How would you define your photography?

I would define my photography as existing at the intersection of fashion editorial, cinematic portraiture, and visual storytelling. Rather than documenting reality, I build images that occupy the space between reality and imagination, where fashion becomes a narrative language and portraiture becomes psychological rather than descriptive. Most of the projects I’ve developed are visual experiments rooted in fragments of my own life , past experiences, dreams, fantasies, which I then transpose onto other people and narratives. They rarely begin with a fixed concept. Instead, they evolve through intuition, research and the dialogue between everyone involved in the creative process. For me, photography can be a solitary act, but it is also the result of ideas colliding between different creatives. I bring the key, but we open the door together, and that is what brings me the greatest joy in the creative process. Of course there are also projects where I need to be alone. Technically, my work is built on a triad: photography, post-production, and color grading. I don’t see these as separate disciplines but as parts of a single visual language. The camera captures the foundation, while post-production and color shape the emotional atmosphere. Spiritually, my work is a spiral. A spiral is always moving, returning to familiar ideas, but from a different perspective each time. Its final form only becomes visible once the journey is complete. Until then, it remains fluid, constantly adapting and taking on new forms.

You were born in Transylvania, but you now live and work in Paris. What drew you to the city, and how has it influenced the way you see?

The first time I came to Paris was in 2013. I was twenty years old, I didn’t know anyone, and yet the city immediately felt familiar. It’s difficult to explain rationally, but it felt as art was guiding me through its streets. Everywhere I looked there was beauty, not only in the architecture, but in the rhythm of everyday life. I was doing a lot of photojournalism back then , people were always willing to have their portrait taken. The streets themselves seemed filled with poetry. I left knowing that one day I would come back, and I carried the idea of living here quietly in the back of my mind until I finally made the move in 2022. Since then, Paris has gradually changed the way I see. Living here has exposed me to an extraordinary cultural diversity, different artistic perspectives, fashion, cinema, music, nightlife, traditions, and a constant dialogue between history and the contemporary world. It’s a city where centuries of culture coexist with experimentation, and that tension has deeply influenced my creative process. Every neighborhood has its own visual language, and every walk can become research without intending it. More recently, I’ve also been discovering the South of France. It offers a completely different atmosphere. The Mediterranean light, slower rhythm, and unique relationship between nature and architecture. It has its own visual poetry, and I find myself increasingly inspired by it. At the same time, my foundation remains Transylvanian. Growing up there gave me a particular sensitivity to folklore, nature, craftsmanship, mythology, and a quieter way of observing the world. It taught me resilience and gave me a strong sense of identity. I don’t see Paris and Transylvania as opposites but they complement one another. Paris continually expands my perspective, while Transylvania keeps me grounded. That combination feels like a superpower, because it allows me to move between different worlds while never losing my own point of view.

Your visual language often retains grain, chromatic irregularities, stark contrasts and an almost analogue quality. What is your relationship with visual imperfection?

In my early twenties, I became obsessed with learning. I immersed myself in the history of fashion photography, photojournalism, surrealist painting, cinema, color theory, and post-production. I wanted to understand not only how images were made, but why certain images endured while others faded. Learning the rules gave me a technical foundation, but it also showed me that technique alone can never create a memorable photograph. A turning point for me was reading A Lecture on the Cube by the Romanian poet Nichita Stănescu. The poem suggests that perfection is not revealed by polishing something endlessly, but by allowing it to exist in its own truth, even if that means accepting its irregularities. That idea resonated deeply with me. It made me realise that theory is essential, but only as a starting point. At some stage, the rules have to be questioned, bent, or even broken. Since then, my relationship with visual imperfection has changed completely. Grain, chromatic shifts, strong contrasts, texture, blur, or other irregularities are never there to imitate analogue photography. They are expressive tools. They introduce tension, atmosphere, and unpredictability. They remind me that an image is a living object rather than a flawless digital surface. Imperfection, when it is intentional, creates humanity. 

In editorials such as Quantum Anomalies, the female figure takes centre stage, with a strongly theatrical and sensual presence. What idea of femininity did you want to explore through this series?

With Quantum Anomalies, I was interested in contradictions. I wanted to explore a femininity that is mysterious, rebellious, and unapologetically bold. I wanted to portray a presence that doesn’t need to constantly prove its strength because it already possesses it. I imagined a character who responds when challenged. Someone who can move with the silence and precision of a cat walking through the night, yet carry the force and confidence of a roaring lion when the moment demands it. That duality fascinated me: vulnerability and power, elegance and defiance, restraint and intensity existing within the same person. At that time, I was photographing many costume-inspired, theatrical narratives with a fashion editorial approach, and those projects naturally influenced the visual language of Quantum Anomalies. The series also emerged from a creative dialogue between Silvia, the model, and me. Although there was a conceptual direction, much of the shoot evolved freely. I paid close attention to her personality, the way she moved, and especially her eyes. As I discovered different aspects of her character during the session, I adapted the mood and direction in real time. I allowed the photographs to emerge from that exchange. In the end, Quantum Anomalies became less about portraying an ideal of femininity and more about revealing a complex, instinctive, and emotionally layered presence, one that couldn’t be reduced to a single archetype.

For you, is photography a way of observing reality or reinventing it?

Definitely both. Photography begins with observing reality, but it doesn’t have to end there. II still spend a lot of time practising street photography, simply walking, observing and sometimes interacting with people I meet by chance. Those moments are spontaneous and unpredictable. There is no script, no control, and that sense of play keeps my curiosity alive. It constantly feeds my imagination. When I return to editorial work, those fragments of reality sometimes reappear, but transformed. I reimagine them through fashion, color, and narrative. A gesture I witnessed on the street, an emotion in someone’s eyes, or the atmosphere of a particular place can evolve into an image.

Your work brings together visual codes drawn from different eras and imaginaries, from 1980s and 1990s fashion photography to punk and fetish aesthetics. How do you engage with these references without falling into mere quotation or nostalgia?

The visual codes are only fragments of a much larger picture. They are references, not destinations. I have never been interested in recreating a particular era or aesthetic with nostalgia. What interests me is understanding why those visual languages were powerful in the first place, and then translating that energy into something contemporary. Many of these influences have been with me since I was very young. I started going to parties when I was around fourteen years old, and I was immersed in environments shaped by hip-hop, rock, punk, and alternative culture. Those spaces introduced me to people who expressed themselves without asking for permission. That spirit of rebellion, individuality, and freedom still exists in my work, even when it isn’t immediately visible. In my early twenties, my landlord, a well-known actor, gave me access to the world of theatre, where I worked backstage and photographed actors. I learned how expressions could change everything. At the same time, I became fascinated by the revolutionary spirit of the 1960s, the bold experimentation of the 1980s  and 1990s. I wasn’t interested in simply collecting references; I wanted to understand how visual languages evolve and why certain images remain timeless. I might borrow the rawness of punk, the tension of fetish iconography, the precision of classic fashion photography or the freedom of 1960s counterculture. These are all fragments of my past and present.

What do you look for in a subject’s face before deciding to photograph them?

The first thing I notice is the eyes. They are the mirror of the soul and they reveal something that cannot be performed. Eyes communicate with a depth that words often fail to. They carry traces of experience, vulnerability, resilience, curiosity, fear, confidence and sometimes all at once. What  matters to me is not whether someone has conventionally beautiful eyes, but whether they are truthful. What matters is not whether they appear truthful to me, but whether they are truthful to themselves. When a person is completely present, without trying to project an image or meet an expectation, there is a moment of honesty that becomes visible.  That is what I wait for. After that, I begin to notice the entire face as a landscape. Every asymmetry, scar, wrinkle, expression or imperfection contributes to a person’s visual identity. I have never been interested in perfection for its own sake. Character is always more compelling than flawlessness.

In your images, are you more interested in seducing the viewer or in unsettling them?

The photographs that stay with us usually do both. They attract you first, then they reveal something more complex. Beauty opens the door, but tension keeps you looking. I hope my images can seduce, unsettle, inspire, motivate, or simply allow someone to dream. Sometimes they are bold and loud; other times they are quiet, poetic, and almost fragile. I don’t approach each project with a fixed emotional objective, because life itself is never just one thing. It constantly shifts between light and darkness, certainty and doubt, tenderness and rebellion. My work follows that same rhythm. I try to embrace whatever emerges during the creative process. Some of my strongest images have come from unexpected moments rather than carefully controlled ones. I’ve learned to trust intuition and to welcome accidents when they reveal something truthful. There is an unconventional, almost childlike curiosity behind the way I work. I still want the image to surprise me.