In the digital age, which I do not demonize, there exists a way to combine photography with meditation, keeping alive the artistic process. When I was a girl, working in the prestigious photography studio Artic0, I came into contact with a fascinating camera, the Hasselblad. Sometimes, I loaded the film with trembling hands, fearing a lost shot or simply making a mistake that could invalidate the work. Memories from that time linger—the Hasselblad machine, the dark room—an alchemy, the portrait exposure room, all rooted in professionalism, technical expertise, and tradition.
The act of shooting carried a weighty significance. Years later, after training in the arts, handling tons of earth for ceramics and buried alive in canvases measuring square meters for my paintings, I returned to photography and the camera. I obtained an old lens and eventually my own Hasselblad 500 C/M. As I loaded the first film, my hands shook just like twenty years ago, inundated by a sea of memories and technical terms.
Looking through the viewfinder, composing a medium format photograph, focusing… it felt like entering another world—a world of history and enduring things. My Hasselblad, like all in its series, doesn’t need batteries; it’s entirely mechanical, a source of surprise and relief.
Thus began a journey that feels akin to meditation. Each of the 12 available shots is studied and meticulously thought out. Then, a race to the printer for development and contact sheets, ready after a week. Printing in black and white, a crucial decision, is almost a separate world—words like ‘velvet blacks,’ ‘soft whites,’ ‘pearl white,’ and ‘composition’ dominate the conversation. The depth of field becomes a soulful matter, intertwined with every aspect of the shot.
When I collect the work, I’m ‘the one who does Fine Art,’ a clear distinction. Sculpture embodies volume, painting surface, and photography—a painting crafted with light. The incredible thing about this machine is its adaptability—connecting a flash, mounting a digital back—it morphs into a digital camera, yet remains the same. New film, color, or black and white, there are no limits—only opportunities for a tool born from a great mind.
It’s amazing to think it all began for me twenty years ago, evolving into a love that I didn’t even know I had—one life, one love.
The artistic process can be preserved in any action. It begins within, finding the right tool. Pausing to take a shot is an option; deciding that the time isn’t right, saving it for another moment is also valid.