The interpretation of the thinking man
…that every night the power went of in the neighborhood was not terrifying for me because things would transform and I was looking, fascinated to all sorts of forms from the shadows lingering on the walls.
I would open my eyes and my ears passing through a dark corridor imagining myself with my eyes in the developer tray of my old man. Images with people and moods, emotions and smooth foreheads were printed in negative on the walls, colored laughs emerged from the pitch black. Often I would trip and almost fall from the holes in the decrepit road but I would not take my eyes away from my imagination. Going upstairs wasn’t a problem anymore, although I counted the steps carefully I would wake up in my imagined world and the noise of my falling. Home awaited the answer to my light fantasies. We had a car battery at home, skilfully acquired, so we had light, warm and mysterious (so was the light back then).
I would get upstairs with one thought and one thought only, to see if behind the lab curtain the light was red. The light was on and from behind it I could hear my old man saying “it’s showing, it’s showing” (although I do not remember exactly I think this was my first exclamation when the first of my images was born under my eyes).
The eyes ran between the watch and the paper in the tray, I was so tensed, as if the tray was giving birth to twins and I wasn’t good enough to help it give birth.I don’t know how but the white of the paper lit up the room, small, full of bottles as papers, and made me forget about the rest of the world. Than my curiosity about light, about life, about questions I didn’t even knew about, started burning and turning inside me more and more each day. So ended the developing of those images imagined in every dark corner and shadow, through that white paper that took forms and gathered the words of the people. Many changed since than and keep changing. I started reading a lot, about photography, answers to my questions, about Asia, about civilizations, forms, illusions, how they lit up inside people’s souls, about beliefs (here it took a loooong time) they were many and egocentric.For a while I played with my old man’s cameras, but many times I would end up giving up to the technical curiosity.
A practiced those which I learned and felt, I found a lot of answers, but that was far from pleasing, even worse, I was drowning in knowledge about myself and those around me. I remembered many worlds imagined on the white paper drawing me to them to knowledge. So begins for me developing of first real feelings and in depth recognition, of the unity of seen and unseen things and seeing diversity like a fantasy game of chrismas lights. I decided to remember dreams and light imagination to follow roads to faraway countries gathered in my soul and free them to find my peace. So started Satwa Guna. A personal journey to the silence of worlds seen and unseen.
Philosophical interpretation
In the vast expanse of Indian philosophy, Sattva emerges as a quiet, luminous force, a quality of being that shines with purity and balance. It is the calm after the storm, the light that filters through after chaos has settled, revealing a world in its most harmonious state. Sattva is the soul’s natural inclination toward truth, a deep yearning for clarity and wisdom. Unlike the restless energy of Rajas, which pushes us toward action and desire, or the dull inertia of Tamas, which clouds our vision, Sattva brings stillness, a gentle breeze of understanding that clears the mind and heart.
Imagine a serene lake at dawn, the water undisturbed, reflecting the sky with perfect clarity. This is the essence of Sattva. In this state, one sees life as it truly is—untainted by illusions, free from the distractions of ego and selfish craving. The mind, like the surface of the lake, becomes a mirror, reflecting truth and wisdom in their purest forms. It is a state of being where one’s thoughts are clear, actions are virtuous, and emotions are in perfect harmony.
A person dominated by Sattva moves through life with grace and compassion, unshaken by the storms of the world. Their heart is open, free of malice or envy, and their mind is sharp, always seeking the higher truth. They act not out of ambition or greed, but from a deep sense of duty and love for all living things. For such a person, the pursuit of knowledge is not merely an intellectual endeavor but a spiritual one—a quest to understand the deeper mysteries of existence, to see beyond the surface and into the heart of reality.
Sattva is cultivated through practice—through meditation, self-discipline, and a life lived in harmony with nature and others. It is not something that is imposed from outside, but rather something that arises from within, like a seed that blossoms in the light of self-awareness. As Sattva grows, the individual experiences a profound sense of peace, a quiet joy that comes from living in alignment with the universe. It is this inner peace that opens the door to enlightenment, to a state of consciousness where the soul rests in the truth of its own being.
In the end, Sattva is not just a quality it is a path, a journey toward the highest realization of the self, where one is no longer bound by the fleeting desires of the world but instead moves through life with the serenity and wisdom of one who has touched the eternal.
On light and photography
Who are you, Photography? A question that echoes into the unknown, yet how else could I begin? How else could I attempt to speak to the light?
I immerse myself in its world, trying to bring it to the surface—translating it into words, shaping it into meaning. It is an impossible task. To seize light is to trespass upon the infinite, to sift through the silent mystery of existence itself.
But do you remember the shooting stars? Take them—millions of them—knead them in your palms, and then, as innocently as a child, toss them back into the universe. From that scattering, worlds are born. Somewhere within, a sliver of light holds my world, and the light within me.
Light is not just illumination; it is revelation. It sculpts, it whispers, it unveils. Yet, I do not trust shapes and colors—I do not even know if they truly exist beyond perception. I do not believe in the morality of forms, in the dogma of formless words, nor in the finality of light itself.
I press the shutter, reaching into infinite worlds—even my own—and they fall, tumbling through a child’s fingers, settling into the silver permanence of time. Each image, a fragment of soul captured in light.
Then, I close the shutter. Darkness returns to the hands of the lightless child.
What does this have to do with photography?
Everything.
This is how I feel it. This is my creed. This is about light.