I grew up in the South of France, feet in the sand, heart turned toward the sea. The sun, the warmth, those soft late-summer evenings shaped the way I see the world: always chasing the light, the alive, the emotions worn close to the skin.

I've lived in Paris, Amsterdam, Istanbul, Australia. I learned to adapt — to places, to atmospheres, to people. But the ability to sense what goes unsaid? That one never needed learning. I'm someone deeply sensitive, who feels things intensely. That's what I bring to every session: a space where you feel at ease, seen, free to just be yourself. No awkwardness, no holding back — we find the rhythm together.

Today I live in Berlin with my partner, our two-and-a-half-year-old daughter, and a second baby on the way. Every day, I live a little more of what I photograph: connection, motherhood, time slipping by. This need to hold on to it — to freeze what won't stay still.

What led me to photography is this desire to stop time. Or at least, to slow it down. Each session is a pause — an invitation to see yourself differently: powerful, vulnerable, alive. I'm not looking for the perfect pose. I'm looking for the moment that doesn't lie. The one we didn't plan for. The one that says it all.

There's something that matters deeply to me: women. Those whom generations have taught to doubt themselves. I love photographing their strength, their singularity, all the nuances that make them unique, irreplaceable. Mothers, in particular, are often the great forgotten ones of family albums — always behind the camera, rarely in front of it. Giving them back that place matters deeply to me.

Through my photos, I capture life as it is: raw, tender, unpredictable, luminous. What connects us. What warms us. What remains, when everything else fades.