This post is a personal one.

It’s meant to share my journey and give an overview of 14 years of photography — from how it started to where I am now. A chronological reflection, but also a way of reconnecting with the roots of my practice after a long pause.

The Beginning: Noticing Through a Screen

It started with a smartphone.

Around 2011, I began casually taking photos on my phone — not with any big ambition, but simply because I enjoyed it. I liked noticing small things, framing them, trying different angles. I experimented with apps like VSCO and Hipstamatic (remember that one?) — exploring filters, moods, and aesthetics. At the time, it wasn’t about becoming a photographer. It was just a way of staying creatively active and visually engaged with the world.

But after a year or two, it became clear this wasn’t just a passing interest. I started paying more attention. I read about composition. I followed photographers I admired. I thought about light. That’s when my parents gifted me my first real camera — a Sony Alpha NEX-3N — just before I left for an Erasmus semester in Portugal. It wasn’t expensive, but it was a huge upgrade from my phone. They saw how much photography meant to me — and they wanted me to have a way to document this new chapter abroad.

Learning by Doing (and Shooting Everything)

That time in Portugal, and the years that followed, were formative. I took photos of everything that caught my eye — people, animals, architecture, textures, fleeting gestures. I worked both in color and black and white, but eventually found myself pulled more toward monochrome. Something about black and white felt more symbolic, timeless, and emotionally resonant. With color stripped away, I had to rely more on composition, light, mood, and structure — and that made the process more intentional.

Photography helped me see better. It trained my attention. I started noticing hidden beauty, humor, patterns, and absurdity in everyday life — things that often hide in plain sight. That kind of noticing becomes addictive. I carried my camera everywhere, even on casual walks or rides to work, just in case something small and strange revealed itself.

During this time, I also started taking portraits and intimate images of women who fascinated me — friends, girlfriends, muses. Sometimes we collaborated through TFP (time-for-print), other times it was spontaneous. What mattered was the connection — the shared curiosity, the trust, the creative freedom. These weren’t just portraits. They were documents of a moment, of a dynamic. I loved exploring not only outer beauty, but also inner complexity, vulnerability, and energy.

Theory, Print, and Process

By around 2015–2016, things shifted further. Photography had become a way of life. I started reading more deeply about photographic theory, and attended my first photography workshops, which pushed me technically and creatively. I also began printing my work in professional studios, which gave me a completely new appreciation for the medium. Holding a physical print in your hand — with the right texture, contrast, tone — is an entirely different experience than seeing it on a screen. It made the work feel real, finished, alive.

I developed a consistent editing workflow in Lightroom, building an aesthetic that reflected how I saw and felt, not just what was in front of the lens. I didn’t yet have a “style” in the branded sense — but I was building a language.

The Pause (2022–2024)

Then came a long creative pause.

From 2022 to 2024, I barely shared any of my photography. There were several reasons.

First, I had simply taken too many photos over the years. My Lightroom library had become overwhelming. I struggled to organize, select, or feel satisfied with final edits. My perfectionist tendencies kicked in — making it hard to commit to releasing anything. I kept telling myself “not yet” — and the backlog only grew.

Second, I felt disillusioned with social media. Instagram and other platforms had shifted heavily toward video and short-form content, and the atmosphere felt increasingly toxic and algorithm-driven. I wasn’t motivated to share in that environment.

Third, and maybe most important, I was just burned out — creatively, emotionally, personally. There was too much happening in the world, in my country, and in my own life. I felt lost, disconnected from my work, and unsure how to move forward.

2025: The Breakthrough (Internal, Not External)

I’m still not famous. I’ve made no commercial breakthroughs.

But 2025 is the year everything clicked — internally.

For the first time, I started seeing my work as a coherent body. I clarified my vision. I began thinking more conceptually, organizing my archive, and finishing multiple long-term projects. I launched my website and started this blog. I made peace with the imperfection of sharing. I stopped waiting for the perfect edit.

I also began exploring AI-based image-making — not to replace photography, but to extend it. Tools like Midjourney allowed me to create from the inside out, building imagined scenes and symbolic realities that still carried my voice. It was a different way to ask the same questions I’ve always asked through photography: What are we seeing? What does it mean? And what lies beneath the surface?

Photography taught me how to see.

AI gave me new ways to imagine.

And I’m just beginning to combine them — not as a trend, but as a natural evolution of a creative life that started with a phone and a desire to notice.

This is the beginning of something clearer, more grounded, and more intentional.

And I’m ready to share again — on my own terms.

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Filip Fejdi 𒀭
Images, Symbols, and Worlds