STUDIO 499

​ I was born in Eastern Europe, in difficult times under communism.  They were strange years — full of ideals on the surface, yet deeply restrictive and quietly dictatorial. Because of that, I don’t blame anyone for the wrong decisions. Nothing truly worked the way it should have back then. It was almost inevitable that my parents shaped the course of my life, even though at the time I didn’t realise it.  My heart wanted art. That was my first choice.  My second was something practical, something technical — architecture.  That second path was not really mine; it was my father’s. What he could not achieve himself, I was expected to carry forward. One phone call to the art academy changed everything. In a single moment, my life turned in a different direction and pulled me into the technical world. It was a world I learned to survive in, but never one that truly fit me.  After finishing my studies, I chose hospitality instead — a place where people, emotion, an...

I explore the intersection of human presence with help of Pixlr, Affinity, Lightroom, and PS Express, but also with ChatGPT, Gemini 3, Nano Banana Pro, choosing each one intentionally, depending on what best serves the creative vision.

The street outside was a chaotic symphony of traffic horns and rushing pedestrians, but inside the boutique, time seemed to slow down.  The air here was different, cool, hushed, and woven with a thousand invisible threads of scent. He stepped up to the counter, his eyes scanning the rows of glass vessels. Some were dark and brooding, others clear and minimalist. He was looking for a change, something to cut through the monotony of a long winter. A sales assistant nodded silently,  allowing him the space to explore. His hand gravitated toward a heavy, indigo-blue bottle. It felt substantial, a cold weight of luxury. He lifted the magnetic cap,click, and sprayed a fine mist onto a paper strip. He waved it gently, letting the alcohol evaporate, then brought it to his nose. It was nice, but safe. He wanted more. He reached for a ribbed crystal bottle on the top shelf. He didn't bother with the paper this time; he rolled up his sleeve and sprayed it directly onto his pulse poi...