This project stems from a need: to confront those lives that society has learned to ignore. Homeless people are often reduced to a generic category—drug addiction, failure, alienation—as if those labels were enough to explain the underlying reality. But what often lies beneath this fracture is not just poverty, but a deeper and less visible suffering: mood disorders, severe depression, undiagnosed bipolar disorder, minds that have ceased to find refuge in a world structured around norms.

I've learned—not just as a photographer, but also through personal experience—that the lines between mental health and illness aren't straight. Some people sleep on the streets, while others walk a tightrope each day without ever losing their homes, yet they all share the same inner vertigo, the same escapes. And when that happens, when the mind becomes its own battleground, any social safety net becomes fragile. Anyone can fall. I've been close, too.

“The Invisible Man” speaks of that blurred boundary. Of people who, with or without a diagnosis, have been sidelined, silenced, or simply forgotten. It speaks of unseen pain, of the intense light and dense shadows that accompany certain disorders, and of how easy it is to mistake them for a choice or a mistake.

These images don't attempt to explain or justify. They simply propose looking attentively and respectfully. Recognizing in others what perhaps we haven't fully accepted in ourselves. Because sometimes, the invisible isn't just the person sleeping on a park bench, but everything we prefer not to feel too close to.