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The Referees
Shot in a break between rounds. Two officials—one in the ring, one just outside—pass the scorecard without a word. The exchange is procedural, yet visually precise. One hand extends up, the other down. The gesture anchors the frame. I placed myself at shoulder height, slightly off centre, to keep the ropes intersecting cleanly across the image. The ring’s horizontal lines break the vertical repetition of the gym’s back wall and audience. Geometry does the work—no crop needed. Lighting was mixed. Industrial overheads with a cold cast, ambient spill from the crowd, spot highlights off the shirts. Monochrome strips it back. No distractions. Just action and structure. ISO 1600 to hold…
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Cornermen
There’s a rhythm to these images — a quiet, almost ritualistic interlude in a sport otherwise defined by its violence. The corners of a boxing ring are not just places of rest; they are theatres of strategy, whispered advice, and sometimes silent reproach. In each frame, the fighter is turned inward — literally and figuratively — toward those who bear no gloves but shoulder equal weight in the outcome. From a photographic standpoint, these are intimate studies taken from the same vantage point, the ropes acting as both boundary and compositional anchor. The repetition of the ring’s geometry — horizontal ropes, vertical corner post — frames each scene with a…
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Upcoming Call
A moment inside a café where a man sits alone at a small round table covered with a floral tablecloth. His posture is relaxed, one leg crossed over the other, as he holds a smartphone in his hand and looks toward the large window beside him. The leather jacket and muted colours of his clothing contrast with the warm wooden chairs and patterned fabrics that furnish the interior.
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The Fighter
A tribute to a brave man. Between rounds, the noise shifts. The roar of the crowd blurs into a muffled hum, replaced by the clipped, urgent tones of a voice you trust more than your own instincts—the cornerman. This photograph holds that moment still. The fighter, bare-chested, gloves resting on the ropes, his breathing heavy but measured, absorbs each word. His eyes, narrowed and locked, aren’t simply looking; they are processing, dissecting, committing to memory. Every bead of sweat on his skin is a testament to the round just fought, every vein and muscle carrying the weight of the one to come. The cornerman leans in, body language sharp with…
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Mind Your Way!
What did grab his attention?
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Guess who’s happier?
Easy, isn’t it? The title “Guess Who’s Happier” finds its answer before you even look twice. In the foreground, a man in a bold red Hawaiian shirt strides into frame, caught mid-motion, mid-laugh. He wears a grey fedora, sunglasses, and the loose, unselfconscious energy of someone untouched by the stiffness of the scene around him. His shirt blooms with white hibiscus prints, a quiet rebellion against the asphalt and glass of the urban backdrop. Behind him, to the right, a man in a dark suit and tie steps forward with a deliberate, guarded pace. His expression is unreadable, but the body language is tight, restrained—functional. The suit, the posture, the context…
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Too Noisy
A Marching Brass Band rehearsing its performance… maybe too noisy even for daylight time?
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A quiet watchdog or long-time friend who enjoys some rest??
I was walking through a narrow street in Rome when I saw him—stretched across the threshold of a dusty antiques shop like a soft barricade. Head down, ears flat, but not asleep. Not quite. He was watching with the kind of calm that doesn’t need to prove anything. The Leica M9 was set to zone focus, aperture around f/5.6, and I didn’t have time to fuss. I framed, stepped slightly left to catch the reflections in the glass, and took the shot. The light was diffuse—no harsh shadows, just a steady wash of warmth from the tungsten bulbs inside, softened further by the grey sky outside. The exposure held nicely,…
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Life is a bitch
Sunday morning. Scorching sun. A work to be done on time. Life is a bitch.
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Couples
Two couples in a square. One seeks rest, the other, food.
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A Master Luthier in his lab…
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An interesting reading
To seat or no to seat?
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In the backstage
There’s a kind of quiet tension in the way they lean against the wall. No people in sight. No instruments visible. Just the outlines of music, sleeping inside their forms. As a photographer, that’s the kind of silence you try to listen to. The room was dark, lit only from one side. The light caught the curve of one case and slipped off the edge of the other. Texture came forward. Shape. Memory. You could almost hear the faint creak of clasps, the echo of strings long since gone quiet. Sometimes the most expressive shots come when nothing is happening. No performance, no sound—just the pause in between. These cases…
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A chat on a lake shore
Countless photos like that have been shot. But enjoying a good moment together always deserves to be recorded
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Fashionable’s shots
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Rest on the lake
enjoying some fruit.
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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…
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Snaps of a Flamenco recital…
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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.…
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Shade of Berlin
… Jeff, Berlin.
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Knocking on lion’s door
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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,…
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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…
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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…
