My name is Michal Pelka, I'm both a medical specialist and a photographer.
I live in 2 worlds that seem opposite. Change is the only constant in my life. I dwell in a world measured in milligrams and minutes. A place where breath is borrowed, consciousness is suspended and where physiology is reduced to numbers on monitors. The margin for error is razor thin and every second carries the weight of life itself.
As an anaesthesiologist, I walk the thin line between wakefulness and nothingness, spending most of my days guiding people through deliberate unconsciousness — a temporary suspension of self. I stand at the threshold between awareness and absence, responsible for carrying others safely across it and back again.
Than the ocean pulls me in
Here, nothing is controlled. No alarms announce instability. No protocol predicts the next set. The water moves as it pleases, indifferent to my calculations. It asks for presence in a way medicine rarely allows, no anticipation, no calculation, just simply be. The water strips away hierarchy and routine. Every second is a negotiation between gravity, momentum, and surrender.
These two worlds seem opposed. One is sterile, clinical, exact. The other is untamed, fluid, and indifferent. Yet beneath their differences, they echo each other more deeply than I first realized. Both exist at the edge of uncertainty. Both ask for calm in the presence of risk. And in both, I stand quietly inside transition