Your work often involves large scale projections on trees, rocks and other natural surfaces. What draws you to a specific landscape?
Whether it’s a weathered boulder or a silent tree, I look for formations that radiate harmony, mystery and elemental power. As I continue to work on different series, with trees, rocks and fungi, I’m always on the lookout for new motifs. What fascinates me most are landscapes that move something in me: sites that feel like nature’s own sculptures or open-air museums, quietly waiting to be seen.

What do you look out for in your surroundings, for example here in Mykonos? 
I look for natural formations that already feel like installations, often with freestanding elements seamlessly embedded into the landscape that evoke something sacred or dreamlike. I’m drawn to places that stir the heart, where the surroundings feel both grounded and elevated. My intention is for the projection to amplify what’s already there, honouring the land instead of altering it.

Your projections are not static, they interact with the landscape. How do you bring nature and projection into dialogue?
I try to attune myself to the energy of a place, say the frequency of a tree or a rock, and then respond through movement, rhythm and light. My visuals are mostly abstract, but they follow an organic flow: breathing, unfolding, growing. Nature is never just a surface, it is the co-creator. As I often say, I make art in and with nature.

How did you first get into projection mapping?
It was a natural evolution from my years of photography and graffiti, combined with a deep love for wild places. I began by painting abstract patterns onto fallen tree trunks in the forest, filming these ephemeral gestures as time-lapse sequences. The way the graphics appeared to grow, almost like living organisms, fascinated me. When I discovered projection mapping some years later, I knew it would become my next medium. It offered infinite creative potential and the beauty of working purely with light, leaving no trace. It felt like the clearest way to unite all my creative passions.

Could you tell us a little bit about the calming effects of this art form?
People often tell me they feel more peaceful after experiencing my installations, and that it slows down their nervous system, creates presence, or evokes a sense of connection. I think it’s the combination of organic rhythm, natural setting and slowly moving light that resonates on a deeper level. It’s not about spectacle, but about subtlety and bringing back a sense of quiet magic. I try to create spaces where the world feels soft enough to hear your own breath again.

There is, at times, an otherworldly aspect to your work — do you think about life on other planets, or just life on this one?
My work often feels like a way of channeling the invisible frequencies of this world, energies we don’t usually see, but that are always present, connecting everything. I don’t draw a clear line between the earthly and the cosmic. Sometimes I feel that the deeper we go into the mysteries of this planet, the closer we come to the stars. The magic lives in the in-between, where ancient stone and distant galaxies feel like part of the same pulse. Honestly, in a universe this vast, it wouldn’t make any sense for us to be the only form of life.

If you could only work with one of these elements — fire, wind, water, earth — which would it be and why?
Water. It’s the element of transformation. I could watch the sea or rivers for hours, the motion makes me feel fully present. It’s simple, beautiful, endlessly shifting. No moment ever repeats. Water reflects, it remembers, it soothes. We’re made of it. We come from it. There’s something deeply humbling and timeless about its essence. As an artist, I’m drawn to how it shapes landscapes not through force, but through flow.

This year, Encounters explores themes of longevity. As an artist, what do endurance and longevity mean to you?
True endurance in art might be about creating something that continues to speak across time. For me, longevity means staying connected to why I create, even when it doesn’t make logical sense. It’s about holding a thread through uncertainty. It’s also about letting things grow slowly. Listening. Evolving without losing the core impulse. In a world that moves so fast, maybe longevity is just about creating space for slowness and stillness. ■

SCORPIOS ENCOUNTERS

Scorpios Encounters is a returning festival exploring the convergence of creativity and technology. Asking “how we can live and create in more enduring ways”, this season reflects on longevity and wellbeing at the intersection of art, code and ritual. 

The resulting program brings five leading voices in digital creativity to the shores of Bodrum and Mykonos, spanning installations and performances that grow over time, respond to the environment and evolve with input from the audience. 

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