A Place to Return To

What pieces or projects have you been working on lately?
Lately, I’ve been dedicating myself mostly to analog photography, because I believe there is a kind of magic in it that digital cannot reproduce. I enjoy working with error, with time, and with chance—slower, more experimental processes where each image becomes almost an event.

I’ve also been exploring self-portraiture as a form of inner inquiry. In series like Vortex, I use my own body and face to connect with questions that live within me and that, often, even I wasn’t aware of. The process involves a literal deconstruction: I physically manipulate the images as if I were touching my own identity, in an attempt to find answers for emotions that don’t know how to express themselves in words. For me, photographing is not just about creating images—it is an act of listening, a way of approaching the fragile, the confusing, and the deeply human.

What did you learn (or unlearn) while working on them?
I learned to trust the process more than the outcome. Analog photography forced me to accept waiting, error, and uncertainty, and that ended up reflecting in me as well. I unlearned the need to control everything and to know exactly what I’m creating before creating it. I realized that, often, it is in chance, in flaws, and in imperfections where the most truthful images emerge.

What words, ideas or emotions were going through your head?
Nostalgia, vulnerability, identity, silence, memory, desire. I kept thinking about how certain emotions get trapped in small gestures, in fragments, in almost invisible things. There was a constant need to move closer to the intimate and the fragile, to touch what we usually hide.

Were there any conversations, movies, music, or books that made their way into that work?
I can’t always point to a specific reference, because I feel that everything around me ends up influencing my work: conversations, places, people, silence. There was a time when I watched many old films—and I still do—and one that deeply marked me was Wild Strawberries, by Ingmar Bergman. I’m drawn to that kind of introspective cinema, where time, memory, and existence blur together. As for music, I consider myself quite eclectic, but at the core it’s art, in all its forms, that influences me: art creates an emotional state, and from there things begin to flow.

What's been the most difficult thing you've faced recently in your creative process?
The hardest part has been trusting my own intuition and myself. Not getting lost in comparison or in expectations of how a photograph will turn out. Allowing myself to create from what I feel—even when it’s confusing or fragile—without needing to justify it, simply letting it exist.

What is your favorite restaurant and what do you recommend we order?
I’m more drawn to small, cozy places than to specific restaurants—spaces where you can spend hours at the table, talking and observing people. If I had to recommend something, it would be something simple: a good pasta, warm bread—because eating is also a way of creating memories and discovering new cultures.

If your life were a movie this month, what would it be called and who would write the soundtrack?
A Place to Return To with Thom Yorke and Dawn Chorus on the soundtrack.

Recommend one or more artists you follow who inspire you, and tell us what you like most about their work or their way of working.
I’m deeply inspired by artists like Andrei Tarkovsky and Ingmar Bergman, for the way they use time, silence, and introspection to speak about human existence. I love how their works feel more like states of mind than narratives.

Helena Almeida, a Portuguese artist, inspires me through the relationship between the body, image, and identity, and through the way she transforms self-portraiture into something almost performative and existential.

António Variações, a Portuguese musician, inspires me for being ahead of his time, for the courage to be different, and for the way he turned his own identity into a work of art.