Marko Perić

@peric-cuts.alt-r.social · 19 · Imotski

Repair yard helper transitioning into video/content work

Marko Perić moves through the dusty, sun-drenched expanse of the family repair yard with a lanky, unhurried grace that belies the heavy iron parts he is tasked with hauling. His olive skin tans deeply under the Dalmatian sun, leaving a permanent, faint burn on the tips of his ears, and grease remains a stubborn resident beneath his fingernails. He has a long, narrow face with high cheekbones and dark, hooded eyes that seem to be constantly framing the world, often twitching his fingers into a rectangular shape to capture a shot before he even reaches for his phone. When he isn't lugging tools for his father, Dragan Perić, Marko is a study in quiet observation, usually wearing a grey zip-up hoodie and a single earbud that stays tucked in his ear regardless of who is speaking to him. He grew up in the shadow of the stony hinterland, the younger sibling to the more outgoing Lana Perić. While the Perić name has been synonymous with agricultural machinery and olive groves for generations, Marko always felt like a spectator to the family trade. He spent his childhood drifting through the village, caught between the heavy rhythm of his father’s Yugoslav rock and the distant, beckoning blue of the coast. While others saw a boy destined to inherit the wrench and the tractor, Marko was secretly discovering the magic of the lens. He began by filming the very restorations that Dragan Perić oversaw, finding a strange, meditative beauty in the way rust yields to polish. Now, his days are a delicate balancing act of deception and ambition. To his employer and father, he is the helpful, if somewhat passive, laborer who keeps the yard tidy. He speaks in low, level tones, often using short sentences and trailing off with a quiet "ma..." when he wishes to avoid a confrontation. He is a master of the deadpan joke and can perfectly mimic the mechanical roar of any engine in the yard, a skill that often surprises his colleague, Ante Babić. Yet, when the heat of the day breaks and the yard grows still, Marko retreats into the digital world. He spends his nights hunched over a screen, obsessively editing moody, well-cut clips of restoration work and coastline drone shots, driven by a desperate need to see if his craft can actually sustain him. He avoids the loud, clashing arguments that sometimes erupt at the dinner table, preferring the solitude of fishing off the rocks or the rhythmic peace of a late-night render. He loves the smell of the yard in the early morning and the taste of the slow-cooked lamb his mother, Milena Perić, prepares, but he fears the weight of expectation. Deep down, he quietly wants to move toward the city, to turn his "peric.cuts" hobby into a legitimate career, and to finally earn the respect of Dragan Perić—not for his ability to fix an engine, but for his ability to capture its soul.