Instant_Dystopian
I’ve always been fascinated by instant cameras—maybe because I grew up with Kodak film, with its soft textures and the strange joy of not knowing exactly what the photograph would reveal. The waiting, the surprise, the occasional disappointment. Sometimes the images came out completely frozen or unreadable. Other times, they produced small photographic pearls—moments of unexpected beauty that seemed impossible to repeat. I was drawn to that unpredictability, to the randomness of catching a moment without full control. It felt more like witnessing than capturing.
That fascination stayed with me. Over time, even as I developed a practice centered on drawing—especially in charcoal—that desire to embrace uncertainty never left. When I returned to photography through instant cameras, I wasn’t looking for technical precision or perfect composition. I was looking for a way to reconnect with that intuitive gaze, the one that doesn’t plan but reacts. The process became immediate, physical, even childlike—less about taking a photo and more about letting one happen.
Shooting this way became essential, especially as I found myself moving through unfamiliar places, living far from home. These photographs help me orient myself. They act as markers, as tools to read the emotional and physical landscapes I pass through. Each image is a reaction—a raw and impulsive note in a longer process of seeing. They also bleed back into my drawing practice, not just as references, but as emotional starting points. The textures, the atmosphere, the imperfections—all of it informs how I build a drawing.
That’s how Instant_Dystopian was born. It’s not a formal project in the traditional sense, but more of a visual diary—a fragmented and urgent attempt to trace the geography around me. It’s not about producing beautiful or technically impressive images. It’s about being present, about responding to a place with honesty and curiosity. Each photo is part of an inner dialogue, shaped by the tension between the desire to understand and the feeling of being perpetually out of place.
Maybe this series is the spine of what I do. It holds together the different pieces of me—as an artist, and as a person trying to make sense of what it means to live away from home. Through the fragile, imperfect lens of instant photography, I’m not looking for answers. I’m just trying to stay connected—to place, to time, to something real.
You can find the full collection of these images on Instagram at @instant_dystopian, where I share the ongoing journey in its totality.
Jorge da Cruz
