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"I feel that some contemporary cinema is becoming increasingly well-made and increasingly unnecessary. For me, it is important whether a film has its own language and clear internal logic, whether it knows why it exists and what it wants to say."
Your career spans the film, television, and gaming industries. Please tell us about your favorite project in each of them and what they gave you as an artist?
My work in the film, television, and gaming industries gave me a much more comprehensive perspective on the visual arts. Each of these fields has different criteria and requirements, and that is exactly what made me more perceptive, more resourceful, and more aware as an author. Each of them is an important and unique part of my development.
In the gaming industry, projects are huge in scale. They are used daily by tens of millions of people around the world. There, I am part of a global team, and the sense of responsibility and control over detail is extremely strong. This teaches you discipline and thinking in a much broader context.
To be honest, every current project necessarily becomes my favorite. While I'm working on it, I'm completely devoted and obsessed with the process. But then I have to quickly leave it behind because the next one is already knocking on the door. That's what all these industries have in common: you immerse yourself completely in the current project, and then you have to let it go and fall in love with the next one.
In a number of statements, you mention the importance of talent, which makes an artist distinctive. What is talent for you, and if you were an animated character, what would it look like?
For me, talent is not an image or a form that can be easily described. On the contrary, I think it exists most strongly where there is no image at all. Talent is a state of inner purity and emptiness. A space within a person that even civilization has not yet left its mark on.
If I had to turn it into an animated character, it probably wouldn't have a specific image. As long as it has a clear form, it is already something else—style, technique, even vanity. Talent is more of a space than a figure.
Perhaps if I made a film about talent, I would remove one wall of the cinema—the one on which the screen usually stands—and let the audience simply look at the sky. There, in that openness, everything essential happens.
Which artists inspire you?
My inspiration comes from many different directions. For my latest project, I turned to the conceptual world of Dimitar Voev, Giacometti, and Käthe Kollwitz—to their rawness, human vulnerability, and strongly expressive presence. I am also influenced by Balkan expressionism as a cinematic aesthetic and primitive forms of expression that convey immediacy and primacy.
In cinema, I draw inspiration from European and Asian auteur cinema—especially Iranian and North African—as well as from independent productions that take bold risks. Of course, great masters such as Tarantino and Sergio Leone remain important references, but also Fellini and Rangel Vulchanov, the early films of Nikolay Todorov and Henri Koulev. I also greatly appreciate the clean, concentrated style of Donio Donev, as well as the floating style of Stoyan Dukov and Vito Boyanov. All these influences shape in different ways the visual and emotional space in which I try to work.
In an interview for "KINOCLUB," you shared that your first animated film, "The Day of the Bloody Crowns," came about during your lunch break as a parody of the film industry. In this regard, what is the reason for the suffering cultural sector in our country and, if you had the opportunity, what would you change?
Actually, I did not make "The Day of the Bloody Crowns" as a conscious parody of the film industry. To parody something authentically, you need to know it very well from the inside and only then can you allow yourself such a gesture. When I made this film, I was not yet part of the film environment. Today, now that I work in it, I don't see things that way. I see cinema as one of the most difficult and complex arts, and I have learned to appreciate the effort behind every finished film—by every author and every team. When you know the process from the inside, you understand how fragile and difficult each stage of its creation is.
That is why sustainability and a long-term vision are necessary in the cultural sector. If I had the opportunity to change something, I would work for more stability and trust in authors, because cinema and art require time, risk, and an environment in which experimentation is possible.
Do you have a position on the issues that the independent cultural sector raises with institutions? What is the next useful step for the creative community?
Yes, I follow the issues that the independent cultural sector raises with institutions. In Bulgaria, the main problems continue to be related to sustainable funding, program transparency, working conditions for artists, and the lack of long-term policies for the development of culture and creative industries.
In my opinion, the next useful step for the creative community is stronger unity and coordination between the various independent organizations and artists. When the sector speaks with a clearer and more unified voice, institutions are much more likely to respond and real change can be achieved.
Another important element is active dialogue with institutions, not only through criticism, but also through concrete proposals, working models, and examples from other countries. It would also be useful to work towards greater visibility of the cultural sector in society in order to demonstrate its real economic and social value.
In the long term, I believe that the development of sustainable partnerships between the independent sector, education, and business can help create a more stable ecosystem in which creators can work and develop peacefully.
How do you see contemporary cinema on a national and global scale, and is there anything that openly annoys you? Is there anything you would like to see more of?
I feel that some contemporary cinema is becoming increasingly well-made and increasingly unnecessary. Technically, almost anything is possible, but there isn't always an inner need behind the image.
I am annoyed by the uniform festival style—films that look as if they were made according to an aesthetic template for selection. When you start to recognize the strategy behind the film in the first few minutes, the magic disappears.
I would like to see more radically personal films—ones that are not afraid of silence, ugliness, imperfection, or extremity.
Do you believe that the best films truly win festivals? Is there anything else that is decisive—for example, politics, topicality, or addressing sensitive issues? How is consensus achieved in a jury, and what "devilish" aspects are hidden in this process?
I don't think festival awards always go solely to the "best" film in an abstract sense. Cinema is not a sport with measurable results — evaluation is always subjective. In addition to artistic qualities, context, topicality of themes, the social or political charge of the film, and the extent to which it resonates with the contemporary moment often have an influence.
In a jury, consensus is usually achieved through conversation and argumentation, rather than through complete unanimity. Interestingly, it is precisely the differences in perspective that make the process meaningful. The "devils" in this process are more likely to be personal preferences, cultural differences, and sometimes fatigue from watching many films in a short period of time. But when the jury works honestly and with respect for cinema, a decision is usually reached that reflects the general feeling of a significant film, even if it is not indisputable for everyone.
What criteria will you use to evaluate the films?
I would evaluate the films primarily on their integrity and honesty as an authorial expression. For me, it is important whether a film has its own language and clear internal logic, whether it knows why it exists and what it wants to say.
Of course, directing, working with actors, the visual environment, rhythm, and dramaturgy are also important, but even more important is whether the film creates an experience and stays with you after it ends. I am interested in cinema that takes risks, asks questions, and expands the boundaries of perception, rather than simply confirming expectations.
I would also try to watch each film in its own context and intention. Not all films have to do the same thing to be valuable. The most important criterion for me remains the feeling that I am watching a living, necessary film, made with thought and courage.
Let's discuss another factor—artificial intelligence. Are the effects of AI already visible in cinema? What about gaming? Do you perceive it as a threat, or is it simply another tool with potential? In your opinion, is there a place for AI in creativity, and how far should it extend?
Artificial intelligence is already a factor, and this is inevitable, both in cinema and in gaming. In gaming, the effects are felt more quickly because the industry has always been technology-oriented. In cinema, the process is slower, but we are already seeing AI in pre-production, concept art, editing, sound, and even writing.
For me, AI is not so much a danger as a mirror of our intentions. It is a tool, a very powerful one, but still a tool. The danger comes not from the technology itself, but from the possibility that it could replace thinking and personal choice.
I believe that AI has a place in creativity, but as an aid, not as a source of meaning. It can speed up processes, open up visual possibilities, and help with experimentation, but it cannot replace the personal experience, intuition, and inner necessity from which art is born.
In my opinion, the line is where authorship begins to blur. As long as the person remains the bearer of the idea, taste, and responsibility for the choice, AI can be a useful ally. But if it starts making decisions instead of the author, then we are talking about something completely different.