My body is an archive of vanished things. It holds traces of experiences, emotions, and moments that no longer exist. Through photography, I explore what remains of us as time passes and our bodies change. Each photo is a fragment of memory, recorded not with the mind but with the skin. It is an archive of being to exist long enough for it to matter.
This is not erotica. This is resistance. Against censorship that starts from within. Against the comfort the world expects. Against a system where the female body is either a commodity or a taboo. I’m not searching for a perfect version of myself. I don’t want to be liked. I want to be. Fully. Freely. Without apology. The Polaroid doesn’t let me lie — it witnesses what I no longer hide.
I stage myself, testing whether I can exist outside traditional ideas of body, femininity, and identity. This is a study of imperfection and quiet rebellion. I’m interested in the line between what I can control and what slips away.
A self-portrait might be expected to show who I am. I use it in the opposite way — not to solidify my own identity, but to free myself from the need to define, fix, or maintain it. Instead, the self becomes fluid, open to change, and free from the boundaries of a fixed image. Through this process, I allow myself to exist beyond expectations.
My art was born during the war, when the world I knew fell apart. Everything that once felt certain was gone. I turned to self-portraiture not to escape reality, but to find my own place within it. My body became both a witness and a refuge, carrying traces of a life that could no longer be the same.
Through this experience, I discovered how fiercely I wanted to live. I began to see myself and the world with a curiosity I had never allowed myself before. Photography gave me the freedom to question what I had taken for granted, to explore the world through my own body, to experiment with its forms, and to exist on my own terms.
It is the story of a woman reclaiming the right to her own body — and the right to see it through her own eyes. It is also my search for a place within myself where I can finally exhale, feel at ease, and exist without the need to explain or justify who I am. A space where I can be vulnerable and still choose how I am seen.
