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Portrait of a young scholar
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Portrait of a Wrestler
There’s a particular weight to portraits of athletes, especially those whose craft is as primal and disciplined as wrestling. When I took this photograph, I wanted to strip away the spectacle of the sport—no mats, no crowds, no action—and focus instead on the man behind the contest. The framing is deliberately close, the upper torso and head taking dominance in the composition. The subject’s direct gaze into the lens is neither aggressive nor performative; it’s a quiet, steady presence. The choice of black and white enhances this honesty, removing any distraction of colour and forcing the viewer to engage with form, texture, and light. In the background, out of focus,…
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Portrait of a Master luthier
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Portrait of a politician – 1
There’s a certain pleasure in photographing with the Leica M9—a camera that rewards precision and patience rather than machine-gun bursts. This portrait was made in a crowded hall, the politician seated among an audience whose attention was turned toward the stage. The light was far from forgiving, a mix of weak ambient and uneven spot sources, but the M9’s sensor responded with a tonal richness that digital cameras often lose in harsh conditions. I chose to work wide open, which gave me the shallow depth of field needed to isolate his face from the visual chaos around him. The crowd dissolves into a swirl of shapes and tonal smudges, leaving…
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Secret Beyond the Door
Who knows what they’re talking about?
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Too Young to Spend Time Watching the Ducks in the Pond
… wait for the retirement, at least!
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Tired or Fascinated?
Not so easy to tell… The question writes itself when you look at the scene. In the centre of the frame, a man stands before a long, textured painting. His arms are crossed, his head tilted slightly forward—posture locked in contemplation. The work before him, with its earthy tones and abstracted form, seems to have pulled him entirely into its orbit. He doesn’t glance away. In the foreground, two seated figures tell a different story. On the left, a woman in a red hoodie sits with a jacket draped across her lap, holding a booklet. Her gaze drifts outward, past the viewer, her expression suggesting the mental pause that comes after…
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The Way Out
There is something about an open window that always draws me in—not for what lies beyond, but for the threshold it represents. This frame was taken from inside a dimly lit room, the glass swung outward, offering a partial view of a Parisian-style zinc roof, punctuated by a small chimney vent. The decision to work in black and white came naturally; the textures and tonal contrasts were far more compelling than any colour the scene might have offered. The geometry of the roof panels and the window frame gave me strong lines to play with, and the skewed perspective from shooting slightly off-centre added a subtle tension to the composition.…
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Empty Chairs in the Tuileries
Paris in the rain changes its pace. The air thickens, the sounds dampen, and spaces usually alive with chatter take on a hushed, suspended quality. Here, in the Jardin des Tuileries, the iconic green metal chairs gather loosely at the edge of the fountain. They are arranged without intention—angled differently, backs turned, no symmetry to suggest a shared moment. It’s as if the conversation ended abruptly and the participants slipped away, leaving only their seats to remember the posture of their presence. The wet ground darkens the green paint, the armrests glisten with a thin film of water, and the fountain continues its arc in the background, indifferent. The frame…
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Same Space, Different Worlds
Lost in their own business.
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Much Too Short a Ladder
Paris has a way of presenting juxtapositions that are almost too perfectly absurd to be staged. Here, in the grand setting of Place de la Concorde, fountains spray elegantly into the autumn air, the French flag waves over the distant dome of the Grand Palais—and in the foreground, an oddly truncated ladder leans against a massive plinth, clearly destined to reach nowhere. When I framed the shot, I was immediately drawn to the humour of scale. The ornate column, richly decorated in green and gold, stands in confident verticality, while the ladder—plain, utilitarian, and utterly inadequate—sits at a hopeless angle. It’s a visual joke, but one the city offered up…
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The Three Musketeers
… Hey, where the hell is d’Artagnan?
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Forgotten
If you don’t want to bring fresh flowers, at least remove the old ones…
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Watching the Eiffel Tower
When I came across this scene on a Parisian bridge, it struck me not for the Eiffel Tower itself — an endlessly photographed subject — but for the two observers standing before it. They weren’t together, at least not in the way people usually are when they share a view. Both wore similar beige trench coats, almost like accidental uniforms, but their postures told two separate stories. The man leaned over the balustrade, intent on whatever he was photographing or inspecting; the woman stood back, upright, her gaze lifted towards the tower, seemingly taking it in whole. The weather conspired to help the mood: an overcast Paris sky, mottled clouds…
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The Double Helix
When I made this photograph, I was struck by the tension between form and function in the spiral staircase. The image does not seek drama or grandeur; instead, it isolates a fragment of everyday architecture and presents it as a study of rhythm and geometry. The curved underside of the staircase sweeps across the left of the frame, guiding the eye upward, while the metal railing introduces a vertical counterpoint. The steps themselves, worn and slightly uneven, add texture against the otherwise smooth surfaces. From a technical standpoint, I opted for a straightforward exposure, allowing the contrast between the whites of the wall and the greys of the steps to…
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The Changer — Glass Walls, Paper Smiles, and Currency Drained
Shot through the pane of a Paris bureau de change, this image came together almost by accident, although the structure was too rigid to call it candid. I was struck by the transactional melancholy of it all. The young man hunched behind the counter, bathed in the cold glow of LED-lit optimism, was framed perfectly by posters promising “a fabulous customer experience.” The visual irony was impossible to ignore — printed smiles all around, while the only real expression behind the glass was fatigue. Technically, this image is about reflection and layering. The pane acts as both barrier and canvas, catching the street behind me and folding it into the…
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George Braque
The Leica M9 isn’t forgiving, but in return, it doesn’t lie. This frame, taken under subdued museum lighting, is technically demanding—no flash, no stabilisation crutches. The man’s puzzled posture, caught mid-thought, leaning ever so slightly forward, tells its own story of trying to decipher Braque’s textured language. I shot wide open with a 35mm Summicron, relying on the M9’s signature rendering to isolate the subject from the gentle blur of the gallery background. Focus landed precisely on the man’s ear and temple, leaving the rest to dissolve into soft, painterly tones. The cool ambient light plays off the wall and his scarf—an accidental nod to the blue hue in the…
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The Chess Players
Well, this is not Alechin vs Capablanca but… who cares? The photograph captures two men deep in thought over a chessboard, in what appears to be the dim, warm interior of a Brussels café. One sits with his back to the camera, the word Corvette stitched boldly across his jacket. The other, leaning forward with his hand pressed to his temple, peers at the pieces through half-slipped glasses. Between them, the board sits in a pool of light — the only element in sharp enough focus to feel anchored — while the surrounding chairs and tables fade softly into the background. Compositionally, I opted for a perspective that placed the…
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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,…
