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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…
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Wire Stylist
When I photographed “Wire Stylist”, I was struck by the absurd elegance of decay — a rusted doorbell, its wires splayed like an eccentric haircut. The scene felt alive without life, playful and tragic in the same breath. It wasn’t planned. I noticed it while walking past an old building, the kind of wall that’s been painted too many times and forgotten once too often. The exposed wires twisted outward in chaotic curls, catching light in a way that almost mocked order. The eccentric “hair” needed asymmetry to feel spontaneous. Straightening the shot would have sterilised the humour. I left slight tilt and irregular framing to preserve its found quality.
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Pillars
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The TelcoMan
Kneeling on the pavement, the technician works in silence, half-hidden by the open cabinet. Bundles of pink cables spill out like veins, each one carrying invisible conversations, connections, lives. His tools lie at his side, modest instruments set against the tangle of modern infrastructure. Composition is direct, almost humble. The man’s back occupies the centre, his form sturdy against the geometry of pavement and wall. The cabinet, with its warning signs and exposed wiring, becomes both workplace and frame. Foreground lines in the stone lead the viewer’s eye inevitably towards him, emphasising the solitary nature of the task. Technically, the exposure is balanced in soft outdoor light. The dark blue…
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Crate
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Red Dot
Some images announce themselves with complexity; others with quiet restraint. This one does so with a single point of vivid colour—the red hat—set against a palette of muted sand, sea, and sky. It’s a study in minimalism, yet it avoids sterility. The human figure, bent slightly forward, and the small dog at their side bring a sense of companionship to an otherwise expansive emptiness. Compositionally, the frame is built on horizontal layers: foreground sand, a band of ochre beach, the blue strip of sea, and a pale sky. The subject stands almost dead centre, which in some contexts could flatten the dynamic, but here it serves to anchor the eye…
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Hanging
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An Open Gate
On a cold, colourless morning in a deserted lot the rain had just stopped, and the air was still heavy with moisture. The open gates, rusted and leaning slightly outward, looked like punctuation marks in a sentence no one was reading anymore. The puddle between them mirrored a sky stripped of light — the kind of silence that asks to be photographed.
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Bulbs
This photograph was taken from the ground up, the lens almost brushing the asphalt. By choosing such a low perspective, the surface of the road becomes as important as the row of streetlights that recede into the distance. The texture of the pavement dominates the foreground, glistening with a grainy sharpness that catches the artificial glow. Technically, the image pushes the limits of night photography. The exposure is long enough to register detail in the dimly lit environment, yet short enough to keep the lamps from collapsing entirely into pure white orbs. The result is a series of glowing bulbs, haloed by flare, guiding the eye deeper into the composition.…
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Too Big To Be Dumped
This frame came to life walking past an alley where time seems to have hit pause. The bins stand in perfect alignment, regimented like bureaucratic soldiers, while behind them, the decaying wall tells a different story—chaotic, layered, unresolved. I shot this with a 35mm prime, letting the midday sun carve stark shadows that add to the irony of this supposed order. The exposure demanded precision. Too much light and I’d have lost the texture on the old plaster; too little and the bins would sink into murk. I leaned into the contrast, embracing the Leica’s natural tonal harshness in black and white. No dramatic angles, no “decisive moment” flourish—just frontal,…
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A Panorama
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A Fisherman
In a quiet marina, under the forgiving light of the late afternoon, a fisherman tends to his nets. There are no waves crashing, no shouting, no sails unfurling—just the steady, patient work of untangling, mending, preparing. This is not a romanticised image of the sea. There is no dramatic storm, no heroic pose. Just hands worn by salt, wind, and time, labouring over nylon threads that, like veins, carry sustenance from ocean to table. These nets are not merely tools—they are lifelines, a continuation of tradition, a quiet resistance to obsolescence. The photograph captures a kind of devotion: to craft, to survival, to family. Each knot tells of a…
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Pouring Water Since About 300 Years
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Freeze!
A word. A command. A moment suspended. The photograph captures a wedding not through its sentiment, but through its construction. The couple stands solemn, framed by stained glass and garlands, their faces lit by artificial flashes more than divine glow. “Freeze,” the photographer says. But the word travels further—it crystallises not just the posture, but the entire choreography around them. Like statues in a contemporary ritual, the photographers orbit in silence. Each holds their position, camera drawn like a weapon against time. The irony: in freezing the subjects, they too must freeze. Each frame they take is built on the shared stillness of others. The sacredness of the altar competes…
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Switch
Today is this photo blog’s second birthday.
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Red
The image was taken in the evening, when artificial lights mix with the faint remnants of daylight, producing a palette that can easily become muddy if exposure and colour balance are not carefully controlled. The choice to keep the scene in its natural ambient light preserves its authenticity, though it comes at the cost of some detail in shadowed areas. The central figure in the red jacket acts as a visual anchor, standing out decisively against the more subdued hues of the crowd. From a compositional standpoint, the frame is well balanced: the converging lines of the street lead the eye into the depth of the scene, pulling attention from…
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Busy In A Call
Shot handheld at night, available light only. I leaned into the blur and grain—ISO pushed to 3200, wide open at f/2. The result isn’t clean. It’s fractured, noisy, restless. Which fits. The moment wasn’t about stillness. Foreground holds two figures, tight in the frame. One in profile, on the phone, thumb pressed to lips, nails yellow against a black handset. The other’s back to camera, only form and volume—hair and jacket. Behind them, the café scene unfolds: overlapping bodies, light bouncing off glass, talk and gestures suspended mid-motion. Focus was shallow and uncertain by design. The camera caught the caller’s cheek, soft but distinguishable. The rest bleeds into motion. Technical…
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Yellow
The photograph hinges on the interplay between colour, geometry, and omission. By keeping the frame cropped tightly, I remove any narrative context — no faces, no full figures, just the assertive yellow of work trousers, the partial arc of a bicycle wheel, and the tiled pavement as stage. The absence of a complete subject forces the eye to wander across shapes and lines rather than fixating on identity. The composition is built diagonally, with the wheel anchoring the right edge and the worker’s feet drawing the gaze upward and left. The black tile bands slice the frame, adding structure and contrast to the more neutral beige of the pavement. It’s…
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Is This My Breakfast? (Kirobo, the new Pinocchio)
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The Man Behind The Croissant
It’s not just a title. It’s a layered truth. He’s literally behind the croissants — arms folded, resting gently on the chilled glass counter, smiling with the quiet confidence of someone who knows exactly what he’s made. But he’s also the one behind them in the deeper sense: the early riser, the flour-dusted craftsman, the keeper of recipes that live more in muscle memory than in ink. The Man Behind the Croissant is a portrait of work and warmth. Of a man whose day starts long before anyone steps into the shop. Who rolls, folds, rests, fills, bakes — not as performance, but as rhythm. There’s no spectacle here. Just trays of pastry…
