(#028) The date that meant the most

(in the context of this website…)

My first website — website 1.0 — went live on November 29, 2020.

It was little more than a digital photo album with a homepage featuring a single image I’d taken early on, soon after buying a camera — the day I realized photography was going to become something meaningful in my life.

Alongside it, a quote.

By September 2021, I had a realization. The images I was creating weren't just visual objects — they weren’t portfolio pieces to be evaluated on technique or sharpness. They were instruments of storytelling.

I didn’t care as much about the images themselves — or even their quality — as I did about what they meant.

So came website 2.0: images were now grouped into “stories,” each with a short leading text to give context.

I also added a section showcasing the only external validation I had at the time: a few Leica Master Shots, awarded weekly by Leica to selected images submitted to their LFI platform.

The quote evolved in form but remained unchanged in spirit.

Then life happened.

I transitioned fully into black and white. Edited 5,000 images. Published a book. Moved across countries. Resigned from a six-year enterprise I had built from the ground up. All of this and more.

By April 25, 2023, it was time to tell my story differently.

Website 3.0 launched that day. Visually, it was more ambitious — arguably punching above its weight. It featured an e-commerce section for limited edition prints, a page promoting my book, and a new content section named “Original Stories”: not just photographs, but written stories about people, places, and ideas close to me.

It was copy-rich — I had so many things I regurgitated in writing — but content-poor, because I hadn’t yet developed the habit of creating and sharing regularly. That’s a different muscle altogether from simply displaying one’s work or creating with the aim to deliver an evergreen.

In my defense, I was busy — with life, with transition. More truthfully, I’ve never been a fan of social media. I use none. For a long time, I looked down on most of the content being pushed into the world. But I’ve come to acknowledge something deeper:

In today’s world, finding the right balance at the intersection between personal interests and creating content with some degree of resonance is a modern superpower.

Yes, platforms can ban or demonetize you without notice (and you signed up for this. Literally.) And no, you don’t own your channel. But despite those flaws, they still offer something radical:

The power to start, grow, and shape a direct connection with an audience — without permission from gatekeepers.

And that’s light years ahead of traditional media where only a few have access to the resources needed to reach an audience.

Besides, apart from the more popular third party platforms, you do own your website, and you do own your mailing list.

And last, let’s be honest — some creators out there are not only more talented, but more honest and original than many institutions or celebrities that claim to set the standard (if you haven’t already, watch this recent video by Gawx, or any of his video for what that matters.)

Tomorrow, June 16, marks one year since I launched my newsletter (my first actual post was in August 26).

A date I now consider even more significant than the original launch of my website.

That newsletter marked the moment I stopped using my website as just a static portfolio — and began using it to publish my journey. To live out loud. To share the process as much as the product.

The seed for this shift was planted five years ago in my website 1.0, long before I even understood where I was heading towards:

“Photography is not — first and foremost — a practice defined by its medium. It is an attitude nurtured even when away from the camera: to feel more through the senses; to listen more attentively; to engage the mind in front of new ideas in order to understand — and embrace — the unknown and the diverse; to get involved with things unfamiliar and thought-provoking; to crave for social discovery, self refinement, and engagement with the self and the world around; and the endless story telling that makes sense of it all.”

Five years later, that line has held up.

So has the calling.

L.F