Every season, I like to take a stroll in my hometown of Montreal to see what inspires me and my lens. It's a way to unwind, to look at my everyday surroundings with a different perspective, and it simply feels good to get up and move with no set itinerary or destination.

Strolling through the Plateau streets last summer, I was enchanted by this detail.

If I were to zoom out, I would have photographed two neighboring houses. But it's this zoomed in composition that felt most compelling to me, especially in a square ration that enhanced its symmetry and contrast. 

​I named this one "Tango", because of how two contrasting halves can still mingle and complement one another, dancing harmoniously as a pair. I love the vibrant colors of the brick, the way the phone line traces a boundary between the adjacent' homes, but how the twisting vine doesn't seem to care about any boundaries whatsoever.
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"Tango" has always been special to me, not only because of its composition and color, but because it sort of represents the many areas of life where it's not about choosing to be one or the other, it's not all or nothing, it's beautifully, wildly, paradoxically both.

Tell me: Has anything in your neighborhood made you stop in your tracks? Do your everyday surroundings inspire you too?

​Some places teach us about contrasts and ironies, fleeting time and persisting time. They marvel us with how they can be aging yet timeless, how they can be captivating without being boastful, how they can emanate a distinct character and mood almost immediately, when we've barely even begun combing its streets. 

​Some places leave us quite speechless, instilling a sense of nostalgia in us while we are still there, standing on its soil. We follow its lead, go where the place pulls us, linger on the simplest details that hold us hostage for a moment or two. Details that highlight imperfection and time – an uneven street, a peeling façade, a decaying staircase. ​Every few steps, a sight draws us in, makes us pause, begs to be recorded.

Humble and complex, Havana holds the eye, the lens, and the heart. 

This detail of a crumbling wall stopped me in my tracks. 

Layers of Beauty looks beautiful on textured or satin paper, in vertical or square orientations. Its rustic details and rich colors also come to life on canvas, acrylic, metal or wood. Frames are available upon request!

Prefer functional objects to wall art? Layers of Beauty has also been produced on a notebook, and on a wood tray or placemart as part of a new collaboration with designers at LAMOU. 

Bring the world home!

From my heart to yours.

Sometimes, inspiration comes from the unlikeliest sources; a color, a texture, a simple sight. In this case, it came from a weed growing along the weathered side of an old building along a port quay.

It stopped me in my tracks. There was something so poetic about a resilient dandelion growing tall against a peeling industrial wall. It was the perfect pop of yellow on that gentle canvas of blue, a beautiful contrast between blooming and rusting, growing and fading. 

It was a delicate reminder that life reserves little surprises, and that beauty can bloom even when you least expect it.

Although I did not expect it to on the afternoon when I snapped this very simple shot in Montreal's Old Port, "Bloom where unlikely" has become one of your favorite pieces. It has been printed so far on fine-art paper, satin paper and canvas, in small and large sizes, and has also inspired you as a blank notebook. 

Would a sight like this have stopped you in your tracks as well?

The tide had receded. There were no warning sirens piercing through the city at the break of dawn. I opened the shutters to let in the damp lagoon air. Gentle rays of morning light seeped in, tinted with dusty hues of the Dorsoduro palaces and their worn stones. The sky was limpid after overnight rain that had lingered into the early morning. "I missed it again," I thought, comforted that the mystical spell that somehow always kept me from witnessing rain over the lagoon city was still a pact I could count on. 

The day's agenda was still unformed, aside from a dinner date I was already looking forward to with a dear old friend. Time was mine, as was the choice of where my footsteps would lead. 

I set out, crossed the first floor which was still musty from the receded waters and shut the heavy front door behind me, happily aware of how quiet the calli still were. Sounds of gentle sweeping, suitcases rolling over the cobblestone on the way to the vaporetto or the ferrovia, conversation bouncing off the narrow lanes' walls, the distant clinking of stacked espresso cups at the bar... And soon, added to those heartwarming sounds, my own footsteps on the Venetian pavement, up and down its bridges, around corners and corners of its infinite maze. 

I hadn't ventured far when my head instinctively faced my right. An arch stood as a gateway, its bricks betraying its age, telling tales of centuries past. It was a portal to a tranquil lane guarded by pretty flower boxes and façades of various ocher and peach hues. 

The memory of rain lingered on the pavement, storing tiny reflections like little secrets of the universe.

I smiled. How could you not, when your heart sings? #mademelook

Bring this moment home on paper, canvas, wood, acrylic or metal. 

More posts in the "Made Me Look" blog series

It was late afternoon. The sea was full. The tide was high. The heat reverberating off the stone walls was stifling. The whitewashed buildings had never seemed whiter. A glass of rosé with lunch had never gone down smoother. 

I headed back to the beach on the eastern part of the town - the quieter part, where only a few young families, couples and lone sunbathers dropped their towels on the rocks, where a few boats dropped their anchors and their sailors under the blanket of blue. I curved around the port - I wanted to see it under the high afternoon sun when it was busiest - few, if any, parking spots were vacant, for boats and cars alike. My eyes ran along the rows and rows of docked boats. 

I can't remember where my love for maritime life emerged from - it has no known origin. It has just always been. It has always filled me with joy to watch boats rock on water, to see them docked, resting, ready. I look at their names, ask myself which one I'd prefer to call my own, where I'd go, whether I'd return. I stand there, imagining the feel of the rope in my palm, what a different life that would be. I'm partial to the blue boats, and all the  more if they are rustic, weather-beaten, with tales to tell. 

In Otranto that July afternoon, the composition of the scene at the port caught my eye. That precarious balance of standing out and fitting in, of being eager yet patient, ready to burst out of the gates, but content to be home. Isn't it a difficult balance to achieve, to stand out enough but not to spoil the harmonious sense of cohesion. That boat stood still, tethered to the sea's core, and gave the scene balance and meaning.

That boat made me look a moment longer. 

​I was alone in Japan – a strangely thrilling thought. It was my first time there. My body and mind were fighting jet-lag, while my eyes were trying to adapt to a different writing script and different light. I ventured out on a long, slow walk around Hiroshima, taking in the sights and sounds of the city. I spent a lot of time at the Hiroshima Peace Memorial Museum, astonished by how intense the experience was. We have read and studied the facts numerous times, but being there – seeing evidence of the devastation of the atomic bombing through mock-ups and artifacts – made it more tangible.

​I was pensive and mellow when I left the museum in the late afternoon. I strolled down the peaceful river bank until the sky turned golden, and my first hours of Japan daylight gradually wound to a close. Not far from the Atomic Bomb Dome and its skeletal shell of remains, my eyes landed on beautiful orange blossoms swaying in the wind, catching the light of the sunset against the backdrop of the shimmering river – a stark contrast with the image of a razed and ruined city. I watched the flowers playing in the light, and thought of all the life that courses through the city now that it has been rebuilt.

From my heart to yours!

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You’ve never been to London? How could that be?”

I can't even count the number of times I heard that question. That I had not been to London yet was so unfathomable to people who knew how much I loved to travel and where I had been in the world. The city became a dream for me, until the opportunity presented itself when I'd finally have a ticket to London in my name.
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I only had a handful of days in the city before travelling to Wales for a scientific conference. I was determined to see and feel as much as I could. I decided not to let myself be dismayed by the inclement weather or the astonishingly long distances between the areas I wanted to explore by foot. I recruited my galoshes and the tube onto my team and together we conquered the city. Well, as much as you can conquer a place as a first-time visitor. 

I was still growing as a photographer, alternating between the typical tourist and the inspired artist multiple times per minute. Once the traditional shots of the Big Ben and the Tower Bridge were out of the way, I began to experiment and let my eye wander.
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I remember that afternoon on the South Bank – a storm was brewing, and it was about time to find a cozy neighborhood away from the crowds to enjoy what promised to be a rainy afternoon. I looked up and immediately the pattern and mood caught my eye. I interrupted my travel companion in mid-sentence by plastering my lens to my face in the not-so-subtle way that photographers do, and I tried to recreate what I felt. 

It was that kind of photograph that immediately becomes your favorite, even when you look at it on your tiny LCD screen. It’s hard to explain exactly why your favorites are your favorites, but it has to do with an immediate, intuitive “YES!” reaction and a feeling bubbling in your heart.

I remember feeling like I had caught a firefly in my hand.

That feeling of having frozen something special in time and that desire to share it with other dreamers all over the world was the driving force behind creating Veni Etiam Photography.

In honor of that feeling and that moment, the silhouette of “London Bulbs” is actually the background of my business card. 

​​​From my heart to yours.

What is time but an illusion?

We expend such energy measuring it, chasing it, fighting it...yet it rolls on.
 
Time demarcates our days, structures our memories, defines our experiences, enhances our worth and influences our decisions. It pushes and propels us, wearing us thin, both haunting us and delighting us with its passing.
 
Sometimes I wonder what it would be like if a day were timeless. If clocks shattered and hours and minutes had no meaning. If the sun stayed high in the sky and churchbells fell silent. A silly thought, it just wouldn't work, would it?

"Fragmented Time" was snapped in Chicago, USA exactly one year ago, almost to the day. If I look back, as time prompts us to do, I can immediately tell what has changed in my life, what has grown, what has gone and what has remained.

If "Fragmented Time" speaks to you, you can give it a space on your wall, no matter your style of decor. Fine-art print, metal print, acrylic, wood or canvas - we've got you covered. Maybe you can hang it where your clock hangs ;)

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It was the year I had moved to northern Italy for my scientific work. I had left the urban bustle of Montreal behind, and my new surroundings could not differ more. The Dolomiti mountains formed a backdrop to every scene I played in - almost a painted theatrical set. They filled the sky with their seemingly edgeless presence and -- I noticed -- led me to walk taller, eyes on them and their changing light, rather than on my shoes. Throughout the seasons, the whites and greens of the mountains tumbled into the vineyards that flanked the Adige river, such that there was not a single bare spot in the scenery, and I was in constant awe of how small all the houses and all the people seemed in comparison. It is strange to think of how my work was the same, but I was different. My days in Trentino were tethered to this landscape - my senses, moods and feelings riding on the rhythm of everyday life in the small town. The resounding church-bells sliced each of my days into half-hours, the rush of the Adige river filled my ear, and the clear air somehow led to clearer thinking. For those months, getting to my home involved turning left at the vineyard - paying attention to the street sign was absolutely unnecessary. I enjoyed every single day of being that small dot amid rows and rows of vines, at the foot of towering mountains. But, one spring afternoon, the awe and gratitude I felt just stopped me in my tracks on my routine walk back home. I smiled and recorded the scene, so I wouldn't forget it, so I wouldn't forget my way.

Available in fine-art print, canvas, aluminum, acrylic and wood.
From my heart to yours.

It was late afternoon, and we had already spent far more time by the seashore than we had expected to. Simply wanting to stay felt reason enough to do so; it was so peaceful - the tide was low, children were wading and observing and playing. Suddenly I wandered into this little haven of a spot, and watched the sailboats come into view in each window and disappear between them, much like when I used to close one eye and then the other as a child when experimenting with my field of view. It seemed like the perfect way to spend the afternoon, watching and waiting as the sailboats glided in and out of view. And with them glided time, but we stood there as if its passing did not matter. 

If the colors and feel of Bari inspire you, check out more glimpses of Bari that you could purchase for your home in the online shop in a size and finish of your choosing. 

Bari Vecchia
Suggested on acrylic, but also available in canvas, aluminum, wood or as a fine-art print 

Keep in touch!

​It was a rainy day -- misty rain, the kind that bathes your cheeks in the promise of spring. The uneven cobblestone streets were spotted with slushy puddles of melting snow. Everything around was colored in a palette of grays and browns. With the spritzing sky and the messy sidewalks, it was easy to walk with your eyes on your feet. But, lucky to have lifted my gaze, something made me reach for my camera, which had been stowed safely away in my dry purse. Tucked around the corner was an industrial building, perfect in its symmetric geometricity. And, among the lines and columns and reflections, there was but one open window, breaking the pattern, but making you wonder. A simple reward for having looked up. 

Optimism lies in the surprise of a single open window (Old Montreal)
L'optimisme réside dans la surprise d'une seule fenêtre ouverte (Vieux-Montréal)

Available in fine-art print, canvas, aluminum, acrylic or wood.
​Also available in a perfect square in print or other formats. 

​Keep in touch!

Topped to the brim with fishing nets, this lone boat rocked patiently, dreaming to set out and finally fulfill its purpose. Tethered reluctantly to a dock, it waited and waited, while the hours passed and the tides changed. It floated quietly, without disrupting the stillness of the frosted mirror beneath it, though its impatience seemed to grow at times, like that of an animal constrained by a leash, pacing while watching for its master The sky grew moody and the light more dramatic, matching the escalating vigor of the boat. The water played tauntingly under its belly, but the boat remained strongly anchored to the present. The power, moodiness yet simplicity of the scene made me pause on the dock, and this photo quickly became one of my favorite photos of Bari, Italy.


Recommended in Acrylic in 24 x 36 in.