I was born in one world and grew up in another.
My life has been a series of transitions — countries, languages, roles, identities.
I’ve moved, re-trained, redefined.
I’ve worked in uniform and in silence. With facts — and with sorrow.
I’ve seen bureaucracy from the inside, worn badges, filled out forms, believed in systems — and then burned out and rebuilt myself again.
Along the way, I collected words.
First in another language, then in my own — but with a new voice.
People mocked my accent. Told me I spoke “funny” or “wrong.”
But I kept speaking. Not for them. Because I knew — my voice was mine.
Lived-in. Earned. Real.
And through it all — I photographed.
First in travels, then in life itself: faces, light, lines, fleeting details.
Photography became my way to pause. Sometimes instead of words. Sometimes instead of screaming.
I’ve always observed.
The way light falls.
The way stories hide in faces.
The way the soul knocks quietly, when no one is looking.
Now I choose to share what I see — honestly, gently, sometimes on the edge.
With humor toward myself, and reverence toward others.
And as life rarely unfolds alone, sometimes in the words you’ll find here, you’ll hear another voice too — my husband, Andrey.
His writing, his poetry — another thread woven into this space.
And if something here resonates with you —
maybe we’re not so different, after all.
EN 
RU