Yeah, that handsome dude above is me.

I'm Rustam.

I create. I draw, photograph, and write.

I was born into a world which my mum filled with books, vinyl records, and light. My dad contributed art albums, photography magazines, and model railways. They both surrounded my brother and me with classical music, jazz, humour, and endless love.

So no wonder my creative journey began before I could even walk and was constantly sparked and fuelled by my parents. And no wonder all that was the price my first immigration demanded for getting me to safety.

Three immigrations in total. They taught me some serious survival skills while leaving quite a few scars. Some refuse to heal, some never will. Over time I learned to regrow the wings people tend to cut off. Then I mastered the art of not letting anyone come anywhere near my wings.

Many call me an artist — I've been called worse — but I am not. To me the word lost its value and meaning a long time ago, becoming a trap, a dead end. So no, I'm not an artist — I'm a creative. I make photographs and photo books; draw in graphite, charcoal, and ink; and write — mostly science fiction rooted in reality. With a background in architecture and academic drawing, I teach drawing and perspective to those who are serious about it. I move in all directions, cross boundaries, break the rules, write my own, then break those too.

I don't care if I look like a goblin running from a half-wrecked boat in lashing rain, as long as my daughter gets a good laugh out of it. By the way, she made the photograph below.

Kate ditched her master's in architecture for wings, becoming one of those girls who greet you on board a plane with a smile. And this is how I learned about the cost of that smile and the power of a simple "thank you" that means the world to those girls.

Yeah, I learn a lot from my daughter.

I fix things that need fixing. I read real books and hug real people, cats, and trees. And no — there's no place for instagram, facebook, and any other drugs in my life. But I am addicted to stories, discoveries, and eggs.

I have cats — all ex-strays, just like me. I grow plants and I grow younger.

I have no enemies… no, wait… I actually do: bullies, racists, misogynists, and the likes.

Skin colour is how we reflect light, making a difference in photography only. The important thing is — we all bleed red.

It took me some time to figure out that life is an adventure, happiness is a journey, and when enough is enough. And that life's too short to wear black and shoot colour.

I take notes to remember ideas flooding my brain, but then I forget where I put them. That's why I often write notes down on a steamed-up shower door, where they'd live forever if my girlfriend didn't draw cats and hearts over them.

I constantly fail to ignore power outages, yellow, orange, and even red warnings, 285 days of rain a year, midges that eat you alive from the inside out, and drivers never stopping at stop signs. These are the benefits of living in Mayo, the heart of the west of Ireland. Well… at least the grass here really is greener than anywhere else.

That’s why I also live on the pages of this website. Stray Drifter is my creative space. It's the window and the door into my creative self. And if you, dear visitor, have reached this far, chances are we live on the same page.

If so, I'd be happy to hear from you — drop me a line.