From the cinematic halls of Sorbonne University to the vibrant galleries of Athens, Ludovica De Santis has carved a remarkable path in the world of contemporary photography. With a background in art history and film criticism, she began her artistic journey assisting film productions and exploring analog photography—a medium that has remained central to her work.
Over the years, De Santis has seamlessly transitioned between documentary and fine art photography, capturing moments that resonate with poetic depth and intricate narratives. Her work has graced exhibitions across major cultural hubs like Paris, Berlin, London, and Amsterdam, earning acclaim from critics and magazines alike.
A multi-award-winning artist, De Santis has a portfolio that speaks volumes. From her groundbreaking series "Onironautica," which won first prize at the 2024 LensCulture Art Awards, to her earlier work recognized by the Julia Margaret Cameron Foundation, she has established herself as a force in the photographic arts. Her photobook "Zagriz," published by Altana, stands as a testament to her ability to blend storytelling with visual artistry.
In this interview, De Santis opens up about her creative process, her inspirations, and the evolution of her celebrated series "Onironautica," currently featured in the Athens Photography Festival. She also reflects on the delicate balance between analog roots and digital innovation, offering insights into the ever-changing landscape of fine art photography.
Your journey started with film criticism and analog photography, which later evolved into fine art photography. How did these early experiences shape your artistic vision and approach to projects like "Onironautica"?
My journey began with film criticism and analog photography, both of which profoundly shaped my artistic vision. Films and strong visual storytelling across disciplines—ranging from vaudeville to video art and photography—nurtured my creativity and trained my eye for narrative and composition. Working as a documentary photographer taught me how to engage with the real and observe its layers, but I always felt a pull toward a more conceptual expression. This inclination was deeply tied to a psychological and intimate exploration of themes like identity, ego, the mind, and abstraction. When I embarked on the dream journey that became 'Onironautica,' everything seemed to emerge spontaneously, as if all those influences—narrative, imagery, and my psychological research—found their natural convergence. These early experiences gave me the tools to externalize the abstract and less visible dimensions of the human experience, which remain central to my practice.
The interplay between dreams and artificial intelligence in "Onironautica" is fascinating. What were some surprising insights you discovered when comparing your own creative process with AI's capabilities?
The interplay between dreams and artificial intelligence in Onironautica revealed intriguing contrasts between human creativity and AI's capabilities. AI-generated associations are often more absurd, frequently darker than peaceful, and tend to reuse similar items and scenarios. One striking observation was how glitches or bugs can alter the generation, creating images or imaginative content that contains unexpected distortions. These glitches are fascinating because they unintentionally mimic the illogical and fragmented nature of dreams but lack the intentionality or emotional depth behind human creativity. Interestingly, when people use AI platforms, the outcomes are noticeably different. While the generated content remains highly recognizable—constrained by the platform's dataset—there is a broader spectrum of items and experimentation. This reflects the influence of human interaction, as users push boundaries and introduce their own creative input into the process.
AI's function should be a tool to enhance human creativity, not a replacement for it. Its role must be to implement and expand human capacities, not to substitute them. If everyone starts relying on AI to produce their art, the main essence of the creative and productive process risks fading away. This distinction is crucial.
You mention using various techniques and substances, such as Artemisia and African Dream Root, to stimulate dream activity. How did these methods influence the visual language and emotional depth of "Onironautica"?
I incorporated elements like Artemisia and African Dream Root to enhance dream activity and facilitate lucid dreaming, as I had never explored these substances before. They proved to be a valuable accompaniment to established lucid dreaming methods and techniques, such as WBTB (Wake Back to Bed), MILD (Mnemonic Induction of Lucid Dreams), and others.These substances amplified my ability to recall dreams and engage with them more vividly, which directly influenced the visual language of Onironautica. The heightened dream activity brought deeper layers of abstraction, richer imagery, and more intense emotional depth to the project. By combining these substances with lucid dreaming techniques, I was able to explore the unconscious realm in a way that felt more immersive and intentional, ultimately shaping the way I approached the recreation of dreams through photography.
Your work often explores the unconscious and dreamlike abstraction. Have your personal experiences or emotions ever revealed unexpected truths during the creative process? How do these moments influence your final pieces?
Of course, my personal experiences and emotions influence my final pieces profoundly. Exploring the unconscious during the creative process has revealed so many things about myself that I didn’t even know. Digging into your own unconscious can be tricky, even unsettling at times. Some associations are so strange or disturbing that you find yourself questioning whether they might reflect something deeper about your mental state.Through this exploration, I’ve uncovered recurring patterns that often emerge in my REM dreams and inevitably find their way into my work. For example, people in my dreams frequently have no faces, which I interpret as a loss of identity—a recurring theme in my dream dimension. Sometimes, individuals even appear without heads. I’ve even dreamt of myself without a head, as if my mind were playing tricks on me. Snakes are another recurring presence, as well as vast, empty spaces. Space, in particular, is one of the most twisted and surreal elements in my dreams, but I think it’s a common feature in dream scenarios for many people. Unveiling these elements has been both challenging and enlightening, and they shape the emotional and visual depth of my pieces in profound ways. Each creation becomes a reflection of the strange and intricate workings of my unconscious mind.
Winning significant achivements like the Lensculture Art Awards and participating in prominent exhibitions must be validating. How do these milestones affect your creative aspirations and your role as both an artist and cultural commentator?
I'm still learning, and I think all these opportunities are incredibly important. Winning awards and participating in exhibitions have given my work significant visibility and access to a larger audience—one that's often more specialized in contemporary art and open to experimentation. Of course, the hard work is still very much on my shoulders—there’s no shortcut to that! But every little chance to share my vision with others feels like an additional opportunity to grow, refine my practice, and connect with people who resonate with my ideas. These things inspire me to push my creative boundaries while also encouraging me to embrace my role as both an artist and a cultural commentator, contributing to meaningful conversations through my work.