Urban 

Germany

Italy

Nature

Brasil

Cork

Models

Sunset

Feelings

Zebra

Dublin

Black & White

Multiple Expositions

Eventos

Álbum especial para minhas obras artísticas de sentimentos, ações e criatividade.

Arte em ação

Alguns exemplos de fotografias de casamentos que mais gostei de fazer, estar junto, experienciar e fotografar seus melhores momentos.

casamentos

Arte

The sun paused above Gorizia,
not to look
but to hold us.

It spilled gold over the castle walls,
over rooftops and quiet streets,
as if the stone itself remembered
every love that ever stood there.

Below, lovers leaned into the moment,
sharing warmth, sharing silence,
watching the light cool into evening
and feeling how rare it was to be there—
together, at the edge of day.

And the sunset knew it.
That soft, impossible color
that makes you breathe slower
and think: how can this be real?

The castle watched.
The sun smiled.
And for a while,
the world felt perfectly enough.

Where the Castle Watches the Sun

She rose into the darkness
as if the night itself, 
had asked her to bloom.

Neon rivers ran across her skin,
each one a thought she never said out loud,
each one a heartbeat refusing to stay quiet.

Motion turned her into a spectrum!
a living blur of rebellion and light!
where silence melted,
And colour finally learned how to dance

Have you ever danced like this?


When Color Decides to Breathe

My eyes focus on the darkness
of my eyes shut, 
Like closed lids 
Into a different dark imagination 

In that soft blackness, 
thoughts drift into shapes, 
and the unseen becomes brighter than the world outside.

When we imagine,
My eyes settle into the darkness
Behind close lids
A quiet place where everything feels complete

Do you have a place like this?


When we imagine

The sea forgot its colours today…
Because it was the only way
To share my thoughts
Each stone was a truth I almost caught!

The light didn’t rise, it remembered,
The paused world, just for a while…
And with soft words
Like someone folding old letters away.

Communicated with me,
I hope you too, my friend!

I walked where sound becomes feeling,
Where salt rewrites what time erased,
And for a moment, the ocean blinked
And I was part of its quiet grace.

S

The Tide That Thinks in Grey

I walked through this narrow alley in search of light,
But the light had its own plans 
It played hide and seek with the walls,
and in the end, I was losing.

People moved quietly, like ghosts,
each with a story they’ll never tell,
each casting a shadow that probably knows something.

It was one of those moments when the world feels like a movie,
shot in low light,
directed by coincidence,
and scored by the echo of your own footsteps.

The air was thick with mystery,
yet somehow, it felt like being a baby again
in love with the shadows.
with a big smile

What makes you smile? 

Where Shadows Speak

I was walking through Berlin 
the streets whispered in frost,
each breath a ghost,
each step a quiet thought of home.

The cold spoke to me,
not in words,
but through a single leaf,
trembling,
clinging to its fate.

It was made of many branches,
woven like bars 
a prison of beauty,
fragile and true.

And I saw myself there,
an immigrant soul,
rooted and reaching,
learning how to bloom
through the cold.

Have you ever felt like it? 

The Cold Spoke in Branches

There is a light that moves me, that gets me...
a whisper of warmth...
a hand that pulls the world together!

Each leaf bends toward it,
unites with it,
each color finds its home.

In the blur of what is and what dreams to be,
everything meets, connects...
in one single, glowing breath.

Here, sight becomes soul! more than one capture!
And life, for a moment,
stands still within the light.

Have you ever caught such light?

Where Light Gathers

There was a time I could have stopped,
let the waves whisper instead of my thoughts,
but I walked past the sunset,
missing the silence that heals.

Now I see it again...
the sky painted in fire and peace,
and I wonder how I ever forgot
that the world itself breathes beauty.

Life is vast,
a thread that ties us to horizons unseen,
each color on this sea,
a heartbeat from somewhere else.

And in this glow... 
I feel infected, connected, infinite,
as if every soul watching the same sun, same trip?
is it part of one cosmic sigh?

Give me your opinion ;)

Echoes at Bibione

In this frame,
branches entwine with silhouettes,
as if the trees themselves
have learned the rhythm of human breath.

Shadows dance across faces,
bodies bend like limbs in winter winds,
and the quiet ache of nature
finds its partner in our fleeting steps.

I mix what is rooted with what is restless
the stillness of earth,
the motion of people,
a dialogue of silence and song

I need to dance with the song

From the sand, a fragile shell breaks.
Alone, unseen,
yet determined to rise.

All the others were carried,
guided by helping hands.
But this one
left behind,
discarded
still fought,
still chose life.

I waited, patient,
to witness the strength of being born.
In this tiny turtle,
I saw myself
struggling into a world
that does not always notice,
yet carrying the will
to exist, to matter, to help.

One day,
I will do more than speak.
One day,
I will lift others too.

But for now
can you see this?
Can you come over here, activists?
One is missing.

Emerging into life

In the silence of light and shadow,
a story unfolds without words.
Lines carve across the skin
not prison bars,
but open roads of imagination,
leading us into places the eye cannot see,
but the heart remembers.

This is what I seek in Dublin.
To frame the moments where emotion hides,
to let stillness speak,
to let contrast sing louder than color,
to discover poetry
not in what is shown,
but in what is revealed.

Every shadow whispers secrets,
every highlight breathes confessions.
Between the two,
I find truth
fragile, fleeting,
yet eternal once captured.

Art is not only taken,
it is given,
it is uncovered slowly,
line by line,
like light carving meaning into darkness.

So here I am,
ready to create,
to chase these moments across this city,
to turn simple light into memory,
to turn faces into stories,
and stories into echoes
that linger long after the shutter closes.

If you feel these words,
if you see yourself in this vision,
if you want me to tell your story,
let me take your picture.
Let me show you
how beautiful silence can be
when it learns to speak through light.

What I want to do

I never thought I would miss a boat park.
Not the swings, not the slides,
but boats resting under the sun,
tied to wooden posts,
dreaming quietly on the water.

Here, the river holds them gently,
as if each boat were a memory
anchored in my heart.
And in that silence,
I see myself
someone who once belonged completely,
before distance stretched my shadow
across another land.

Living away taught me how invisible I could become.
A foreigner, just another face,
never quite trusted, never quite chosen.
Even when my lens spoke clearly,
people looked past it,
mistaking value for cost,
mistaking belonging for a passport.

Yet here in Brazil,
things were different.
Here, the boats are enough.
The water does not ask where I was born.
The sky does not charge me for its color.
The clouds don’t care what language I speak.
Here, I am simply home.

These small boats, waiting like children in a park,
remind me of what it means to return
to walk the edges of a place that formed me,
to breathe in the salt and the blue,
to feel saudade not as absence,
but as proof that love never leaves.

So I hold onto this image,
this moment,
this laughter of boats against the river.
And I whisper to the horizon:
I miss you,
I will always miss you,
because you are the place where my soul
learned to rest,
and where it still longs to be.

Waiting for my boat

The river carries the last light,
crimson and gold folding into night.
Cork, you have held me,
with streets that echoed my steps,
and skies that kept my secrets.

Now the horizon burns with farewell,
a soft whisper of endings,
a promise of return.

Goodbye does not mean forgetting
it only means the heart carries you,
like the river carries the sun,
always flowing,
always glowing,
somewhere... there...

Maybe farewell?

The feeling of new things,
just about to arrive
life changes quietly,
when we return to places
we once called home.

Four years in Cork,
yet Dublin still breathes in me,
waiting like the tide
for footsteps to return.

This image spoke of the past,
and now it knows my truth:
I am coming back,
I am moving out,
I am moving forward.

The sun took too long
to sink into the sea,
and in its glow I found
the missing pulse of memories,
the quiet promise of beginnings
waiting to rise again.

Feelings of an old home

It is the gentle hand that steadies you when the ground feels uncertain,
the voice that calls you back when you drift too far into the shadows.
It is the quiet presence beside you,
requiring no words,
only the unspoken promise: I am here.

And in those times,
you need only reach out.
A hand will be there to clasp yours,
a shoulder will be there to bear the weight you can no longer carry alone.

This feeling is not a luxury;
it is a lifeline.
It is the thread that ties one soul to another,
woven through laughter and tears,
through moments of silence as much as moments of joy.

If you are blessed with such a bond,
hold it close.
Let your friend know they are seen,
let them know they are needed,
let them feel the warmth of your gratitude.

For friendship is not just a part of life,
it is the pulse within it,
the quiet rhythm that reminds us:
We do not walk this path alone.

S.

Friendship

This is the chezz feeling 
a whisper from my uncle’s voice,
etched in quiet lessons of foresight.
He taught me to think before I move,
because in two or twenty turns,
the board reshapes,
life complicates,
and what matters isn't just the move,
but the soul behind it.

In this picture 
an eye, caught in check,
like fate staring back
from the corner of a square,
reminding me that
to live well is to play wisely.

So I offer you this moment,
this thought:
What was your latest checkmate?
A decision made that sealed the game,
or a realization that opened the board?
Share your move 
I’ll be watching the play unfold.

Chess feeling

Sometimes,
we feel the pull
a quiet ache to speak
with ourselves.

We reach inward,
fingers trembling with wonder,
trying to slip our hands
into the folds of our own soul,
to touch something true,
to find the voice beneath the noise.

But guess what
it’s only an attempt,
a whisper against the storm.
To truly reach that place,
we must walk a path
not paved in ease,
but in questions.
Not straight,
but spiraled,
winding through shadows and soft light.

It is a journey
not loud, but vast.
Not always kind,
but sometimes zen.
Where silence becomes a guide,
and stillness,
a key

Self touch

Sometimes we feel we are inside something
perhaps it began in our mother’s womb,
cradled in warmth,
a silence that hummed like safety.
A place where fear could not find us.
A box,
not a prison,
but a promise.

And then
we were placed outside.
Shivering in the light,
surrounded by sounds that did not care
for our softness.
We learned the weight of air,
the ache of absence,
the long reach of longing.

But tell me
in all your trembling,
did you notice her?
Outside her own box,
watching you become.
Can you see her face,
creased with the courage it took
to let you go?
Her hands, still warm from holding you,
now empty?
Her gaze,
more fragile than your cry?

She was outside too
brave, breaking,
unboxed.

Inside of a box

There’s a thrill in unraveling the layers of understanding
a beautiful way to wander through this world
to glimpse the unseen
to pause and feel something shift

She came seeking inspiration through photos
and for a fleeting moment
I saw her in a way I never had before
bold, radiant, unexpected

A zebra

Not just in black and white
but in all the hidden hues that live between the lines
I hope she sees what I saw
I hope she sees herself
wild, rare, and wholly alive

Look closer
The world whispers more than it shows

In between the lines

This photo holds the moment when the lines begin to move, not just across your skin, but into your spirit. They mesmerize, like whispers of a pattern you’ve known. It’s as if the light is sending a message to your future self, a quiet reminder to align, to be present, to flow with the rhythm of life. In these shadows and stripes, there’s order, there’s chaos, and there’s you, somewhere between, becoming whole.

Lines consuming you

Every time I’m with friends, something quiet stirs inside me. I frame them, not just in photographs, but in memory. Sometimes once, sometimes twice in a lifetime, I capture them without even realizing, as if my soul knew this was art. A part of me preserved in light and shadow, layered through time. Multiple exposures of laughter, stillness, stories told over a beer in a quiet pub. These aren’t just images, they’re pieces of me, fragments of moments that felt eternal, stitched into the canvas of who I am.

Putting my friends in frame

In the heat of our minds, where the spices ignite,
We wander through whispers that dance in the night.
A flicker of mischief, a glint in the eye,
We dare to be bolder, to touch the sky.

A little more wicked, a shade more free,
Not bound by the mask, but who we choose to be.
For every costume we wear, every bold little guise,
Is worn with a smirk and a soul that flies.

With pride in our steps, and fire in our stance,
We turn up the charm, we give life a glance.
This is the moment unfiltered, unshy 
When we strut through our thoughts and let spirits fly

Not knowing what to do

Sometimes,
there’s a warmth that wraps around us,
a feeling of being held,
not by arms alone
but by the presence of someone
who raised you,
watched you become.

This is the shape of protection,
the quiet strength of a mother’s love.
In this photo,
the breasts stand not for desire
but for care,
a symbol of giving,
of nurture without condition.

And now I wonder,
what does love look like for you?
Not just romance,
but the kind that shapes you,
heals you,
holds you steady.

Would you share it with me?

Mother's Care

This photo is the feeling of noise,
the kind that hums beneath curiosity.
When we lean too close
into the lives of others,
scooping up their stories,
chasing echoes in their eyes...

we forget our own palette.

Look closely,
the colors fade near the eye,
drain softly from the neck.
It is not silence,
but a whisper of what was once ours.

Curiosity,
a beautiful thief
of the self.

Curiosidade

This is the feeling when we wear our own makeup,
a reflection of ourselves, yet somehow unfamiliar.
So I added some clothes, like layers of trying,
trying to become something, someone,
but still, it feels like plastic.

You see?
It’s that quiet dissonance,
not quite what it's meant to be,
yet undeniably something.

Because when appearance and intention stand side by side,
even in contrast, even in confusion,
they become art.

And maybe that’s what makes it interesting.

Covering our flaws

This is the feeling that we have sometimes when we are born with fire, we are one with fire, and fire is with us all the time, following with words, feelings, heat with a lot of light auround.
I hope you can feel my fire, get youself warm, and feel hugged by me, a very warm one.

Light my fire

This is what it feels like to be alive:
they ask, how are you?
and you hand them a face
not the true one,
just one that fits the moment.

You've gathered so many over time,
some borrowed, some built from silence.

And some days,
you wear them all at once,
until the mirror looks back
and you don’t know who’s looking.

Multi Faces

Sometimes, we find ourselves opening up to something completely unexpected, a storm of anger, sweat, and love all tangled together

Many emotions

It is the feeling that I have when I try to do many things at the same time, I always get myself ignoring one of the others senses, keeping mixing my speed with creativity.

Agony

Sometimes we just want to wear our team Jeasey, in this case I am fully Brazilian, with all the happines of my soul, I came here to share this piece of my art.

Patriotism

This is the feeling of getting our soul washed with soap, we are mixed with art and lights, but i only can see a soap being the main brush that creates this art form. As weird as it sound, my brain is like that sometimes.

Washing my soul

This is the feeling of all the time we need to mask ourselves, sometimes we only can see some kind of real movement, in this idea i wanted to merge the body with the face, making it a faceless expression.

Masking Myself

This is a situation every artist encounters at some point a moment when we must dive into the waterfall, becoming one with the water and every element flowing with it. It's about merging with the creative current, letting it carry us beyond thought and into pure expression.

A Thirst for Art

This is the feeling of having fun at Stephen's Green Park, I do feel free over there, and sometimes I do feel that my eye before were a little bit more free than today. Who know? Do you? 

Free of thoughts

This is the feeling of being connected with everybody, and at the same time outside of  your own place, traveling into bytes, that makes you ignore whoever is close by.

Confused by Tech

Sometimes you encounter thunder, it jolts you, wakes you up. You go on living, carrying that charge. But one day, that same thunder tells you to leave. And so, you walk away, not out of fear, but to avoid being struck again.

Thunderstorm

An interesting idea of swimming into photos, I got an amazing happiness around this moment.

Photobed

Esse é um trabalho interessante que mistura arte com uma mulher que deixou que minha ideia se tornasse realidade.

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Sometimes we try to find them in the morning, sometimes they just show up in front of you, it is more luck than anything.

Shooting stars

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A special way to find myself into, a friend, a guide and maybe in the future a shaman.

Samara

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Fotografia de um evento que uniu o que estava na minha cabeça com uma realidade criativa.

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Dancing between their peers, while listening the sound of wolves.

Firebird

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Arte em sua essência, uma fotografia que captura o meu interior, exteriorizando em uma obra com bastante criatividade.

Artistic Of Me

Art & Photography