Some projects go beyond art — they feel like something that needed to happen. The Goddess of the Dark Past is one of those for me. It’s rooted in something deeply human: the need to say goodbye to what hurt us, to acknowledge the pain that shaped us, and to finally let it go.
This shoot isn’t just about beauty. It’s about release. About honoring what we’ve survived without letting it define us anymore.
From the moment I met Wiktoria, I knew she was the embodiment of this story. A cancer survivor with a calm, grounded strength, she carries her scars not as marks of weakness but as symbols of survival. Her presence was powerful, quiet, and exactly what this concept needed. She understood it without me having to explain much — that silent, mutual understanding was the heart of this collaboration.
The setting: a raw, windswept stretch of land on the Reykjanes Peninsula, at the foot of one of Iceland’s lighthouses. This place felt sacred in its own way. Cliffs, crashing waves, and that ever-changing Icelandic sky. There’s a certain kind of silence there — not empty. A perfect place for a quiet goodbye.
The black dress and crown represented grief — the weight we carry and sometimes wear like armour. The black flowers in her hands symbolised something that had once bloomed but had since passed. And in the distance, the lighthouse: a symbol of hope, of direction, of light breaking through darkness. A reminder that even in the wildest storm, there’s a way forward.
The weather was brutal — freezing wind, grey skies, the kind of cold that cuts through you — but it felt right. Iceland has this way of matching your emotions, of mirroring whatever transformation is happening inside. We stood there, both shivering and still (big Applause for Wiktora, she was insanely brave in the cold!), allowing the landscape to hold space for the past while we quietly let it go.
This project means a lot to me. Not just as a photographer, but as a person. Grief has touched my life, too, and in some way, this was a release for me as well. I’m grateful to Wiktoria for her openness and courage, and to the Icelandic landscape for always giving me space to feel and create.
We all carry things. But we don’t have to carry them forever.
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