We have all been placed onto this world with a purpose.
Mine is to capture these moments for you and your families, preserve time you won’t ever get back. I want to do that for you, for the world and selfishly - for myself.

It hasn't always been fresh blueberry mojitos with a beach view in South Beach Miami, Prada shoes, black hats, sass and confidence. I was once a little girl who grew up in a big town loving to climb trees, stealing boys' bikes, eating raw pecans off the ground with dirty hands and playing pretend with her dad's old Russian film camera. I remember him taking pictures of all our adventures and felt so empowered each time he would allow me to look through the viewfinder and click the shutter - such an exhilarating feeling. I didn’t know it then, but my journey into photography had begun. 

this is my story

What my father left behind is timeless. He died too young and unfortunately I didn’t get to know him as an adult. Those black and white photographs printed on crinkled edge paper are better than any image that I could ever create. Because they are personal to me, they are my heirloom, they will be my son’s and hopefully passed down even further. 

That’s how I learned that every moment I’m faced with is meaningful and it needs to be kept forever. It’s not only your moment, sooner or later it becomes your loved ones’.  

Growing up, I’ve always been obsessed with the love mom and dad shared. There is one photo that stands out to me - still the first thing you see when you open the pretty little red box of old family photos. It’s a picture of my parents hugging. It is as if my handsome dad just walked into the room, swayed my mom into a dance and brought her into his arms. She was leaning into him with her eyes closed, smiling, with one arm wrapped around her, their hands interlocking, and holding on to her with the other, looking down protectively. That look he had on his face was pure Love. And she felt it! 

Every so often I pull out that box. When my mom visits, she brings more photographs. When my son asks questions about what mommy was like when she was a kid, the photos go to work, each print unveiling a new story. When I go back home to Bucharest and the family gets together on Sundays, it’s the perfect time to reminisce about the past, and I feel like my dad is there with us. He passed away when I was 17.