I don’t always know what has driven me through life and work. But I do know that it has always happened in one decisive moment — a situation I find myself in, when suddenly I just know.

It’s as if something opens inside me. A quiet channel. A small inner compass that says, “This is your path. This is where you go now.” And I listen.

That’s where my passion lives. That’s where my defiance comes from.

My intensity. My persistence. The same ones that have followed me since my very first steps.

I have always believed I could do anything. I still do. That nothing could truly stop me. And honestly — most of the time, nothing did. The only things that ever stopped me were people. Or circumstances beyond my control, no matter how much I wanted to change them. Sometimes it simply meant the timing wasn’t right. But I like to believe that a path always knows when its moment has come. And that nothing meaningful happens by force.

Passion isn’t something you choose. Passion isn’t a habit. Passion is a state of being. You either have it or you don’t.

I don’t know exactly what drives me. I don’t know where it comes from. But I do know that passion always finds me in the strangest places. Sometimes it feels as if I’m not searching for inspiration at all — as if inspiration is searching for me. It simply finds me, touches me, gently pulls me by the sleeve, and in that moment I know exactly what I need to do. It has always been that way.

I have never been someone who waits. I provoke inspiration. And when I nudge it just a little, it comes back to me tenfold. That is my driving force — that inner stubbornness, that intensity that has always pushed me forward, even when there were no signs that anything would work out. I would simply feel it: this is it. And I would go. Without calculations. Without fear. The situation leads me — and the situation ignites me.

PASSION AND DRIVING FORCE

When I look back today, I realise that very little in my life was ever motivated by anything external. Everything came from within. And it has been that way since childhood.

As a little girl, I would sew dresses for my dolls in just a few quick moves, change their hairstyles, fix whatever didn’t feel good enough. We had a large attic in the house where I grew up — one part was mine, the other my sister’s. My side was covered with astrological charts, with a microscope on the table next to my father’s hunting binoculars, while my sister had posters of David Cassidy.

I was always exploring, trying to understand the world around me. And I was never satisfied with things as they were — I wanted to change them. Make them better, more constructive, more beautiful. I didn’t wait for someone else to create beauty. I created it myself. Quickly. Instinctively. With a restlessness that is simply another name for passion.

Through work, this only deepened.

When I worked on fashion shows, and later on Fashion News, I was both choreographer and director. I didn’t think about it at the time, but today I understand that from the very beginning I had a natural need for every story around me to have a beginning, a middle, and an end. For everything to be connected. For everything to make sense. That’s why I became a director — even though no one ever told me that’s what it was called.

The same happens to me when I write. A situation makes me passionate. One sentence, one turn, one new angle — and my mind explodes. That’s what moves me. That’s what keeps me awake. That’s what helps me breathe.

In a novel, it’s enough to change one location, one movement, one mood of a character — and I can already feel the story opening, expanding, pulsing. I love taking a quiet, withdrawn character, someone who doesn’t speak much, and then, through a small detail, revealing the volcano beneath the surface. That fascinates me. That gives me life.

When a good idea or a twist truly lands, the passion inside me erupts. And I know I’m going all the way.

MOMENTUM AND INTENSITY

My passion has never been quiet. It has always been fast, sharp, concrete. That’s why I could never just sit still and do nothing. One day has always felt too short for me. I don’t understand those who drift through life, who slowly fade, who wait for something to fall from the sky. I don’t wait. I work.

When I lie down in bed and turn on a series or a documentary on Netflix, there’s always my phone beside me, a notebook, email — sometimes even a game I play for a few minutes, just to shake my head loose.

And it all works together, because my thoughts keep moving, rearranging themselves, finding new directions — and that brings me calm. That is my rhythm. That is how I breathe.

Even in the car, I can’t simply be. I don’t listen to music while driving — except when I’m working on a music video and need to build an atmosphere. Instead, I rely on my imagination and my visions. They sharpen my focus, almost as if I’ve been given a new prescription for my glasses.

That’s when the world falls into place. That’s when I enter a zone of focus where I can see through a character, through a scene, through everything I’m writing. And then come those nights when I sit, turning a scene back and forth, placing characters around one another like chess pieces, watching what happens.

That’s when a story is born. That’s when passion is born.

Inspiration in London — on the street

One of my greatest moments of inspiration happened in London, completely by chance. I couldn’t walk much — my knee had its say — and I ended up in a café. I was sitting alone with my camera and a telephoto lens. Nothing special. People passing by. Rain falling. London breathing in its own rhythm.

And then something happened — something I love most. Suddenly everything became important, and at the same time completely unimportant. Just the moment. Just the feeling. Click, click, click. I photographed strangers as if I had known them all my life, as if I could see beneath their skin.

I never plan inspiration. I never have. It happens and arrives on its own. I don’t remember a moment when it ever escaped me. Falling in love is a special well of inspiration for me too — but that is a completely different story.

Inspiration in a shop, on the street, in front of a window

Inspiration can catch me while I’m standing in line at the checkout. While I’m looking at shelves of chocolate or fruit. Nothing special is happening — but I notice a situation, a person, a movement, a colour, a shape, a look… and something shifts inside me.

You know that feeling when a thought hooks onto something and starts moving like a train? That happens to me all the time. And then I take out my phone, record a video or a photo, or simply speak into my voice recorder.

Inspiration has arrived. I’ve done my part.

Inspiration in the car — when I stop because life calls

Most of my inspiration comes while driving. I don’t know why. Maybe because it’s the only time when I’m both focused and free. I drive… and then I notice someone who needs help.

And I stop. Because that’s who I am. And in those moments — when that small space of humanity opens, when you meet a new face, when you hear someone’s voice for the first time — entire worlds open up for me. Stories are born there. Characters. Plots. Everything.

How one girl set a chain reaction in motion

Once, my former partner and I were driving at night and stopped for a hitchhiker. It was late and dark. We looked at each other, wondering whether to stop — and of course, we did.

At the time, I was working on a script for a music video for Amina Arapović, “Skini mi se.” I was thinking about a biker atmosphere, about energy, about movement. We talked, imagined locations and extras. And then this unknown girl suddenly said, out of nowhere:

“I know two motorcycle groups. Each one has about twenty people.”

And what happened? Everything aligned. The idea clicked. People appeared. Energy started flowing. As if the entire universe said, “Now is the time.”

Nothing is accidental. I always say — inspiration finds you when you’re open to receiving it.

When passion takes over

 Passion moves me most when I’m inside a situation. I have to be involved for it to ignite. If I’m doing a fashion show, I do both choreography and direction. I can’t stop halfway. I see where the story leaks, where it’s too long, where the beginning is missing, where we’re avoiding the ending. It’s the same with music videos. The same with novels.

I’m constantly changing things. Turning them over. Listening. Editing. I want the story to breathe. To have a pulse. To make sense. And when that passion takes hold, it feels as if ten lights turn on inside me at once. I can’t stop. I don’t want to stop.

It’s like putting on a new prescription and suddenly everything becomes crystal clear: sentences, people, emotions, subtext. Then I start building. Characters open up like shells, revealing the pearls they hide. One calms down, another explodes. I arrange others around them, like a human puzzle, until I see who that person truly is.

Passion is my navigation. My compass without a compass. My map without a map. I simply go where it pulls me.

What truly drives me

I don’t know. Maybe circumstances. Maybe a moment. Maybe people. Maybe a combination of my restlessness, my energy, my refusal to give up. But I do know that passion has always guided me in the right direction — in difficult times, in wild times, even when no one believed.

I always felt that one moment: This is it. This is where you go.

And that’s life. I no longer resist it. I let it lead me where it wants — completely certain it’s the right path for me. Maybe I’ll never know what first set me in motion. But I know this: every situation I’ve ever found myself in opened a new path. And every time, I listened to that inner voice — that defiance, that passion, that desire for everything I touch to have meaning and soul.

I’m not a woman of drama. I’m a woman of intensity.

Peace doesn’t move me. What moves me is the energy born in the moment I recognise something as mine.

Passion is my engine. And as long as I have it, I’m not afraid of any road. Inspiration finds me wherever it can. And every time — I simply open the door.