On creativity, joy, and the strange feeling of losing connection with yourself.
Demi Ramos photographed by Alessia Moccia at UGYM by David Barton in New York City, inside the 24th Street gym near the Chelsea Hotel.
I recently watched a documentary about the photographer Bettina Rheims.
She described something I recognized immediately: the excitement before a photoshoot, the sleepless night, and that almost hypnotic state she enters when she’s photographing.
I know that feeling very well.
When I’m shooting, something happens to me.
I become completely absorbed. I forget about time, hunger, tiredness, everything happening outside the frame.
I’m not thinking about whether the photograph will be successful, whether someone will like it, or where it might eventually be published.
I’m simply there.
Completely.
And when the shoot is over, I’m exhausted. Not just physically. I feel emptied out, as though I’ve given every bit of attention, emotion and energy I had.
It’s a wonderful kind of exhaustion.
But I’ve noticed something else.
When I’m not creating for a while, I gradually lose that feeling of connection.
Not because I need recognition. Not because I need to be productive or prove that I’m doing something worthwhile.
I miss the joy of being completely involved in something.
A fashion photograph by Alessia Moccia shot in New York City, featuring the model Demi Ramos against vivid blue walls and red industrial pipes.
Without it, things that would normally fascinate me begin to feel more distant.
I look, but I don’t really see.
I listen, but I’m not quite there.
Perhaps that’s why I’ve never imagined a life in which I stop creating.
Photography, filmmaking, working with AI — the tools and processes may change, but the feeling I’m searching for remains the same.
That extraordinary moment when an idea begins to take shape and everything else becomes secondary.
I don’t think every artist experiences creativity this way. Some may find peace in stepping away from their work.
For me, the peace is often inside it.
I don’t create because I need the world to notice me.
I create because it’s how I notice the world.
And perhaps, more importantly, how I find my way back to myself.
