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An Intense Conversation
Some photographs hold silence. This is one of them. Shot in a small restaurant in Bruxelles — the kind you’d only find by chance, and never the same way twice — this frame preserves what no longer can be: a place, a conversation, a quiet evening at a table now vanished. Two women sit facing one another, generations apart, mirrored by the soft geometry of light and posture. One speaks — or perhaps listens. The other waits — or perhaps remembers. Their hands do most of the talking, resting, folding, rising to punctuate a point. There’s water on the table, a half-empty bottle, a flickering red votive. Nothing staged. Everything…
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Portrait of aTocaor
There is no audience in the frame, no dancer to mark the beat, no palmas to answer the rhythm—just the tocaor, alone with his guitar. The photograph is intimate, stripped of spectacle, and in that simplicity lies its strength. Shot in black and white, the image pares down the moment to texture and expression. The grain and contrast evoke the deep tradition of flamenco portraiture, where the absence of colour invites the viewer to listen with their eyes. The focus is on the face—eyes closed, lips resting in concentration—as the player leans toward the neck of the guitar. This is not a performance for the world but an inward conversation,…
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A Sad Afternoon
… waiting for someone to call.
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Chasing the Runner
When I framed this shot, I wasn’t only interested in the runner. His focused stride, his athletic attire, the purposeful set of his shoulders — these elements alone could have made for a conventional sports photograph. But what drew my attention was the peripheral narrative: to his left, almost in the shadows of his determined pace, a boy on a skateboard followed along, as if sharing the same lane of motion, but on an entirely different journey. The scene unfolded on a palm-lined promenade, cars and cyclists adding a sense of layered urban activity. The runner is sharp and dominant in the frame, his bright white outfit popping against the…
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Portrait of a Lawyer
Not every portrait needs a full frame. Sometimes, it’s what’s just out of focus that tells the most. Shot close—uncomfortably close—this image doesn’t try to flatter. It doesn’t seek symmetry or polish. The man’s on the phone, mid-thought, caught between reaction and restraint. His eyes are sharp, but not fixed. His hand rises instinctively to his face, as if shielding or steadying something unspoken. The photograph is grainy, the depth shallow. One lens, one second, one expression pulled between two worlds: the one he’s hearing and the one he’s trying to shape with his response. You don’t hear the voice on the other end, but you can sense it—by the…
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Skating on the streets of Milan
Late in the evening, Milan had thinned out and the spaces between people became wider. The man in the frame was crossing the street with a deliberate, slightly laboured movement, his body pitched forward as if negotiating both balance and direction. His orange trousers and red jacket stood out sharply against the muted tones of the pavement and the buildings—a small burst of colour in a subdued urban palette. What drew me in was the intersection of stillness and motion. The green pedestrian light glowed steadily above him, indifferent to the slowness of his crossing. Around him, the city carried on in fragments: the illuminated bank window, the muted signage,…
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Out of Focus, again
Again a non intended, out-of-focus image – missed shot, in other words. Nevertheless I like the “visual” effect.
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None of Your Business
Shot in Milan, this image hinges on a moment of urban simultaneity: the pedestrian engrossed in his phone and the cyclist passing through the frame. The visual connection is understated yet effective, with the pedestrian’s green-tinted shadow cast sharply against the shutter, adding an almost theatrical element. The composition relies heavily on negative space — the expanse of blank wall heightens the sense of isolation between the two figures and allows the eye to rest before moving between them. The cyclist’s position towards the right edge introduces just enough tension, a suggestion of fleeting presence as he is about to leave the scene. The choice to keep both in the…
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The Wild Bunch
Our for shopping at the wrong time!
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Walking at Night, in Milan
There’s a peculiar calm in Milan once the crowds have dispersed and the city settles into its late-night rhythm. This photograph captures that quiet moment — a lone figure walking through the porticoed gallery, flanked by shuttered shops and covered windows, lit by the cool precision of artificial light. The receding row of lamps creates a tunnel effect, pulling the eye straight down the corridor, while the solitary pedestrian provides both a human scale and a focal point. From a compositional standpoint, the image benefits from strong leading lines. The symmetry of the architecture is slightly offset by the human element, keeping the frame from becoming sterile. The repetition of…
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Good Manners
… comes from childhood
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The Naughty Customer’s Place
Remember, next be kind with the waiter!
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Pre Colombian Artwork
Not in Mexico, anyway
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Out for a While
… or gone forever?
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Street Compass Rose
There’s something both poetic and ironic about finding a compass rose embedded in the tarmac — a relic of navigation sitting just a few metres from a working fishing port, in an age where most people rely on satellites to find the nearest café. I came across this one early in the morning, when the sun was low and the light had that burnished quality that makes asphalt glisten. The framing here was deliberate: I chose to crouch low, letting the compass rose dominate the foreground, while the fishing boats in the distance anchor the background in place. This low perspective exaggerates the texture of the cracked road surface, contrasting…
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Out-of-Focus
My fault, but – somehow – I find this picture evocative.
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The Audience (Not a Rock Concert, Indeed)
I made this photo during an outdoor performance to begin. What drew me in wasn’t their anticipation, but their fragmentation. Each group was self-contained, bound by conversation, silence, observation, or fatigue. Shot wide, the frame flattens the scene against the warm, textured backdrop of ancient brickwork. The wall itself becomes part of the composition—silent, immovable, almost performative in its presence. Light was fading, diffuse but uneven. I didn’t push the ISO too hard; I let the image soften in the shadows and hold detail in the mids. Skin tones are desaturated but honest. I made no attempt to brighten it into clarity. This is dusk, and it should feel like…
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Lost in mumbling
It was a hot evening, the kind that slows time down. I stood just inside the entrance of a small southern Italian bar, camera slung low, as this scene unfolded naturally in front of me. Two young men, surrounded by the low buzz of a small crowd and the fading daylight, absorbed in their own bubble of silence. One leans into his smartphone with all the weight of someone trying to escape; the other, lost in thought, stares past the counter’s glare. The band in the background plays on, unnoticed. I framed the shot deliberately tight, giving the Ferrarelle fridge full prominence. It anchors the scene in place and era—local,…
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Barbarians at the Gates
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A ghostly bystander
How long was he staying there?
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Wave Riders
I took this photograph on the beach beneath the Ponte del Mare in Pescara. The scene is divided between the monumental line of the bridge and the human scale of two kite surfers preparing their gear. The composition works by contrast: the rigid geometry of steel cables and concrete arcs against the fluid, improvised forms of sport and sand.
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Negrita’s Cover Band
They still need to walk a long, long way before getting in sight of the original Negrita. Nevertheless they have a lot of fun…
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Stairway to nothing
It was the kind of place you don’t really notice. A narrow passage, cracked walls, peeling paint, dim light. The kind of corridor you pass through without stopping. Unless you’re carrying a camera—and a little curiosity. I called this frame Stairway to Nothing when I first saw it on the screen. The name came unprompted. It just fit. The stairs are real, but lead to… what, exactly? A dead-end, a blank wall, maybe a half-forgotten door. You get the sense there was once purpose here—function, traffic, even a rhythm. Now it’s just remnants. A railing to hold on to, steps still intact, pots of green fighting back against the concrete. This wasn’t…
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In a yellowtone…
