About me

Belgian of Polish origin, I live in Brussels, a city of passages, murmurs, and fractures. I was shaped by my Polish grandmothers, by their fragmented stories, their silences heavy with memory, and by their dignified way of moving through life without complaint. From an early age, I learned to look before speaking, to listen before writing. Words have accompanied me since childhood. They imposed themselves naturally, with an almost instinctive restraint.

I am, above all, a poet. Poetry has never been an exercise or an aesthetic refuge for me, but a way of inhabiting the world, of sensing its tensions and fragilities. My early poems remain sheltered, kept like traces, not to dwell on them, but to honor the path traveled. They tell the emergence of a voice, still fragile, already attentive. Poetry taught me slowness, listening, the demand for the right word. It taught me that silence is part of language, and that saying little can sometimes contain more than long speeches.

What I write often takes root in lived experience. Not out of exhibition, but because personal experience is a prism through which collective fractures become visible. Texts are born from the need to name what strikes, what oppresses, what damages. To put words to wounds is to attempt to contain them, sometimes to soothe them. Writing then becomes an inner act of resistance, a way of standing upright in the face of injustice, without noise or posture.

Over time, this inner voice has shifted without ever denying itself. I am of a deeply spiritual mind, not in a dogmatic sense, but in a free and open inner quest. For several years now, I have been writing life chronicles as one opens windows, to let in air, light, doubt as well. These texts seek to be spaces of breathing, fragments of reflection where human experience is approached without fixed certainty. Writing thus becomes a path for moving forward, understanding, sometimes shedding light, never imposing. I do not seek to convince or to hold a truth, but to share points of passage, impulses, intuitions.

I keep my distance, as a sensitive observer. I give importance to details, to small gestures, to anonymous lives that cross without seeing one another. This attention also nourishes my photographic work. I photograph in black and white, out of a taste for purity and bare truth. Streets, ordinary scenes, fleeting presences. Nothing sophisticated, nothing fabricated, only light, matter, reality as it presents itself.

Between words and images, I build a bubble. A space of withdrawal, but also of lucidity. A place where sensitivity is not hidden, but embraced as a quiet strength. Here, fragments of lives meet, for those who know that silence speaks, and that beauty often slips in where one does not expect it.