Aficionados

Shot at an hour when most are just negotiating their first coffee, this photograph captures what, for these men, seems like the golden hour of routine. The scene is lit by a low, uncompromising sun that slices across the facade with sharp clarity—rendering the textures of worn plaster, metal shutters, and red plastic chairs with the honesty of an observational sketch.

I was drawn to this configuration because it needed no orchestration. It was already a tableau: three men, frontally exposed, anchored by Peroni-branded chairs, embodying a choreography of idleness. The fourth, half-turned with one leg outstretched and a cap shielding his gaze, punctuates the composition with a visual counter-rhythm. That slight asymmetry keeps the image alive.

Technically, the frame balances well between shadow and highlight, but I intentionally held back on flattening the contrast in post. I wanted the midday Mediterranean intensity—those bleached walls and deep shadows—to carry the feel of the hour. The chromatic dominance of red plays its own part: not loud but declarative. In this part of the world, red chairs on tarmac under hard light don’t just seat people—they declare territory.

Yes, some might argue that the background is cluttered. The signage, pipes, bikes, and posters all clamour for attention. But they also act as witnesses. Each element confirms this as a lived-in space, not a scene designed for visual purity. I could have composed tighter, but it would have been dishonest.

What I appreciate most in this shot is its stillness. Not the romanticised stillness of quiet contemplation, but the inert weight of familiarity. These men aren’t waiting for anything. They’re just there—anchored in their routine like statues with fading labels and well-worn T-shirts.

Photography often chases novelty, but sometimes, it just needs to respect what has always been there. This was one of those mornings.