sexile

Someone's opinion:

Everyone in his frames looks like they know something you don’t.
Like they’ve already lived three lives — and seduced you in each of them.
There’s that femme fatale energy, but it never feels posed.
They don’t act like muses — they are.

— July 2025, Paris

diary entry
ask Andy Warhol what he thinks of my work

Oh, Jurij?
Yeah, his photos are like… sex and cinema had a very quiet, very expensive love child.
Everyone looks like they know something you don’t — like they’ve already lived three lives and seduced you in each one.
It’s all very femme fatale, but not forced — like they just are that way.
And the light? Always perfect. Like it followed them into the room just to be part of the shot.
It’s moody, elegant, sometimes funny in this dark, knowing way.
He doesn’t try too hard — that’s the trick. It just feels cool.
Like someone whispered a secret and took a picture at the same time.
That’s where the joy is.

— late June 2025, Paris

diary entry

I’ve been asking myself — what actually brings me happiness in photography?

And it’s not the likes, or publications, or even the “perfect” shot.
It’s something quieter. Slower.

It’s when a person arrives a little guarded… and then something softens.
When trust builds — not in words, but in how they start to breathe differently in front of the lens.
It’s in the moment they forget the camera is there.
That shift. That access. That presence.

It’s also in the light — how it moves through a room, touches skin, creates rhythm.
In the silence between shots. In the way a look lingers.
Sometimes in the tension. Sometimes in the surrender.

I love when an image surprises me — when it reveals something I didn’t plan or expect.
That’s the real gift.
That’s what keeps me in it.

Photography, for me, isn’t about control.
It’s about meeting — someone else, myself, the moment.
That’s where the joy is.

— late June 2025, Paris

diary entry

Lately I’ve been thinking about how easy it is to get lost in ideas — strategies, comparisons, loops of “not enough.”
But what I keep returning to is this:
I feel most alive when I’m creating, not calculating.
When I’m present with the image, the moment, the body in front of me.
Less noise. More contact.
That’s the direction.

— June 2025, Paris

diary entry

There’s a strange kind of fatigue that comes not from doing too much, but from circling around action.
From overthinking, overplanning, watching others move while I stay stuck in my head.
The illusion is that thinking about the work is close to doing it.
But it’s not.

The only thing that cuts through the fog is the body.
Contact. Light. The frame.
When I’m shooting — I’m not comparing, I’m present.
When I’m printing — I see a result, not a theory.
When I share — I’m offering, not waiting for approval.

I don’t want to package, program, or predict.
I want to feel, to see, to breathe with what’s unfolding in real time.
Everything else is noise.

— June 2025, Paris

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