You’ve said that creativity left you during the war. How did it find its way back?
When the war began, something inside me shut down. I couldn’t sing, couldn’t paint—it all felt too far from the reality I was living. There was so much pain, and beauty felt fragile, even misplaced. But here, in this new space, I slowly felt myself breathing differently. My hands began to reach for brushes again. My camera became an extension of how I see the world. I started creating not out of ambition, but out of need—out of a soft, healing desire to make something gentle and honest. Now I’m painting, capturing stories through fashion photography, and writing music again—in a new language, in a new tone. It’s a rebirth, and I’m grateful for it.
Tell us about your creative philosophy now, especially through your photography brand.
My brand is called “24/7,” because I believe beauty never sleeps. It’s always there—in a look, in a shadow, in the way light hits a stranger’s shoulder. For me, art is no longer a performance. It’s presence. It’s the choice to see beauty where others rush past it. Whether through a song, a photo, a painting—I create to celebrate the poetry of real life. Even when it’s quiet. Even when it hurts.