-
Fashionable’s shots
-
Rest on the lake
enjoying some fruit.
-
Waiting for the goal
Why can’t I enjoy my soccer team’s match instead of wasting my time here? Because my wife loves music…
-
Snaps of a Flamenco recital…
-
The Hands of a Drummer (Horacio “El Negro” Hernandez)
You don’t photograph a legend. You try not to get in the way. This frame is all rhythm, no fanfare. No face, no spotlight—just hands, sticks, cymbals, and breath held between beats. It’s Horacio “El Negro” Hernández in concert, but not in the way the audience sees him. This is closer. Quieter. The private side of percussion. Shot just beneath the hi-hat, I framed the photo to let the hand speak: fingers curled not in tension, but in dialogue. The skin slightly worn, the grip half-visible—mid-phrase, mid-flow. The cymbals catch the stage light like the faintest of brushstrokes, shimmering but not stealing the scene. You can feel the groove here.…
-
Shade of Berlin
… Jeff, Berlin.
-
Knocking on lion’s door
-
Still Together
Still together, like the very first day. I saw them before they saw me — leaning slightly towards each other, their posture neither rigid nor slouched, but comfortably suspended in the shared gravity of the table between them. The wine glasses, half-filled with rosé, spoke of time already spent; the unopened bottle on the side suggested more still to come. From a compositional standpoint, I worked with the geometry of the setting — the square table, the vertical lines of the wall, and the quiet interruption of the stone column — to anchor the frame. The couple sit on opposite sides, yet the line of sight between them is unbroken,…
-
The missing guest
This image unfolded quietly, almost too politely — three men in jackets and ties sitting at a table clearly set for four. The elegance of the setup, from the pressed tablecloth to the carefully arranged centrepiece, clashes subtly with the anticipation suspended in their posture. Nobody makes eye contact. One reads the menu, the others look downward, pretending focus. The empty chair becomes the central subject without needing to move. Framing was tight on purpose. I let the olive oil bottle in the foreground stand, blurring into obscurity and giving some depth and texture to an otherwise sharply focused core. That slight intrusion also reinforces the perspective: I wasn’t part…
-
The Worst Moment to Fix a Shoe’s Problem
Caught on a descending escalator, mid-bend, mid-thought—this is the photograph of a decision made too late. Everything in this frame leans forward. The vanishing point pulls you down, hard, like gravity with intention. The blur on the metal steps mimics momentum. You can almost feel the hum of machinery and the silent urgency of descent. At the centre of it all: a man hunched over, trying to wrestle control over something small and unruly—perhaps a loose shoelace, perhaps something more symbolic. I didn’t plan this shot. It happened fast. A reflex. Shot handheld, low light, no time to think, just enough to feel. The imperfection—the motion blur, the noise, the…
-
An Old-Style ATM
This frame came together in the blink of an eye — or perhaps more accurately, in the blur of one. No carefully plotted composition, no tripod, no second chance. Just a brief exchange at a café counter: a plate extended, a hand offering payment, the warmth of human transaction before contactless cards made it all vanish into invisible transfers. The motion blur here is both the flaw and the essence. Technically speaking, the shutter speed was far too slow for handheld shooting in this kind of lighting, resulting in softness across the entire image. If sharpness were the sole measure of photographic merit, this would be an immediate reject. But…
-
No Tablet, No Problem
Airport Gate, Early Evening No screens. No earbuds. No glowing rectangles in sight. Just two people passing time with cards and conversation, waiting for a flight that’s probably delayed. The bench is metallic, cold. The lighting is flat. But between them, something human is happening—casual, quiet, and becoming increasingly rare. I didn’t stage this. I just noticed it. In a terminal where most people were curled into devices, these two were leaning forward, sharing space, actually looking at each other. He speaks, she listens. She gestures, he laughs. Their luggage is there, sure—but this moment isn’t about where they’re going. It’s about the pause before it. The photo isn’t sharp…
-
Who is the mannequin?
… not sure.
-
So what?
There is a certain energy in candid street photography that cannot be replicated in a controlled setting, and So What?captures it in full stride. This frame offers a slice of urban life in the late afternoon, when the sun hangs low and the streets teem with a mix of idle chatter, cigarette breaks, and casual posturing. The photograph hinges on the central figure—a tall man in sunglasses, cigarette poised mid-gesture—whose slight tilt of the head and half-smirk seem to issue the titular challenge. To his left, another man, hand to face and gaze averted, projects an entirely different mood: contemplative, perhaps guarded. The third figure, seen only from behind, forms…
-
A young Iron Maiden fan
He might never have seen them, but who cares? Metal is immortal…
-
A true friend
They enjoy their time together, as true friends ever should… No leash. No command. Just a gesture—and absolute trust. In this intimate frame, the lens captures a silent language spoken only between companions of a certain kind. The man’s hand rises gently, fingers curled, holding nothing yet holding everything that matters: attention, affection, history. The dog, massive and solemn, gazes upward with reverence—not out of obedience, but because it wants to. This is not a portrait of a pet and its owner. It is a document of friendship forged over countless days walked together, of shared silences and mutual understanding. The bond, invisible to the eye yet utterly present, transcends words. Loyalty…
-
Don’t Forget!
It’s the moment between words that makes this picture. You can almost hear the shop owner’s voice, half command, half reminder, as the young man in the doorway glances back. The raised hand, the turned head, the slight lean forward — everything about his body language says, “You’ve got this, but don’t mess it up.” The frame itself is tight, almost conspiratorial. We’re standing just behind another figure — smart jacket, cigarette in hand — as if we’ve stumbled into a private exchange. That foreground figure acts as an anchor and a barrier at the same time: we’re part of the scene, yet removed from it, observing through a filter…
-
The Long Way Up
I’ve always been drawn to stairways — not for their architectural elegance, but for what they suggest about human effort. This photograph, taken in a steep Italian hill town, is less about the stones and more about the person halfway up, leaning forward into the climb, each step a small battle against gravity and fatigue. From a compositional standpoint, I deliberately placed the vanishing point at the top of the stairs, where the light spills in from the open street beyond. The walls on either side act as vertical guides, forcing the viewer’s eye along the incline toward the lone figure. The choice of black and white wasn’t an afterthought;…
-
The Power of Music
The story is all in the child’s eyes
-
Supporter or Photographer?
-
Seeking Directions
is a complex task, not only on the streets.
-
A kiss in the shade
while the love is for real
-
The Bored Bassman
Jazz stages have a way of amplifying not just the music, but the moods of those who inhabit them. This frame, taken mid-performance, says less about the notes being played and more about the space between them. The singer is in her moment, eyes closed, wrapped in the phrasing of a lyric. The bassist, by contrast, rests his chin on his hand — a gesture that could be concentration, fatigue, or simply waiting for his cue. From a compositional point of view, it’s an image split in tone and focus. The spotlighting was harsh, and while it gave the singer’s red dress and skin a luminous presence, it also pushed…
-
An inconvenient way to spend time.
Waking up at dawn, layering up like a World Cup slalom contender, waiting your turn at the ski-lift, gliding up to 1,800 metres… and then, instead of carving lines on powder, seeking out the perfect sunny corner to unfold a deckchair and read a magazine. De gustibus, indeed. I took this photograph partly amused, partly curious. The two figures, bundled in ski gear, are frozen in a still life of leisure that feels completely at odds with their surroundings. It’s an unspoken reminder that the mountains aren’t only for the adrenaline-seekers — they’re also for those who see them as a backdrop for a slower kind of pleasure. Technically, the…
