Creating Structure, Leaving Space: Producing a Fashion Campaign in Sicily

Producing a fashion campaign is always a study in duality. Precision and looseness. Structure and instinct. Knowing exactly what needs to happen—and having the confidence to let go once it does.

This campaign in Sicily for ASAR London lived squarely in that tension, in the best possible way.

ASAR is the kind of brand where the soul of the garments is immediately felt. Designed by an Indian-British designer and handmade in London, each piece carries an immense amount of care—silks and laces sourced from some of the oldest mills in Italy and France, craftsmanship that honors tradition without feeling precious. The brand exists in a beautiful balance: delicate and feminine, but also sexy, grounded, and empowered. That intention shows up in every stitch, and it became our starting point.

When ASAR approached me to handle both production and photography, the first phase wasn’t visual at all. Before locations, before models, before cameras even entered the conversation, we focused on personality. Who is this collection speaking to? Not in a demographic sense, but in a human one. How does she move through the world? What does she value? What kind of beauty feels honest to he and what feels forced?

Once you understand who you’re speaking to, everything else becomes clearer. Marketing is emotional long before it’s strategic. The tone of the imagery, the pacing, the model’s presence, the way light interacts with fabric, none of it is neutral. Every detail carries subliminal messaging, and those signals will either resonate deeply or miss entirely.

After we aligned on the overall energy, the questions became more practical, but no less creative. What kind of environment would this woman respond to? What feels aspirational without being overdone? ASAR works with many international destination brides, so we wanted a location that felt transportive, culturally rich, and visually striking—without relying on places that feel overly familiar or exhausted.

We landed on the white cliffs of Sicily.

Not just because they’re beautiful—though they undeniably are—but because they held meaning. This was the place where the designer had sketched his very first collection nearly a decade earlier. That detail mattered. It gave the campaign a sense of continuity, something full circle. People may not consciously know the backstory, but they can always feel when something is authentic. They can also feel when something is rushed, hollow, or assembled without care. Having a story—a real why—is what gives work longevity.

Once the what and the where were set, the process shifted gears. This is the phase where romance meets reality.

Before a single ticket is booked or a look is finalized, there’s always the same quiet checklist running in my head. Do we need permits to shoot here? If so, at what production size? What documentation is required? How long does approval take? What’s the cost? What limitations come with it?

It’s not glamorous, but it’s foundational. After research and local inquiries, we learned that permits were only required for productions over a certain size or if we planned to close off the beach entirely. Neither aligned with our intention anyway. We wanted something raw and lived-in—beautiful, but slightly casual. A sense of juxtaposition.

I’ve learned that working with smaller teams preserves that honesty. It allows for flexibility, responsiveness, and a deeper connection to the environment. There’s more room to pivot, more space for intuition. That documentary approach—being present rather than imposing—has become central to how I like to create.

With logistics clarified, we set a date and began building the team. The designer would be on set as the stylist, which felt essential. When the person who conceived the garments is also shaping how they’re worn, nothing gets lost in translation. I was there as the photographer, alongside an assistant who plays many roles—part film loader, part line producer, part right hand—someone whose job is to catch the blind spots so I can stay focused on the work.

We cast the model through an agency and found the perfect fit in a Milan-based girl, keeping travel relatively simple. Hair and makeup came next, and we hired a local artist in Sicily—someone who understood the climate, the light, and the realities of working outdoors near the sea.

Once the team was locked and contracts were signed, everything accelerated. Travel was booked, and I put together a detailed call sheet: directions to the location, parking information, arrival times, number of looks, a tentative timeline from call to wrap, sunset time, the closest hospital, and emergency contacts. Alongside that lived the creative deck, visual references, textures, moods, so conversations around hair, makeup, and styling could be nuanced rather than abstract.

We also mapped out the shooting order with the designer: which looks could share the same hair and makeup, which required changes, how long transitions would realistically take, and which garments were more complex to move in and out of. This is where the fine details get ironed out.

I often think of the creative process like a sandwich. The concept phase is equal parts creative and logistical. The middle phase—this one—is almost entirely logistical. And then, if you’ve done your job properly, the shoot itself becomes mostly creative. Functionality fades into the background, and everyone can focus on making something meaningful.

On shoot day, everyone followed the call sheet. Arrival times, parking, meeting point. Once we were all together on site, we did a brief in-person run-through and introductions, and then moved straight into the plan we had already aligned on. There’s something grounding about that moment, when preparation turns into momentum.

We shot seven looks in total, moving through them in a steady creative flow. Of course, no matter how much you plan, hiccups happen. The difference between chaos and calm is preparation. A professional expects things to go wrong and is capable of staying composed and decisive when they do.

The stakes were high. A small team, a remote beach in Italy, limited daylight. Somewhere in the height of that flow, while I was shooting on film, my main digital body was hanging from my harness at my hip. A larger wave rolled in unexpectedly and completely submerged it. By the time I realized what had happened, the camera was fully waterlogged.

There’s a brief moment in situations like that where time slows. And then you move. I always travel with backups for every essential piece of gear, and managing those backups is part of my assistant’s role. We were about three looks in at that point. The realization landed, we swapped bodies, and we kept going.

Moments like that are exactly why preparation matters. Why redundancy matters. Why business insurance matters. Not because things will go wrong—but because they might, and the work deserves to continue regardless.

Aside from that, the day unfolded beautifully. We wrapped just after sunset, light fading, energy still high. And standing there, salt in the air, garments catching the last warmth of the day, it felt clear why all of this matters.

When logistics are handled with care, creativity is given room to breathe. When teams are built intentionally, the work carries that energy. When a story is honest, people feel it, whether they know why or not.

That balance between discipline and intuition, structure and freedom is what I’m always chasing. It’s not about control. It’s about creating the conditions where something real can transpire.

From here, the campaign moves into post-production, where the images begin to fully take shape and the story tightens into its final form. That process deserves its own conversation—and I’ll be sharing more on that soon.