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Reminiscenses From The Past
Lost in memories, while the world turns.
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Lightblade
I took this shot late in the evening, drawn by the improbable geometry cast by a wall sconce in an otherwise nondescript alley. The light didn’t just illuminate—it carved. A fan of brilliance stretching vertically in both directions, like a double-edged blade suspended in air. No tricks. No editing. Just a camera, a wall, and the physics of reflection doing the work. The symmetry is what compelled me. It’s never perfect, but in this frame it came close enough to earn the name Lightblade. The triangular base descending downward balances a more complex, diffused spray upward, where the beam fragments slightly—revealing the uneven surface of the wall and subtle flaws…
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The Casual Observer
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Peeping the Misery
A rough opening in a white wall becomes the frame. The edges are jagged, still bearing the scars of whatever blow created them. Through it, the eye is led into another world—a dusty, abandoned space where sunlight slices across the ground. On the floor lies a tangle of debris: fragments of cloth, splinters, and what seems to be a torn banner, its once-bright colours now dulled. The text on it is broken, unreadable, a language interrupted. In the background, shapes blur into shadow—remnants of furniture, perhaps, or the skeletal remains of another wall. This photograph is about looking in without stepping in. The viewer is held at a distance, forced…
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While Waiting for the Food
Somewhere coastal, sometime after sundown. The table is set, the drinks half gone, the plates not yet full. It’s the in-between moment—the pause before the meal arrives, when conversation either deepens or disappears. He’s on his phone, thumb scrolling with purpose, eyes locked to the glow. Around him, the restaurant hums: plastic chairs, thatched roof, barefoot kids running between tables, the usual clatter of dishes and casual voices. A holiday place, probably. Warm air, sea salt, and time meant to be slower. What struck me was not the act—because it’s common—but the woman across from him. Half-hidden, partly blurred, yet watching. Not annoyed, not angry. Just watching. The kind of…
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Vinyl Never Dies
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The Doorman
Night work has its own silence, even when it’s loud. I made this frame just before the crowd arrived — a kind of photographic inhale before the push and pull of a Saturday night began. The doorman stands alone, his posture almost statuesque, braced against the neon wash of the venue’s lighting. The composition leans heavily on verticality. I intentionally let the figure anchor the centre, framed between structural elements and artificial glow. It’s an image of solitude and readiness, not action — and that contrast is what I wanted to preserve. The light is tough: mixed colour temperatures, harsh reflections, and flat backgrounds. But I didn’t correct it. It…
