My style is born from a constant dialogue between light and shadow, between color and the absence of it. I never see an image as a flat surface, but as a place of tension where contrasts become storytelling.
I love colors when they are not mere decoration but emotional vibrations: a cold tone that speaks of distance, a warm shade that restores intimacy, a chromatic shift that follows the inner transformation of the characters. Every choice carries dramatic weight, because color is never neutral—it breathes with the scene, amplifies or contradicts the words, and leaves a mark on the viewer’s memory.
In the same way, contrast is essential to me—not only as the relationship between light and dark, but as a visual conflict that reflects the narrative one. Harsh shadows that convey chaos, imperfect light that reveals fragility, transparencies that open suspended spaces. Contrast becomes a living substance that sculpts faces, shapes environments, and suggests what remains unsaid.
My work always begins with listening: to the story, and above all, to the director’s vision. I consider it essential to enter their perspective, to understand the deepest intentions and translate them into images that remain faithful to the spirit of the narrative. My cinematography becomes a bridge—not a stylistic imposition, but a shared language that amplifies and enriches the storytelling.
My cinema moves between technical precision and poetic freedom: I seek images with a wide breath, able to merge sharpness and imperfection, density and lightness. Because every frame should not only be beautiful, but necessary.
My goal is to leave the audience with an impression that goes beyond sight: an emotion born of colors, contrasts, shadows—and from a deep harmony with the director’s vision.