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Out-of-Focus Once Again
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Last Wing Down
On an empty stretch of beach, a solitary sculpture rises against the horizon. It is the shape of a wing, its skeletal frame curved into an abstract S, crowned with a weathered propeller. It whispers of endings: of aircraft grounded forever, of journeys cut short, of stories that no one remained to tell. The black-and-white tones of the image deepen the sense of time suspended. Without colour, the scene feels like a fragment from the past, a memory caught in the salt air. Waves curl and break in the distance, indifferent to the monument on the sand. The tide comes and goes, as it has long before the flight this…
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Run Like Hell, Pinocchio!
The Pinocchio figure appears suspended in an awkward, unresolved gesture. His arms are open, his body twisted, as if caught between obedience and escape. Around him, other small figures barely surface from the darkness, their forms eroded by shadow and grain. The architectural background—arched, dense, almost geological—anchors the scene in a space that feels historical and civic rather than domestic or playful.
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What Lasts of A Workbench
Shot on 35mm film, this frame shows what remains of a once-active workspace—dust settled, air hoses tangled, the table cluttered in quiet disarray. I was drawn to the repetition of the coiled tubing, which leads the eye through the composition like a question mark—where did the work go? Technically, the image leans heavily on contrast. The film’s grain structure reinforces the tactile feel of the setting: the rusted corrugated metal, the splintered table legs, the pitted concrete. Exposure runs slightly hot in the highlights, but it works here. The wall texture and tool remnants need that brightness to emerge from the shadows. Compositionally, the corner perspective introduces depth without dramatics.…
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A few shots from a Paco de Lucia live performance
Don’t Forget!
Seeking Directions
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Phone Call – 2
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Just A Phone Call – 1
Shot in stark monochrome, this image emerged from a walk beneath an underpass on a winter afternoon. The subject is unassuming—a lone figure, caught mid-step, carrying bags in one hand and a phone to his ear with the other. But it’s the tension between light and shadow, confinement and openness, that makes the frame speak louder than the moment it documents. Technically, this is a study in contrast. The tunnel acts like a natural vignette, swallowing the foreground in near-black shadow while casting the background in a flat, wintery glare. This duality pushes the eye forward. The silhouetted figure is placed just past the threshold of light, where the architectural…
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Inside an Old Gym
There’s a quiet dignity to this corner of a forgotten gym — the kind of place that smells faintly of chalk, iron, and decades of sweat baked into the walls. The dumbbells, spherical and capped with worn white bands, sit on their metal stand like relics from another era. Behind them, weight plates lean casually against peeling plaster, the faded “S.I.R.E.A. Roma” inscriptions a reminder that these tools once carried prestige in the hands of athletes who are now long gone. The composition makes excellent use of the tight corner. By framing the equipment against two converging walls, the photographer forces the viewer’s gaze into the scene, trapping it in…
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Merleria Livia
Some signs don’t light up the street—they anchor it. This one simply says “MERLERIA LIVIA,” glowing white against the black. Not neon, not flashy. Just enough light to find your way back to something ordinary. Useful. Forgotten. Shot on a rainy night, the kind that turns every surface into a mirror. The pavement reflects the streetlamps like a memory trying to stay present. A man walks slowly, slightly hunched—not from age, maybe just the weather. Hands in pockets, coat zipped. Nothing urgent, nothing staged. The shop is closed. You can feel it. The shutters are down, but the sign is still doing its job. Reminding anyone passing that once, not…
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Between Sea and Sky
This frame was taken from the window of a descending flight—a rare moment when clouds, coastline, and light lined up like a deliberate composition. What I saw wasn’t dramatic, just elemental: water, air, light. That was enough. I chose monochrome not for effect, but for clarity. In colour, the image lost its cohesion—too many tonal distractions in the blue ranges, too much softness in the sea. Stripping it to black and white revealed a quiet structure beneath the atmosphere: horizontal bands of texture, density, and reflection. Technically, the image stretches the limits of what you can get through a scratched plane window and turbulent light. The glass wasn’t clean, the…
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John De Leo’s Grande Abarasse Orchestra – Live
This is a reportage I did during a concert of the John De Leo’s Grande Abarasse Orchestra. Covering this performance reminded me why live concert photography is such a balancing act between observation and anticipation. Each of these images, though part of a single reportage, serves as a fragment of a larger narrative – one built on rhythm, tension, and fleeting expressions. The colour frame of the full band provides essential context, grounding the viewer in the environment. The arrangement on stage is clear, with good use of depth to layer the musicians. The lighting, though moody and uneven, is handled competently, preserving detail without blowing the highlights from the stage…
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A Cello’s Player
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Having Sax
This shot isn’t about music. It’s about friction — brass on fingers, sweat on grip, breath on reed. I didn’t wait for the solo. I framed the pause before it, when everything is coiled. The hand is relaxed, but not idle. It knows exactly where it is. I shot tight with a fast prime, 85mm wide open, to isolate the curve of the bell and the roughness of the horn’s surface — pitted and worn, not polished. This instrument has stories. It’s been around. The monochrome helps strip it down to form and texture. You feel the decades in that metal. The grain is intentional. So is the low-key lighting.…
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Open Window
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Bicycle
He wasn’t fast. He wasn’t racing. There was no crowd, no peloton, no finish line. Just a single rider in a red jacket, slowly making his way up the ramp with the morning light at his back. I took the photo because it didn’t feel like sport. It felt like something quieter. The kind of repetition that builds into ritual. The kind of ride that’s not about fitness or medals—but about showing up, again and again, no matter the weather, no matter the hour. There’s a lot said about cycling: the tech, the stats, the watts and splits. But this image reminded me that, at its heart, cycling isn’t a…
