Visual storytelling

It's almost midnight, and I'm sat in bed watching Tip Toe, feeling like an old queen typing away with an exaggerated sense of self-importance.

As I work my way through thoughts about what I want to communicate and how I want to communicate them, I realise that's a goal in itself.

So here's the aha moment.

I'm better at visual storytelling than I am at communicating with words.

Maybe that's why photography has always felt more natural to me.

So maybe, just maybe, creative writing is something worth exploring too.

Anyway.

More random photo dumping.

Contemporary Art

Manchester.

I remember visiting and thinking I would never live here.

Two years later I packed everything and moved to this city that never ceases to amaze me.

And almost 3 years after living here, I still wonder why would I move here? 

Disclosure Day

I love sci-fi.

However...

I watched Disclosure Day, and I couldn't shake the feeling that something was missing. Maybe it's me.

I struggle to remember plots, character names, and sometimes what happened ten minutes ago. The film felt as though I was expected to arrive with a deep understanding of Spielberg's back catalogue, and that left me feeling slightly adrift.

Don't get me wrong, I must have watched Independence Day half a dozen times. If you asked me who was in it or what the plot actually was, I'd probably stare at you blankly.

So, for me, it's a 6/10. We'll leave it at that.

Widow's Bay, on the other hand, left me wanting more. For once, I was glued to the television and didn't find myself reaching for my phone or looking for an excuse to wander off.

The day drifted by after that, still fatigued.

I wandered into town, took a few photographs, and nursed a pint I couldn't quite bring myself to enjoy.

Goodnight!

I spent the day in bed

And there's nothing wrong about it! 

Obsessed with words

I enjoy complicated words.

Call it a superiority complex. Call it an obsession.

Either way, my brain seems to like them.

Today's special is: dichotomy.

Having moved to Manchester relatively recently, I'm witnessing the city's facelift, but also the stark contrasts it creates.

I'm obsessed with this daily view: glass towers rising between two old council estate blocks.

Extremes. Division. Imposed capitalism. 

Same same, but different.

And yet, somehow, they're part of the same picture.

And then, I enjoy putting a very old glass in front of my camera.

To accentuate concepts, imposed imperfections on something meant to be modern and technologically advanced, and also go from minimal focus to infinity.

Dichotomy.

I Am Here

"Don't you know I'm still standing better than I ever did?
Looking like a true survivor, feeling like a little kid
And I'm still standing after all this time
Picking up the pieces of my life without you on my mind

I'm still standing. Yeah, yeah, yeah
I'm still standing. Yeah, yeah, yeah"

                                                                Elton John - I'm Still Standing 

Not sure what Elton John was thinking about when he wrote this song, but sometimes music just anchors you to the ground.

It's a feeling I get walking past certain buildings. They have a certain glow to them, a character and personality that feels larger than their bricks and mortar.

Yesterday was my birthday.

I spent part of it convinced I might not make it to today.

Today I am here.

The circumstances haven't magically changed. My thoughts don't always move in straight lines. Some days are harder than others.

But today I am here.

Still standing.

Grenham Ave  2

Manchester 2026

 

I Am Enough

There's not much more I can add.

I've spent my whole life measuring my worth based on what others think of me.

Am I successful enough? Smart enough? Worthy enough?

My mind never stops moving. It stops me from achieving things, and every failure is quickly transformed into another expectation. A never-ending cycle.

I'm never satisfied. My body can't keep up with it, and every day feels like I'm standing at the starting line once again.

But there is no finish line to that race.

I need a place where I can scream if I want to, dance if I want to, or just be plain and simple silly.

A place where I don't have to ask for external validation.

A place where I can simply be.

I was brought up in the rural landscape of post-communist Romania, in a deeply religious environment. It shaped me in many ways, some beautiful and some painful. Somewhere along the way, I developed a version of myself with a warped sense of self-esteem.

I knew from a very young age that I was different, but that is one part of me I never carried as a burden. There's no such thing as normal.

The idea that I had to earn love and somehow give it a material value, compounded by the lack of stable parental figures in a generation stuck in a transitional limbo, landed me in a place where I could never be enough.

Everything in my life was precocious, and the person I became was not fully aligned with the person I was.

So I had to escape, and this blog is part of that escape.

Not from reality, but from the pressure I put on myself to become someone else.

Manchester, 2026

The Practice of Seeing is my attempt to be more present.

To slow down and collect moments I can remember.

To teach my body, there is a way to escape this never-ending fight or flight mode.

To learn that my value is intrinsic, and I don't need to look at myself through the eyes of other people.

I want to learn to see for myself.

And maybe one day, with the help of a camera, I won't just think that I am enough.

I will feel it.