Bio
Filip Fejdi (b. 1990) is a photographer and visual artist exploring digital and AI-based image-making. Influenced by Taoism, Zen Buddhism, and depth psychology, his work engages with themes of perception, liminality, impermanence, the unconscious, mindfulness, and myth.
Born and raised in Bački Petrovac, Serbia, to Slovak parents, his multicultural background has fostered an openness to different ideas and experiences. His urge to travel and learn led him to spend an academic year in the United States as a high school student, before moving to Slovakia in 2009 to pursue university studies. During his student years, he also spent one semester in Portugal as part of the Erasmus Programme.
Exploration and travel have been a constant source of inspiration for him, both in his personal life and artistic practice. These experiences not only shape his worldview but also fuel his drive to create images that capture the beauty, complexity, and mystery of nature, people, and reality as a whole.
Filip's visual language and approach to photography have been influenced by the work of Sebastião Salgado, Josef Koudelka, Henri Cartier-Bresson, Ansel Adams, Marc Riboud, and surrealists like Misha Gordin, Man Ray, Dora Maar, Minor White, and André Kertész. He has also refined his practice through workshops with contemporary photographers like Matúš Zajac, Kamil Varga, Jan Brykczynsky, and Mustafa Dedeoğlu.
In addition to his artistic practice, Filip has a long-standing interest in technology. With eight years of experience in the software industry, he remains closely engaged with emerging tools shaping visual culture and creative workflows.
He is based in Bratislava, Slovakia, where he works at a creative and tech studio specializing in architectural visualizations, animations, and software solutions for the real estate industry.
Artist Statement
I make images to notice — and to imagine. To notice what’s barely there, what resists being named, what hides in plain sight. And to imagine new worlds that feel emotionally real, even if they aren’t grounded in physical reality. My practice moves between documenting the subtle poetry of the real world and creating fictional ones from scratch, often blurring the line between the two.
Eastern philosophy, particularly Taoism and Zen Buddhism, profoundly influences how I see and create. Concepts like yin-yang, the Tao, mindfulness, ma (間), mono no aware (物の哀れ), yūgen (幽玄), and wabi-sabi (侘び寂び) shape both my aesthetic and my approach. I am drawn to ambiguity, silence, absence — to images that invite projection, reflection, and quiet psychological resonance.
Equally central to my work is depth psychology — especially Carl Jung’s concept of archetypes and the collective unconscious. I’m interested in how certain symbols, gestures, and compositions seem to bypass the rational mind and speak directly to something older, deeper, more universal. Whether in photographs of everyday objects or AI-generated scenes, I aim to surface what lies beneath: the myths, tensions, and hidden narratives embedded in form and feeling.
There are two intertwined strands in my work. My photography is grounded in direct perception — a kind of visual meditation rooted in the world as it is. It’s a practice of noticing: how light lands on objects, how space holds emotion, how overlooked fragments can become visual metaphors. In contrast, my experimental work with AI and digital tools is an imaginative extension of that same impulse. Instead of responding to what already exists, I generate new visual realities that reflect internal states, symbolic structures, and dream logic.
AI art is controversial — and that’s precisely why I was drawn to it. I don’t want to form opinions from the sidelines. I want to examine it deeply, to question it from within. I currently see the process as a collaboration between human and machine consciousness: I remain the primary author and idea-maker, while AI serves both as an interpreter and an executor of my vision. It transforms my concepts, moods, and symbolic frameworks into visual form.
Across all my work, I tread reality as something alive, symbolic, and mythic. I’m not interested in recording what is merely there, but in what a particular arrangement of light, matter, gesture, or space seems to say. The world — real or imagined — becomes a kind of Rorschach test: not passive, but always on the verge of revealing something deeper.