metrics, community guidelines, and commercial sensibilities. We choose platforms to represent ourselves on, but those platforms come with rules—spoken and unspoken. Some work feels “too much” or “too niche” or “not aligned with the brand.” And so it stays hidden.

Is this self-censorship? Strategic editing? A survival instinct? Maybe a bit of all three.

But I keep thinking: what would it look like to bring more of that hidden work to light—not just to show it, but to honour it? To make peace with the imperfect, the unresolved, the vulnerable, the raw?

I don’t know the answer yet. But I’m starting by opening the archive. And maybe, little by little, letting the unseen be seen.

I just wrapped “Some Kind of Love,” the latest shoot in my fantasy-universe series. This time the spotlight is on a plus-size curve model whose energy practically melted the seamless white backdrop. The whole casting process reminded me why I love fashion photography: it’s a playground where labels fade and real personalities shine.

Industry checklists would pin her as plus size, but on set she was simply a model with confidence, poise, and a killer sense of humor. Instead of chasing sample-size norms, we doubled down on celebrating her natural curves, proof that great casting is about presence, not measurements.

I used generative AI art to extend the practical set: pastel nebulae, drifting petals subtle fantasy layers that frame, rather than overshadow, the human subject. 

Each time someone says “plus size” like it’s a warning label, I cringe. My takeaway from this shoot: a person’s story matters more than the category we stamp on their body. 

I spent this weekend finalizing the details for my latest work, “Angel of Ecstasy.” I’ve been working on this series for a few weeks now, and I’ve loved every minute of it. But the past few days have really made me reflect on a few things.

When we enter any creative industry, all we want to do is make art,  that’s the passion that drives us. But along the way, we end up doing so many other things out of necessity. If we have transferable skills, we can commercialize them – like working as a commercial photographer, delivering someone else’s vision. They might not have your technical expertise or creative eye, but they need your skillset.

And if you don’t have those immediately transferable skills? You end up wearing all the hats – marketer, social media manager, SEO expert, web developer – the list goes on. The good thing is, you end up with such a diverse set of skills. 

The bad thing? Sometimes, you just want to make your art.

Here are some casting shots and a preview of maybe my next series… 

Creativity isn’t always a straight line. Back in university, one of my lecturers said to me, “Achieving something by happy accident isn’t a skill.” And when it comes to technical aspects of photography — lighting, composition, camera operation — that’s true. Those are skills you learn and refine.

But when it comes to creativity, it’s different. Some of the most compelling work I’ve seen — and some of the most interesting pieces I’ve made — were born out of happy accidents. Those moments when you’re working with new people for the first time, just experimenting or combining techniques, something unexpected happens that you couldn’t have planned.

Right now, I’m working on a series that blends photography, video, painting, and AI — no strict plan, just letting things evolve. It’s chaotic, it’s unpredictable, and it’s exactly what I need. Today, that process led to ‘Ola in My Bathroom.’ It wasn’t what I set out to make, but it became exactly what it needed to be.

Creativity — it thrives on experimentation, on embracing the unexpected happy accidents, and allowing those accidents to become something amazing.