I think this feeling is almost impossible to describe, because it happens before language, sometimes it comes before reason. When I’m fully connected to the present moment, the smallest things suddenly feel immense, as if they hold entire worlds inside them. It’s an emotion that hits you in an instant. There’s also a kind of energy that nature carries, and you can feel it when you’re paying attention. Being surrounded by life, you’re constantly interacting with different frequencies that awaken sensations you can’t always explain. Having a camera with me just helps me understand what I’m naturally drawn to, what pulls me in without effort. And that’s such a gift to have today: a way to translate something so intuitive into something visible.

Every place shifts something inside me every time. The landscape decides the rhythm of my thinking, my breathing, my pace, even the way I look at what’s in front of me. Its an incredible feeling to merge with how the outside can affect your inside. In Madrid, I felt the gardens made me slow down and listen. In the south of Spain, the warmth and bright light created a different kind of urgency. And in Argentina, moving between the calm of the mountains and the intensity of the city opened completely new ways of seeing. Each environment shaped my gaze, almost like it was teaching me how to look again. The images carry that emotional imprint.

This project transformed the way I perceive time. We often move through life believing we have endless time to do the things we want but starting this series at the end of autumn showed me how untrue that is. Flowers during these seasons are delicate, rare, impossible to predict. You can plan all you want, but nature has its own timing, and you have to follow it. I remember researching specific flowers, trying to find them while also dealing with my own life and emotions, which added another layer of urgency. Every day mattered. Finding the flower, photographing it, then editing it to understand whether the feeling was really there. The whole process reminded me that time isn’t guaranteed, and that beauty often exists only for a brief moment before it disappears.

Absolutely. Every image I make ends up revealing something about me, even when I don’t intend it. Art has always been the way I understand myself and the world, and that continues to happen whether I’m taking the photograph or editing it months later. I learned a lot about my own biases during this project. At first, I gravitated toward the “prettier” flowers, the more detailed ones, the ones that felt more striking. But that changed as I developed the deeper story that needed all of them: the fragile ones, the strange ones, the imperfect ones. They became mirrors of every side of me, of human nature. The editing process reflected that too. Some days I felt softer, more vulnerable, other days stronger, sharper, energized and each state shaped the images. In the end, the entire series feels like a portrait made of many versions of myself and how life should be experienced.

Transformation is the one I return to again and again. I’m fascinated by it, even though it scares me. It’s this constant dance between accepting that things always change and holding on to the nostalgia of what once was. Flowers embody that paradox perfectly. They’re always in motion, always changing and rebirthing even when we don’t notice it. Working with them helps me make peace with the parts of myself that are also shifting.

I realized that my work isn’t just about observing external landscapes but understanding my inner one. Yes, nature is stunning, and being present makes everything feel almost otherworldly, but that’s just the surface. The more I work, the more I see that what’s inside us is even more expansive. We have the power to shift our perception, to shape our experience, to make peace with our past, and to grow into new versions of ourselves. Photographing in such close detail is a way of slowing down enough to hear that internal world. It’s like entering a quieter space inside me, where things finally make sense.

Creating during these moments feels like having a compass in my hands. I reflect a lot on what I’m feeling in every season of my life. Sometimes I overthink, and I have to remind myself that not everything needs to be analyzed, that some things only need to be felt and released. Practicing a kind of gentle detachment is essential, not just in life but also in creation. The work needs to breathe and move on its own. I believe creative ideas come from something higher than us, and our job is simply to act on them, follow their direction, and let them become what they’re meant to be.

This was one of the most beautiful surprises of the project. We all see flowers as beautiful but spending months with them changed everything. Learning about their life cycles, the variations within the same family, even the places they originate from, deepened my respect for them. I’m not the same person who took the first four photographs. I took more than two hundred before selecting eighty, and each one taught me something. I feel a strong connection to them now, a need to understand them more. Visiting botanical gardens, speaking with experts, reading, observing, editing every detail… it became an experience far richer than I expected. They changed me far more than I changed them.

Yes, absolutely. Sound plays a big role in the way I create. Music often guides the doors I enter during my creations as it helps me dive deeper into my attention and the emotional space I enter when editing. Silence has been equally as important, there’s a different type of peace that appears when everything around me becomes still and immersing yourself in it helps me see details I would miss otherwise. My process in the end feels like a blend of both: movement and pause, sound and quietness, all shaping the way I perceive what’s in front of me.

I hope they feel a presence more than anything, but I also hope it serves as an invitation to identify ourselves in it. A sense of being invited into something intimate, personal yet universal. I hope it maybe reminds them of a memory, a color, a moment they lived once. Maybe it raises a question or brings a feeling they didn’t expect. If the images can slow someone down for even a few seconds, or make them feel connected to something inside themselves, then I will be happy, as the work has already done what it needed to do.