Why I use infrared as a philosophical language?

I have been using infrared photography for more than twenty years, and even today I struggle to describe it as just a photographic technique. Many people think it is only used to create strange, spectacular, or unusual images. But for me, infrared is something much more personal. It is a way of looking at the world. A way of searching for what normally cannot be seen.

The first time I discovered this invisible light, I was completely fascinated by it. The idea that something could exist right in front of my eyes, yet remain invisible to me, deeply affected me. Not because it was not there, but simply because my human limits could not perceive it. That was the moment I understood how much bigger reality is than what we see every day.

We live believing that the world is only what our eyes can observe. But that is not true. There are waves, frequencies, and energies constantly around us that we cannot see. And yet they are real. Infrared taught me exactly this: invisible does not mean unreal.

When I create an infrared photograph, I am not inventing anything. I am not creating a fantasy world or something artificial. I am simply showing a part of reality that normally remains hidden. And that is still the thing that moves me the most.

There is something deeply human about photographing a light that the human eye cannot see. Every time, I feel like I am entering a silent and suspended dimension, something almost spiritual. It is difficult to explain with words. Sometimes, when I look at one of my photographs, I feel like the image goes beyond the surface of things. As if it could touch something more fragile and intimate.

I feel this especially when I photograph people.

VEINS, SKIN AND HUMAN FRAGILITY

With infrared photography, the skin changes completely. It becomes pale, almost like white marble. Imperfections disappear, while other things emerge. Sometimes veins and details that are normally invisible become visible. And every time this happens, it affects me deeply, because it gives me the feeling of looking at something beneath the surface of the body. Not in a physical way, but in an emotional one.

Of course, I do not believe that a camera can photograph a soul. But infrared creates the poetic feeling of getting close to something invisible. And that is exactly the feeling I continue to search for after all these years. In those moments, the person in front of the camera stops being just a photographed subject. They become presence. Fragility. Memory. Existence.

Maybe this is also why infrared photography can make some people uncomfortable. During exhibitions and shows, I have often seen people fascinated but also confused by these images. Because the brain recognizes the landscape, the trees, the sea, the faces… but at the same time something feels different. It is like looking at a dream that still resembles reality.

And that is where everything begins.

Infrared forces us to stop and question the way we see the world. It reminds us that reality does not end where our eyes stop seeing. Maybe there are endless things we ignore simply because we do not have the ability to perceive them.

INFRARED AND THE CONCEPT OF REALITY

Over time, I realized that I am not only photographing landscapes or people. I am searching for something. Maybe a truth. Maybe a hidden side of human emotions. Maybe an attempt to give shape to everything that usually remains silent: time passing, memories, absence, fragility, and all the things left unsaid.

That is why I feel infrared is the perfect language to express what I feel. Because it uses invisible light to speak about invisible emotions. And in the end, most of the important things in our lives work this way. Love, fear, memory, nostalgia… we cannot truly see or touch them, and yet we know they exist.

I continue photographing in infrared because every image, for me, is an open question. How much of the world escapes us? How much of ourselves exists beyond what we can see?

Maybe the true power of infrared photography is exactly this: reminding us that the invisible is not something distant or unreal. It is already here, all around us. We are simply not always able to notice it.