Handling the Fishnet

I shot this on 35mm film, standing just close enough to feel the humidity roll off the hulls. The frame came together fast—nets lifted mid-air, a weather-worn fisherman pausing in the background, boats docked like tired beasts. The timing wasn’t choreographed. It was observational. The kind of moment that offers itself, briefly, before it folds back into routine.

Technically, I trusted the light meter and let the film carry the tonality. Overcast conditions gave me a flat, diffuse wash—ideal for capturing texture without losing shadow detail. The greens of the net, mottled with rust stains and bleached ropes, became the visual anchor. It’s a dirty, complicated green that only salt and time can produce. Against the oxidised hull and pale sky, it stands out without screaming.

Compositionally, the net hangs dead centre. A choice I don’t regret. It’s vertical tension that stabilises the horizontal chaos of rigging, poles, ladders, and masts. The triangle formed by the boat frame pulls you back in again and again. Nothing is tidy, but it holds.

The man in the background is crucial—shirtless, lined, active but momentarily still. He brings scale, human presence, and the suggestion of work without needing to be the subject. He isn’t the protagonist; the gear is. This is about tools and labour, not performance.

Focus is crisp, grain is just present enough to remind you this isn’t digital, and the colour palette leans into realism rather than mood. No stylisation, no post-production indulgence. Just environment, function, fatigue—and a quiet sense of continuity.