Elzbieta “Ela” Zdunek is a writer and digital collage artist whose grayscale compositions explore themes of alienation, fragmented identity, and the fluidity of perception. With roots in photography, her practice has always centered more on how things are seen than on what is seen. Her collages often capture ambiguous, transitional moments — points of action or inaction that shape how we are perceived, yet remain unresolved.

Through both her visual and written work, Ela creates immersive, often unsettling narratives that reflect on the multiple selves we inhabit; villains, heroes, strangers, depending on time and context. A lifelong admirer of surrealism, Ela is particularly drawn to its ability to tell complex stories through minimal details. Influenced by silent films and historical theater, her art emphasizes mood, symbolism, and the hidden forces behind identity and fate.

She has exhibited at Omnibus Gallery, Chromart Art Space, and Berlin’s iconic Kitkat Club, with her work featured in publications like The Adroit Journal, Maintenant Dada, and Door is a Jar. For Ela, surrealism is more than a style — it’s a narrative device, a mystery to be decoded.

We asked Ela about her art, creative process, and inspirations.

You started in photography before shifting toward collage — how did that transition shape the way you think about building images now?

I’ve never stopped thinking in photographic terms. Composition, depth of field, light and shadow still shape how I create. These elements need to work together to build the illusion of reality, no matter how surreal the story in the image may be. I still try to blur boundaries, to make the viewer question what belongs and what feels out of place. What I didn’t expect when I started working with collage was that taking a photo alone wouldn’t be enough. I’m always chasing what’s hidden, unusual, or layered, and I’ll admit, sometimes I regret not capturing something just because it was simply beautiful.

Do you remember the first time you discovered surrealism? What was it about it that captured you?

I remember seeing a reproduction of Dalí’s The Horseman of Death in a school book, I was instantly drawn to its darkness. At the time, I didn’t notice the genius behind the composition or how just a few placed details could say so much. That’s what I’ve always loved most about surrealism: its deep connection to realism, and how highlighting a single element can shift the entire meaning, make or break the story. Surrealism can’t exist without storytelling, every piece feels like it’s holding something, like a riddle or a mystery novel. And I absolutely love that.

Your work often explores the blurry line between hero and villain. Can you tell us more about context and perception that inspires your art?

We’re all the main characters in our own stories and just side notes in someone else’s. Everything we experience gets filtered through our personal history, culture, and emotional state. What one person sees as a kind gesture, another might read as condescension; what feels like failure to one might look like growth to someone else. Our brains constantly fill in blanks, make assumptions, and pass judgment based on past experiences and biases. The same moment can mean two entirely different things depending on who's watching, because perception isn’t a mirror, it’s a lens. And like in photography, that lens is never neutral. In my work, I push this idea further, showing perception as judgment, and characters as paranoid, stuck in it. Sometimes, that judgment doesn’t come from others, it comes from within. This theme is deeply personal to me, something I’ve felt and seen in others time and time again.

What role does digital manipulation play in your work compared to traditional collage techniques?

I like to blur the lines between the elements, to make the audience wonder what goes together and what is foreign. This is not what is usually expected in a collage. At the same time, my works can’t be considered genuine photo-manipulation because the enhancements are very superficial. I often joke that I am in a no-man’s land and I’m trying to make it my own. When I work on more traditional pieces, both analog and digital, I like to use elements that fit, that tell a story together and interact with each other.

You create in grayscale most of the time — what draws you to this muted palette, and how does it help you tell the kinds of stories you want to tell?

I think that lack of color allows for stronger emotions. It allows to focus on the details and the story behind. In black and white photos and photographic work there is a certain nostalgia and melancholy, that is omnipresent in my works as well.

Silent films and historical theater are such rich sources of inspiration — what are some of your favorites? I love the classics like The Cabinet of Doctor Caligari or Metropolis. They’re stunning visually too.