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Underground Security RA(T)P
I took this shot as these three officers from the RATP Sûreté unit passed me in a corridor of the Paris Metro. The framing was pure reflex: centre-weighted, low-angle, fast shutter. I didn’t have time to fine-tune the exposure—the lighting was flat and mixed, with harsh fluorescence above and murky shadows dragging behind. But I didn’t correct much in post either. This is a moment that benefits from its rawness. Their backs tell the whole story. The staggered stride, the swing of a baton, the compressed geometry of the underground corridor—they speak of tension, routine, and latent power. It’s not a confrontational image. The officers aren’t responding to a threat.…
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Heater
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Absence in Three Acts
Empty chairs always speak louder than full ones. These three, bolted to the floor, stare back with a kind of institutional blankness that neither welcomes nor dismisses. They simply are—efficient, expressionless, durable. I wanted to see if the geometry could carry the whole frame, and it does. The repetition, interrupted only by the slight angle of the shot and the unavoidable play of light, creates rhythm without sentiment. Shot in black and white to emphasise the chrome’s edge and the mesh’s subtle gradients, the photograph hinges on texture and symmetry. The lighting is flat, but deliberately so: no shadows, no contrast drama—just presence. These are not chairs meant for rest;…
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And Justice For All
This shot came together in complete silence — the kind of silence that only certain institutional buildings can generate. The kind made of marble, fluorescent light, and tension. I didn’t stage a thing; the geometry was already waiting for me. One man in the foreground, half-shielded by a paper, lines converging to a trio sitting far in the distance — it all felt like a scene rehearsed for a stage I just happened to walk onto. Compositionally, this image relies heavily on symmetry and recession. The central aisle, vanishing neatly into the background, draws the eye from the bold human presence up front to the barely-noticed figures in the rear…
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Desolation
I remember standing at the entrance of this narrow underpass, camera in hand, struck by the oppressive stillness. The word “desolation” seemed to settle in my mind even before I pressed the shutter. There was no movement, no sign of life, only the faint echo of my own footsteps on the tiles. The composition is built on geometry and confinement. The corridor acts like a visual funnel, guiding the eye towards the back courtyard and the blank, closed garage doors. The graffiti scrawled on both walls interrupts the symmetry just enough to add texture and a hint of human presence — though not the kind that enlivens a space. The…
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Lunar Network Or Snowy Mountain?
This image was made at high altitude, but it could have been taken on the Moon. That’s what initially drew my eye: the surreal minimalism of these snow-covered slopes interrupted by a line of utility poles, stretched tight against the vast emptiness. The illusion of a lunar landscape is heightened by the total absence of sky detail—pure black, a void—and the almost abstract texture of the snow, exaggerated by strong directional sunlight. The decision to shoot in black and white came naturally. Colour would have been a distraction from the harsh geometry, from the juxtaposition of natural emptiness and imposed structure. Each pole, evenly spaced, is both part of a…
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Stripes in B&W
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Trial Docks Waiting for the Justice to Come
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Final Arrangements Before the Hearing
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Writer Inspiration’s Tools
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Outside the Courthall
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Too Late
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Behind the Glass
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Justice Under Construction
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Arrested Behind the Door
Photographing in the criminal court of Rome is a peculiar experience — the air is thick with bureaucracy and human tension, yet most of it plays out behind closed doors. In this frame, the door is both a literal and symbolic barrier: clean, almost featureless, save for the taped sheet of paper outlining the rules of entry. It is stark in its message: access to the waiting room for the arrested is only permitted to lawyers, and only upon proof of formal appointment. Everything else — the people, their stories, their anxiety — remains hidden. From a compositional standpoint, I kept the framing tight and frontal. The geometry of the…
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Room 17 – VIXI
The steel doors of Aula 17 stand closed, expressionless. Matte black, scratched, impassive. Above them, a bureaucratic sign: 7ᵃ Sezione, Edificio B. On the right, a board once meant to list names and hearings is now empty—washed clean by time or intention. Seventeen is an unlucky number in Italy. Rearranged, the Roman numerals XVII form VIXI—”I have lived”, an epitaph. And so, Room 17 becomes more than a courtroom. It becomes a threshold. A place where the living confront endings. The end of freedom. The end of illusions. Sometimes, the end of justice itself. The symmetry of the composition tightens the tension. Every element is locked in place. Nothing moves, and nothing is random.…
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Legal Apartheid
Two elevators, side by side, divided not by function but by status. On the left, a small sign reads Pubblico. On the right, Avvocati. Between them, a strip of blank wall holds the call buttons and a standard notice: Non usare in caso di incendio. The symmetry is perfect, the contrast sharper for it. In the Court of Rome, this arrangement makes practical sense. Lawyers must move quickly between hearings; delays can derail the fragile timetable of justice. Efficiency demands a separate lift. And yet, looking at it here—reduced to a flat, black-and-white composition—the logic fades, and something else emerges. The brushed steel doors are marked with smudges and fingerprints, traces of the…
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Horizontal
I was walking past this building when I noticed how the afternoon light chiselled into the façade, pulling out volume from what is, in essence, a flat geometric rhythm. The composition demanded no embellishment — the image resolved itself into horizontal bands almost on its own. I didn’t crop for symmetry; I simply took the time to level the camera and wait for the shadows to deepen just enough to add a graphic weight. What you see is pure form. No context, no clutter — just tone, line and light. It’s often said that black and white photography strips away distraction, but in truth, it doesn’t simplify. It sharpens. Here,…
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Rectangles
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A Casual Walk
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The True Ironman
Not in a cave. Not in a suit. No arc reactor. Just grit, weight, and heat. This is a portrait of a welder—not fictional, not cinematic, but real. And yet, standing behind the mask, lit by the fierce white arc of molten metal, it’s hard not to think of Iron Man. Not the one flying through CGI skies, but the original scene: sparks, shadows, invention by necessity. But this isn’t fantasy. This is work. The man in the photo is sculpting structure with his hands, joining steel under blinding light. Every gesture is deliberate. Every spark, a fragment of labour. The mask doesn’t make him a superhero. It protects him—barely—from…
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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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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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Phone Call – 2
