
Somewhere worth getting lost.
A long walk, unfamiliar roads, and finding the right place.
I started with my father's old twin-lens camera and a single roll of black and white film. Most of it was out of focus. One frame wasn't, and I have been chasing that feeling ever since.
Today I split my time between editorial portraits, travel stories and long personal projects, and I still print the pictures I love by hand.

Five ways I spend my days behind the lens. Click anywhere to open the next one.
Image 1 of 5: A woman silhouetted against a sunset, raising a camera to her eye
2013 to now
My father's twin-lens camera and a single roll of black and white film. One frame came out sharp.
A borrowed darkroom in old Lyon, and long nights learning to print by hand.
First paid commission: a week of portraits for a small publishing house.
Three weeks in the high Alps, carrying a medium format camera and far too much film.
Quiet Light, a first solo exhibition, opens with forty hand-made prints.
Travel stories and editorial work for clients worldwide, still shooting film whenever the job allows.
A photograph is never just a moment.
Every frame has a story. These are the moments that happened before the shutter.

A long walk, unfamiliar roads, and finding the right place.

Sometimes the best photographs require hours of patience.

The light, the angle, the subject. Everything falls into place.

One click. A moment that stays forever.
Recognised by juries in London, Arles and Tokyo for patient, honest pictures. Every award went to a frame that took longer to wait for than to make.
Long-form photo essays for travel and culture magazines, each one shot over weeks rather than days, and edited down to the few frames that carry it.
From fishing villages on the Breton coast to the high passes of the Dolomites. A camera bag, a few rolls of film and no fixed plan for the afternoon.
Hand-made prints shown in galleries across Asia and Europe. Each show starts in the darkroom, one sheet of paper at a time.
Every print starts as a conversation. Here is what a few of those conversations turned into.

Emma photographed me the way I never manage to see myself. Quiet, patient and somehow invisible in the room. She waited for one strip of morning light, and that print now hangs above my desk.