Truth be told, I’ve never fully understood the why of anything—least of all, my own obscure yet insistent motivations. And yet, despite that ambiguity, I’ve come to realize that the only work truly worth doing—the only work I feel capable of doing with any degree of conviction—is the work that focuses on what I care about or feel curious about.

In that regard, I suppose the why has been partially answered.

Looking at the world differently—searching for new perspectives, interpretations, and unseen connections—is what ultimately compels me to press the shutter. Photography becomes a way to challenge perception, to go beyond the surface of things and create something that didn't exist before.

Making art grants access to worlds that may be dangerous, beautiful, sacred, or sometimes even forbidden. It offers a kind of passport to the in-between—those liminal spaces where mystery lives. I’m drawn to what I call reflexive art: art that turns inward. It’s the kind of work that feels risky, subversive, spontaneous, complicated. And above all, it embraces uncertainty.

For me, uncertainty is not an obstacle—it’s the very essence of image-making. It's the space where real questions begin to form.

The work of Diane Arbus has been especially influential—not because of how she photographed, but what she chose to photograph. Her images are rough, raw, and often deeply unsettling. She’s known for her stark, unflinching portraits of people on the fringes of society—work that explores themes of identity, vulnerability, and the deeper layers of the human condition.

Like Arbus, I’m drawn to that uncomfortable edge—the place where things aren't easily defined. That’s where I find meaning. Or maybe more accurately, that’s where I lose the need to find it.