Creative director and photographer who has worked with brands such as Gucci (including last year, when he photographed and directed a global campaign), Saint Laurent, Red Valentino, Okhtein, and Amina Muaddi. He has also shot covers for GQ Middle East, Elle Arabia, Jamalouki, and Emirates Woman.

A person driven by a passion for things that carry a story, he went on to found Beit Prod — a whole world of rare vintage finds and exclusive collaborations. A visual storyteller who constantly observes surroundings, capturing the rawest details and revealing their beauty to others.

This is Prod Antzoulis, born in Cyprus and based in Dubai since childhood.

Who is Prod beyond the titles above? What kind of world does he create through his work? What is his dream project? And how did Beit Prod save him in a way? Let’s dive into his story.

— Prod, let’s start with your background. You are originally from Cyprus, but you moved to Dubai as a child and grew up here. Can you tell me how that happened?

— I would start with my parents here. The reason they chose Dubai was about opportunity. At the time, my dad always knew he was ready to leave Cyprus. He felt there was more out there.

That opportunity ended up being Dubai. And back in the 90s, Dubai was much smaller than it is now. The city and the environment gave my dad the space to build something for himself, the foundation that was strong enough to support us as kids.

It also gave us a different perspective on life, one that wasn’t limited to what my parents had experienced growing up. They both had their own journeys and struggles, and what they really wanted was to create better opportunities for my brother and me.

— And I know that your mom has been collecting fashion for over 30 years.

— The way she approaches collecting is almost like archiving something alive. It has never really been about financial value. It is more about gathering and preserving carefully selected pieces.

Her collection goes back to the early 90s. She has always been collecting, from independent designers she discovered while travelling to brands like Issey Miyake, which she was wearing back in the 90s and early 2000s.

I think she always understood something fundamental about fashion. For some people, it is about status or perception, but for me, and I think for her as well, it is about something more personal. It is about storytelling, but also about how something makes you feel. The way a piece is tailored, the way it sits on you, the confidence it gives you. Not in terms of how others see you, or its financial value, but how it represents you.

That is what I took from her. She was always collecting beautifully made, carefully chosen pieces, without necessarily having an occasion in mind. There was no specific event she was dressing for. She was preserving something.

— Can you tell me more about some specific pieces from her collection?

— For example, Miu Miu from the early 2000s, these beautiful, velvet, almost gown-like dresses, full-length, with stunning embroidery details.

There are also some amazing Issey Miyake pieces, pleated, with bold, multicoloured tones, almost rainbow-like. Very expressive.

Then there are the Gucci suits from the Tom Ford era, beautifully tailored. She was always very specific, very aware of what she was drawn to.

She also has iconic pieces like Chanel belts from the 90s, which are now incredibly valuable.

— I also read that your grandmother was a pattern maker in the 1960s and 70s, creating custom pieces for many women in your town. Could you tell me more about her?

— In the 1970s, during the war with Turkey, everything changed for my family. My mother’s side was displaced, and they were without a home for three or four months, moving between different parts of Cyprus, seeking refuge.

During that time, she started looking for ways to channel what she was feeling, to express it through something tangible. That is how she found her craft.

In the small town where we now have a country house near Troodos, she began making clothes for the women in the community. It was a small town, maybe 60 or 70 people total, but having this newly discovered passion, it was something she felt deeply connected to. She wanted to contribute, to give something back.

She had no formal training. My grandfather bought her a sewing machine, and she taught herself.

For me, that is incredibly beautiful. It has influenced my own approach to my craft in many ways. I work primarily with analogue photography. I don’t like shooting digital unless I have to for commercial work. What I am drawn to is that same sense of process and trust.

When I photograph someone on film, there is no preview. There is a kind of unspoken agreement. The person is trusting me to capture them, and I am relying on my instinct and experience. So it becomes a relationship.

And I think that sense of connection, that quiet exchange through craft, is something I inherited from my grandmother. She built it through her work, and in a way, I have continued it through mine.

— Did she teach you to sew?

— Oh, I have a story! We used to visit her often when we would do trips to Cyprus, and I would always notice the sewing machine in the house, tucked away in the storage area. I could see the clothes and the fabrics.

I remember my grandmother vividly explaining the process to me, the sewing machine, how everything worked. She showed me the details, the precision of guiding the fabric under the needle.

— Have you ever thought about dedicating a project to her?

— I have thought about it a lot, Alex. A big part of my work is shaped by the cultures and communities I live in, the ones that inspire me. Dubai has given my family and me so much, and in return, I have tried to give back through my work, and I know I’ll continue to.

But there is still something missing when it comes to Cyprus. I haven’t found the right moment yet to really dive into my own culture. There are so many stories I want to tell — about my mother, her archive collection, the connection to my grandmother while she is still alive. I imagine doing a shoot in the family house, capturing all of that in a meaningful way.

It is something I feel strongly about, though. I want to explore more community-driven projects in Cyprus, but also focus on my own family background, to bring light to those stories and share them in a way that might resonate with others, maybe even in ways I don’t expect.

I feel, when something is very precious to you, there is a sense of wanting to preserve it, but also a kind of fear around putting it out into the open.

— I totally get it. And knowing how reserved and, let’s say, introverted you are, it makes complete sense.

— We all have a certain emotional capacity, and it is different for everyone. But for me, especially in my work, I am very emotionally connected. I feel like I need to genuinely connect with the person I am photographing.

So, yes, there is some truth to it. I wouldn’t necessarily call myself introverted, though, because that word can carry a certain connotation. It is more than I am selective. I am quite mindful of where I put my energy and what I surround myself with.

— Have you always been like that, or did something in your life shape you into that?

— It is interesting you ask that, because it actually brings me back to school, to that period when I was 16, moving to London to a boarding school.

Before that, school here never had a real creative outlet. Drama, arts and crafts — I tried them, but nothing stuck.

Photography was different. Around 12 or 13, I picked up a camera and something clicked. It gave me a way to process what I was feeling, to express the part of me I couldn’t share with the people around me.

London was its own kind of difficult — away from family, starting over. But that time alone with myself, turning inward, is what shaped who I am today.

— You have been into creativity since you were a kid. What did that look like for you? And did you feel something when you first picked up a camera?

— I spent a lot of time observing, to be honest. I was always paying attention to my surroundings, noticing small moments and things that felt connected to me. That could be family, time with friends, just everyday situations.

One of the first series I ever shot was actually on a small Polaroid i-zone camera. The frames were tiny. There is even a photo of me taking a selfie at 12 years old. I was documenting everything: my hamster, my friends sitting in my room, just hanging out.

The moment I picked up a camera, there was an immediate connection. It felt almost instinctive. Like it was an extension of how I see. It felt like I had found a second pair of eyes.

— Through your work, you create your own world, don’t you? What is this world like?

— Exactly. It is actually quite difficult to describe your own world.

I would say it is rooted in something raw and real. There is a sense of flow to it, but not in a passive way. It moves with intent.

At the same time, I don’t think it is rigid. There has to be space for exploration. So it is really a balance between the two. My world is quite exploratory. It draws from different people, different moments, everyday interactions.

It could be a conversation with someone at a grocery store, something small that stays with me. It could be an object I feel connected to. All of these things feed into it.

But somehow, they all come together into one rhythm. Something intuitive, grounded, and intentional, but still open and evolving.

That is also how I approach my work and collaborations. It is about sitting down, exchanging ideas, and letting things develop naturally. If something takes three or four months, that’s fine. It’s about the energy between people, how it builds over time.

So I guess my world is less about structure and more about feeling. It is an invitation to experience something together.

— Recently, I spoke with a photographer. One thing she said really stayed with me: when she has a camera, she feels protected. She feels more confident. Do you relate to that?

— Yes, exactly.

I might be feeling a certain way internally, I could be having the worst day, but the moment I step onto set and start engaging with the talent and the team, something shifts. I am there to guide the process, to communicate what we are about to create, the story we are building together. And that brings a kind of confidence.

There have been times when I have arrived on set feeling completely drained and left feeling full of energy. Recently, I had a shoot that lasted three days, which I hadn’t done in a while. We were shooting 12 hours a day, starting at 7 am and wrapping at 7 pm. It was intense.

But every single day, I left the set energised.

By the third day, even my team was surprised. They were telling me they had never experienced a photographer like that; someone who comes in with energy, maintains it throughout the day, and still leaves with the same intensity, while everyone else is exhausted.

And I think it comes down to loving what you do.

There are so many elements involved. It is the confidence, the energy, the act of creating something. It is also the responsibility. You are trusted by the client, by the team, sometimes by dozens of people, to bring a vision to life.

I remember when I shot my first global campaign for Gucci last year. That was a major moment for me. We had been building that relationship for a long time, but a global campaign is on a completely different scale.

You are working directly with the creative director, with the art director, and on set, you are surrounded by a huge team. There are easily 100 people involved. Production alone can be 40. You are dealing with multiple moving parts, from logistics to creative decisions.

It is a lot, but it is also what makes it so rewarding.

— It is a blessing to be so in love with what you do!

— Yes. But to be completely honest, there was a period in my life about two years ago when I took a break from photography.

I had been working nonstop for almost ten years, moving from one project to the next. I never gave myself space to breathe. And eventually, around late 2022 into 2023, I hit a point of burnout.

So I stepped back. I took a kind of sabbatical, because I realised I had been giving almost everything to my work, and very little to myself. It caught up with me physically and mentally. I was exhausted.

But out of that period, something shifted. That is when the idea for Beit Prod really came to fruition. It felt like a new direction. I was finding a way to stay connected to photography while also creating something that felt more personal. Something that wasn’t just about producing work for others, but about creating a space that reflected me.

It became a way of redirecting my energy. Not just being “Prod” for everyone else, but being “Prod” for myself. And if people connect with that, they can step into that world.

— Would you say that Beit Prod helped you move through burnout?

— In a way.

And the inspiration was always there, I just hadn’t fully realised it. I had always been in that space, collecting, observing, building something without quite naming it.

— Each object in the Beit Prod collection has a story. Is there one that stands out to you?

— It would have to be a camera. It connects to my first ever paid shoot in London, which was a very important moment for me. I was just graduating from university and deciding whether to stay in London and pursue my career or move back to Dubai.

At the time, I got connected to a Central Saint Martins graduate from Oman, Hana Sarhan, through mutual friends in Dubai. She reached out and asked me to shoot her lookbook and campaign. Up until that point, I had only been photographing friends and family while studying business, so this was my first real commercial job.

I remember going on this mission across London to find a camera. I ended up at Portobello Market, where I knew there was a strong selection of vintage cameras, and that is where I found my first Nikon F2. That camera really became the starting point of my professional journey. It created a very personal connection for me.

Also, more recently, I acquired a 12th-century vase that was reworked by an Italian designer. She essentially gave it new life, working with metal and oxidised textures and adding intricate detailing. It is a really special piece.

And then there is the Space Age TV. It is a perfect example of 1960s Space Age design, when people were imagining what the future would look like. The shapes, the antennas, everything feels almost alien, like objects that have just landed on Earth.

I have been really drawn to that aesthetic recently. Over the past couple of months, I have been collecting pieces from that era, and we are actually launching a Space Age collection soon.

— And you named it Beit Prod as a tribute to ‘home,’ since ‘beit’ means home in Arabic, right?

— It is also about my relationship with the idea of home, which I think is very subjective. It changes depending on where you are, the energy you are in, the moment you are experiencing.

For me, Beit Prod isn’t just a representation of a physical space. It is more like a reflection of my life in motion. It brings together different elements: photography, collaborations with friends, the community I have built in Dubai, and the vintage objects I have been collecting over the years.

It has become quite fluid, evolving into different forms. It could be an archive, a journal, an exhibition, a collective. There are so many ways it can expand.

So yes, home is deeply personal, but it can also move with you.

And that is really how Beit Prod came to life. It grew out of all these moments and experiences, and became a way to bring everything together — a kind of space that represents me, but also something that can keep evolving.