I came back to New York 10 years ago after a journey, still figuring out what kind of photographer I wanted to be. I didn't have much of a plan — I just knew I needed a bigger city to disappear into for a while.
Most days here felt like switching between two different worlds. The city never stops throwing color at you, but somehow my eye kept pulling everything back to black, white, and the spaces in between — I think that's just how I see things, when they actually matter.
Seven years here taught me more about patience than any one trip ever could. I stopped chasing big moments and started noticing the small ones — and somewhere along the way, this city just became home, the way a place becomes home once you've grown up enough inside it.

I started coming back to Lisbon a few years into living in New York, usually whenever the noise there got to be too much. I never had much of a plan here either — just a ticket and a few empty days.
Everything about it felt slower. The light here is different — quieter, sometimes scattered in little patches across a wall or a staircase, like it's in no hurry to go anywhere. Most days I just sat with that light instead of chasing anything.
I don't think Lisbon changed me the way New York or Thessaloniki did. It just gave me somewhere to exhale, every couple of years, in between everything else. Some places teach you things. This one just let me rest.