Ecclessence: Exploring the Intersection of Memory, Identity, and Aesthetics through the Eyes of a Bucharest-based Visual Artist.

• How would you describe Ecclessence to someone encountering your pieces for the first time?

  
  

I think the most accurate way to describe Ecclessence to someone encountering my pieces for the first time would be that it's supposed to represent the entirety of  visual arts. It pursues audiovisual expression in various forms (such as photography, film, documentary, and video) rather than being limited to a single aspect. My visual mode of expression is directly aligned with my worldview—sometimes it relates directly to my perspective on the world, while at other times it is personal, stemming from an emotion or a feeling. I try to incorporate how I feel in relation to my worldview, and I believe that is the essence of my art.

• Where does the name “Ecclessence” come from, and what does it represent to you?

  
  

The name "Ecclessence" is a made-up word, formed through the combination of two already-existing words: eclectic (meaning to choose, to combine, or to come from many different styles, sources, or ideas rather than following a single rigid system) and essence (meaning the fundamental core, basic nature, or most important quality of something). The name reflects my reluctance to choose a single audiovisual medium for self-expression, as well as my desire for the freedom to capture the essence of an idea in various forms.

• What makes you reach for a camera? What does a moment need to have for you to feel that it deserves to be preserved?

  
  

Since the word eclectic also reminds me of the word ecclesial (an adjective that means relating to a Christian church, its organization, functions, or teachings), the definition I gave Ecclessence is "the sacred within the ordinary" , which is supposed to represent finding the greatness in the most ordinary thing, the sacred space (of a church) in everyday life. A moment can be preserved simply through its own existence. It does not need to be picturesque or conventionally beautiful; it simply needs to represent something to me. 

I grew up in Bucharest, Romania, surrounded by the architecture left behind by communism. What communism did to Romania has always been something I felt was worth photographing; not despite its ugliness and ordinariness, but precisely because of them. Most of these buildings are simply places where people live. They hold little, if any, architectural value in the conventional sense. Yet they represent something far more personal to me: the people who inhabit them, and the lives that unfold within their walls. This is what makes me reach for a camera - a story I believed deserves to be visually represented.

• You work across both photography and videography, with people, brands, and independent projects. What changes in the way you observe a subject when you move between a still photograph and a moving image?

  
  

I think photography is more rigid in that sense. You have to capture a person at

exactly the right moment, because every fraction of a second can change what the image represents. A small gesture, a look, or a change in expression can completely alter the feeling of a photograph. Videography feels more forgiving to me because you are able to capture more of the moment, the movement, the pauses, the expressions, and everything that happens around them. Instead of having to find that one perfect second, you have the opportunity to let the moment unfold and capture it as a whole.

• Your series Occidental Communism has a title that seems to deliberately bring two apparently conflicting ideas together. Where did that title come from, and what does “Occidental Communism” mean within the world of the project?

  
  

The title comes from the contrast between the modernity of young Romanians and the remnants of the communist past that still surround them. In many ways, Romania has become increasingly Western in how young people dress, communicate, express themselves, and perceive the world. At the same time, the physical and cultural traces of communism are still very present. 

“Occidental Communism” refers to this coexistence of two seemingly contradictory realities: a generation that is increasingly connected to the West, living alongside a landscape and a collective memory shaped by communism. Even though Romania has modernised, it still lives with the consequences and remnants of its communist past. The title is meant to capture that tension: the feeling of being caught between what Romania has become and what it still carries with it.

• What first made you want to create the series? Was there a particular place, image, encounter, or feeling that made you realize there was a larger story you wanted to document?

  
  

Growing up surrounded by this environment was probably my biggest inspiration for creating the series. I have always been particularly interested in fashion, and growing up in Romania, there were many moments when I struggled to find the clothes or styles I was interested in in an accessible way. Whenever I visited a Western European country, I was always struck by the stores, the variety, and how modern everything felt. There are certain parts of Romania where, if you were to turn off your phone, you genuinely wouldn’t know whether it was 2026 or 2006.

At the same time, I began noticing young people dressing in increasingly unconventional ways. Whenever I saw a teenager dressed in a way that felt unfamiliar or more contemporary, I would instinctively associate them with the West. That contrast became the starting point of the series. The larger idea behind it is to capture the gap between how young Romanians are changing and the environment around us, which in many places has remained almost unchanged. We are becoming increasingly modern, while the world we grew up in still carries the same traces of the past.

• Growing up or living in a place means becoming accustomed to details that might immediately fascinate an outsider. Has photography changed the way you look at Bucharest (and Romania) and made you notice things you might otherwise have stopped seeing?

  
  

I know that many people have an innate dislike for Bucharest, and for Romania in general. There is often this feeling that it is “never enough” or that it is “never changing.” While these statements are quite true, I have never really felt that way, at least not entirely. I have always loved Bucharest. I have always felt drawn to it for a reason that, even to me, is difficult to explain, it's maybe even unfathomable. I love it, I just do. Even before I started photography, I could walk down Calea Victoriei or through Cișmigiu over and over again and still find myself fascinated by it.

Somehow, when I see Bucharest, its places are born again. There is a rebirth to the city every day, all the familiar places feel different every time I see them. Photography didn’t necessarily make me notice Bucharest for the first time. It gave me a medium through which I could capture the way I had already been seeing it. It allowed me to preserve those moments of fascination that I had always felt, even in places I had become completely accustomed to.

• Are you more drawn to carefully constructed images or moments that happen unexpectedly? Why?

  
  

I enjoy both, but I think I am more drawn to carefully constructed images. A lot of that probably comes from my personality. I am naturally very organised, detail-oriented, and I like having a certain degree of control over how things come together. With a planned image, I feel that I can communicate an idea or a concept more completely. I can think about the setting, the styling, the light, the composition, and all the small details that contribute to what I want the image to say.

There is something very satisfying about being able to build an image around an idea and see it come together exactly as I imagined it. That being said, I still really enjoy unexpected moments. Sometimes they have a spontaneity that you simply cannot recreate when everything is planned. I think the two approaches complement each other, but if I had to choose, I would probably always lean towards the constructed image.

• How much of your work is planned, and how much comes from intuition?

  
  

I would say that all of my work is planned. Of course, I enjoy photography and videography in a more spontaneous way too (taking pictures with my friends, filming road trips, street photography), but when I think of something as my work, it is almost always carefully planned. I think people often underestimate how much time and thought goes into projects like these. A single image can involve hours, days, or even

weeks of preparation. From finding the right location and people to figuring out styling, lighting, composition, and the overall concept, there are so many details that need to come together before you even take the picture. 

For me, planning is an important part of the creative process. I like knowing what I want to communicate before I start shooting, and then using the actual shoot to bring that idea to life. Of course intuition is an important aspect as well: things rarely go according to plan, and you need to able to work around the mistakes and figure out solutions, which often is an intuitive practice.

• Do you see the camera as a way of documenting reality or interpreting it? 

  
  

I think it depends on the medium and, more importantly, on the intention behind the work. Forms such as documentary, wedding, event, or street photography are primarily about documenting reality. The purpose is to observe what is happening and tell the

story as honestly as possible, rather than deliberately changing reality to fit a specific concept. On the other hand, I think you can consciously choose to interpret reality. Editorial photography, fashion shoots, or short films often do exactly that.

You are still working with real people, places, and objects, but you modify and construct them in a way that serves the idea behind the work. You can change the lighting, styling, setting, composition, or even the way someone behaves in front of the camera. So for me, the camera can do both. It can be a tool for documenting reality as it is, or a tool for reshaping reality into something that communicates a particular concept. The difference comes from what you want the image to do.

• What part of your personality do you think shows up most clearly in your work?

  
  

I think where I grew up shows up quite strongly in my work. I am very interested in communist Romania and in the Romanian New Wave of cinema, and I think both have had a significant influence on my photography and short films. A lot of that comes from the fact that this is the reality I grew up around and the one I know best. When I want to

express an idea, I naturally tend to place it within a context that feels familiar to me. I also think my need for organisation and structure comes through quite clearly.

A lot of my work is very deliberate, logical, and chronological. I have not explored much abstract or purely conceptual work, partly because I naturally tend to look for structure and narrative in what I create. Also my aesthetic: I care a lot about how something looks, not just compositionally, but aesthetically as well. I think all three of these things (the environment I grew up in, my need for structure, and my sensitivity towards aesthetics) are probably some of the clearest reflections of my personality in my work.

• What is something you've learned about people from spending so much time behind a camera? 

  
  

I think one of the biggest things I have learned is how differently people behave when they know they are being photographed or filmed. The moment a camera appears, people become more conscious of themselves, they become more aware of how they

look, how they stand, what they do with their hands, even how they speak, etc. I have also learned that getting someone to forget about the camera is often when you get the most interesting result.

Sometimes the best images happen in those brief moments when people stop performing and simply become themselves again. It has made me realise that photography is not only about observing people, but also about creating an environment where they feel comfortable enough to let their guard down. The relationship between the photographer and the person in front of the camera can be just as important as the camera itself.

• How would you describe the visual world of Ecclessence in three words?

  
  

Sacred, editorial, contextual