I remember one autumn afternoon, when I was at my mother’s house organizing some old things. I found a box of photos that had been stored for years, full of black and white images, some slightly faded by time. Like a child, I started taking them out one by one, and as I did, something unexpected happened. I came across a photo of my father, still young, smiling at a family party. He was with my grandparents, my uncles, all gathered around a table, and the image captured the essence of that joy, so pure, so full of life.

One day, while editing a set of documentary photographs for a family, I saw it clearly: romanticizing life isn’t about creating a fantasy, it’s about noticing the magic that already exists.

Life has a curious way of leading us exactly where we need to be, even when, in the moment, it feels like we are lost.

My story is not one of shortcuts or instant success but of overcoming, reinventing, and loving—what I do, my children, and life itself.

From an early age, my curiosity about the world led me to study International Relations. But the paths we choose don’t always make us feel whole.

When we think of emotional photography, we often picture expressive faces—smiles, tears, furrowed brows. But some of the most powerful images don’t include a face at all.

Emotion is not just in the eyes, it’s in the hands that holds a baby feet between diaper changes, the tension in a hunched back, or the soft touch of intertwined fingers.