After many years spent photographing fish and large marine animals, I felt a desire to explore a different dimension of the ocean. The nocturnal vertical migration is one of the most extraordinary events in marine life: every night, thousands of organisms rise from the depths toward the surface. I found it fascinating to be able to enter this unknown universe and photograph creatures that very few people have ever had the chance to observe. This is the origin of The Invisible—the desire to make visible that which normally escapes our sight.

Diving at night in the open ocean—without a seabed or any points of reference—is a unique experience. At first, it feels as though you are suspended in a void; then, your lights reveal an incredible variety of organisms: fish larvae, small cephalopods, crustaceans, and jellyfish with astonishing forms. What strikes me most is the biodiversity hidden within a space that appears empty. Every dive is different, and every encounter can lead to a new discovery. It is like entering a parallel universe that remains, for the most part, unknown.

The difficulty begins with simply locating the subjects, which are often nearly invisible and perfectly transparent. You have to get close, maintain a stable position, and achieve precise focus on animals that may measure only a few millimeters. Lighting also requires special attention: the flashes must highlight structures, colors, and details without compromising the delicacy and transparency of the organisms. It calls for underwater experience, patience, and quick reflexes, as some encounters last only a few seconds.

Initially, it is a natural characteristic of "blackwater" diving, where there is no seabed—only the ocean's darkness surrounding the subject. Over time, I have turned this condition into a conscious expressive choice. I like to completely isolate the organisms, emphasizing their shapes, colors, and anatomical details. I want them to appear as if they are suspended in space, almost as if they belong to an extraterrestrial universe. My goal is to convey to the viewer the same sense of wonder that I experience during these dives.

What I remember most are the unexpected encounters with organisms of incredible forms—often so delicate that they seem unreal. In blackwater diving, every encounter is unpredictable and can be very brief. You cannot always manage to photograph what you see, and often, there is no second chance. It is precisely this element of surprise and uniqueness that makes every dive special. For me, the best photograph is one that manages to capture the thrill of discovery and convey it to the viewer.

I sought to showcase the extraordinary variety of shapes, colors, and organisms that inhabit the world of blackwater. I didn’t want a simple collection of photographs, but rather a visual journey into an unknown universe.

The signature image from The Invisible—the one that won an award—depicts a paper nautilus alongside a jellyfish. Ever since I was a child, I dreamed of encountering a nautilus, partly due to the fascination I felt for Captain Nemo’s submarine in Jules Verne’s novel. That dream finally came true in the waters off Batangas, in the Philippines. Photographing it was far more than just a photo opportunity; it was the fulfillment of a lifelong desire.

The size of the subject changes the way I photograph, but not my fundamental approach: I am always looking for an image that can surprise the viewer and tell a story. With a large animal, I try to convey its presence, its movement, and its relationship with its environment. With a tiny organism, I aim to reveal details that are normally invisible. In both cases, what matters to me is finding a composition and a quality of light that can evoke emotion.

Technology is important—especially in underwater photography—but it is not enough to create a meaningful image. The difference lies in the photographer’s ability to observe, interpret, and choose what story to tell. In The Invisible, this philosophy manifests in the pursuit of a personal visual language: isolating subjects within the darkness, focusing on intricate details, and carefully crafting compositions. A camera merely records what is placed before it; it is the photographer who decides what narrative to convey.

I want to convey just how extraordinarily rich ocean life is, even beyond the environments we are most familiar with. We tend to think primarily of large animals or coral reefs, yet there exists an immense universe of tiny organisms that play a fundamental role in maintaining marine balance. Through my photographs, I hope to spark curiosity and wonder, while also fostering greater awareness. I believe that one cannot truly protect what one does not know.

After more than thirty years of diving, what continues to surprise me is the sea’s capacity to always reveal something new. Blackwater photography has brought back the thrill I felt during my very first dives—every session is a discovery, with no way of knowing what might appear before the lens. I want to continue exploring this universe, encountering organisms and documenting behaviors that remain little understood. Ultimately, my dream is to keep searching—not necessarily for the most spectacular image, but for one capable of revealing something we do not yet know. For me, underwater photography is never about reaching a finish line, but rather about continuing to follow my curiosity.