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The Shooter’s Dilemma
I took this during a routine shooting session. The man wasn’t posing. He was checking his grouping, arms crossed behind his back, body still, gaze locked forward. The target hangs silent. No smoke, no sound, just aftermath. The image is built on symmetry and distance. I framed from behind, dead-centre, letting the shooter’s back align with the silhouette’s head. They overlap in posture and scale. It’s a quiet mirroring—two figures facing off, one made of flesh, the other paper. Shot wide open at f/2.8, focus sits on the shooter’s shoulder line. The target softens just slightly—enough to retain its shape, not enough to compete. ISO at 800, shutter at 1/160s.…
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Portrait of a Perinatal Cardiologist
Salvatore Gerboni, MD, is an expert perinatal cardiologist and a great human being.
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A Dragon Trainer?
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Oops!
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Streetlight Duet
Late-day sun is the best kind of collaborator—less commanding than noon, more generous than twilight. It brushed the scene just enough to lift texture from skin and fabric without blowing out detail. I didn’t ask them to pose, but the casual lean against the car and the hand over the guitar’s body settled naturally. That balance between intimacy and performative posture intrigued me. This shot could have easily slipped into cliché—two musicians and a guitar, the standard fare of street portraits. But the subtle discord between expression and energy saves it. One wears a smile that could go either way: pride or deflection. The other looks on with the quiet…
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The Spanish Sense of Flesh – 2
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The Spanish Sense of Flesh – 1
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The Unconvinced Listener
This was one of those shots where the scene composed itself. I didn’t need to move much—just recognise and release the shutter. What drew me in was the geometry of the interaction: a makeshift stage, oversaturated lighting washing the performers in synthetic blue, and in the foreground, a single man caught mid-gesture, possibly clapping, possibly holding a phone, or perhaps neither—his posture uncertain and unaligned with the music unfolding metres ahead. The band, framed neatly under the overhang of a modern tram stop, seems to exist in its own world, driven by rhythm, sequins, and stage light bravado. They’re working hard. But the man in the foreground? He’s not buying…
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Waiting For The Elections
Shot on a Leica M9 with a Zeiss Biogon 35mm f/2.8, this image is more about suspension than action. The frame holds a waiting posture — literally and metaphorically. No speeches, no slogans, just the inertia of democratic process taking over the political machinery. I wanted to convey stillness without silence. The Biogon’s rendering gave me that microcontrast and edge clarity I rely on when details matter more than gestures. The M9 sensor — as unpredictable as it can be in mixed light — held together the tonal values well here, especially in the midtones. Shadow detail was secondary; this wasn’t about hiding or revealing, but about the unresolved pause…
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Though Choice
It doesn’t take much to make your day happy.
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Zebra Crossing, Again…
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Out For Justice
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Now You See It…Street Juggler at a Red Light in Barcelona
Caught this just as the traffic paused. The juggler—or maybe illusionist—stepped onto the zebra crossing like it was a stage, pulling a contact juggling sphere from his pocket with the same ease most reach for a cigarette. No microphone, no music, no hat on the ground. Just confidence, and a tight, silent routine aimed at no one and everyone. I shot from slightly above, which flattened the scene into layers: the motorcyclist on the left, the car breaking the frame in front, and the performer, suspended mid-gesture. The composition benefits from the crosswalk marks, which slice the image horizontally and echo the performer’s stance. It’s geometry meeting theatre. Technically, this…
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Portrait of a Politician – 2
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No, You Don’t Need To Change Your Glasses
This was intentional. No missed autofocus, no technical glitch. I set the lens manually, focused nowhere, and waited for someone to walk into the blur. He did—carrying two bright yellow bags, dressed sharply but casually, perfectly unremarkable in the sharp world we expect from street photography. The concept was simple: remove clarity and see what remains. What I found was structure. Colour. Gait. Gesture. A kind of abstraction that doesn’t erase the human, just detaches it from identification. No face. No detail. But still a presence. Technically, the image defies critique by design. It isn’t sharp—at all. The highlights push into soft bloom, the street dissolves into haze, and the…
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Lost In Barcelona’s Beauty
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Catching the Tube in Paris
Street photography often thrives on the interplay between the static and the fleeting, and this frame from Paris captures that balance with precision. The scene is anchored by the familiar visual cues of the city — the “METRO” sign, the Haussmannian stonework, the ordered chaos of bicycles, cafés, and traffic further down the street. These elements provide a stable architectural stage against which the human drama plays out. The blurred stride of the man crossing the frame injects the shot with movement and urgency, the sort of kinetic energy that turns a documentary image into a narrative one. His presence, slightly soft due to motion blur, contrasts sharply with the…
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Thirsty
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Small Talk in Las Ramblas
I took this photo in Barcelona, where conversation isn’t background noise but part of the architecture. Las Ramblas is never quiet, never empty—always a current of movement, commerce, and human theatre. Yet in this frame, the flow is briefly suspended by a gesture: one man leaning down to greet another, while a third man stands as witness, folded newspaper in hand, arms set in a subtle brace of familiarity. The scene unfolds naturally, without prompting. I wasn’t aiming for perfection but presence—being there, camera in hand, when a moment coalesced. Compositionally, it’s informal yet balanced. The figures form a loose triangle, anchoring the shot while the rest of the world…
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Cupido’s Fall
There was a time when Cupido ruled the world. Not the cherubic archer of myth, but the man on the torn poster — a champion accordionist, his name blazing in dotted capitals, promising music and spectacle. Now, the paper curls at the edges, bleached and scarred by weather, the glory half-erased by time and graffiti. The god of love meets the fate of every earthly name: reduced to a fading print on a damp wall, fighting a losing battle against rust, mould, and the next layer of urban scribble. The photograph works because it understands the poetry of decay. The black-and-white treatment is an apt choice — stripping the scene…
