Nazare 2025
Art Direction
Content Creation
Content Creation
Nazaré, a small Portuguese town built on salted cod, old stone, and sheer lunacy.
You know you’re in for a certain kind of day when you're clinging to the back of a jet ski with one hand and gripping a newly-housed camera with the other, staring down waves the size of apartment blocks while some Portuguese man named João casually says, “You’ll be fine.”
Welcome to Nazaré. Population: tiny. Energy: biblical.
The cliffs are packed — coats, camping chairs, cameras, grandmothers with binoculars, and local kids with bare feet and a sixth sense for the sea. There’s bifanas and beer and a feeling in the air like something’s about to break.
As for me, I spent most of the morning swallowing seawater and pride in equal measure. This was my second time shooting in the water. First time with a camera housing, a level up from the underwater disposable I took last time. The swell was relentless. Soaked, freezing, and trying to steady 3 kilos of gear as a two-storey wall of water heaves itself from the Atlantic, my body tapped out. I threw up off the side of the Jet Ski a few times, but somehow continued to shoot. Nobody said it would be glamorous. It wasn’t.
The waves? Monstrous. Majestic. The kind of waves that make you believe in Poseidon and rethink your relationship with mortality. Nazaré doesn’t whisper — she howls. The weather was moody, the water was wild, and the whole thing felt like shooting inside a storm-powered opera. The cliffs, a natural amphitheater, dotted with fans wrapped in scarves, sipping from flasks, squinting into the abyss. The sound of their cheers carried out to the sea.
This photo series is a love letter to that day.
To the cliffs. To the chaos. To the surfers with nerves of steel and eyes on the horizon.
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