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Overexposed?
The scene was candid — two figures, winter jackets zipped to the chin, one holding a small camera at arm’s length, the other patiently posing. The patchwork of snow and rocky ground under a hard midday sun gave me a chance to play with tonal contrast, though it came with its own technical hazards. Snow in bright light loves to trick meters, and the risk here was losing detail in both the highlights and the shadowed areas of the coats. I exposed with the snow in mind, letting the darker parts fall slightly under, trusting that I could lift them later without ruining texture. The clouds, stretched across the frame…
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Rest in peace
after half a day of ski.
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The perfect ski outfit
… which one is best?
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Under the Yellow Umbrella
It had just stopped raining—just enough to make the pavement shine, but not enough to fold away the umbrellas. I took this photo in passing. No setup, no waiting. Just a quiet moment shared by two people walking slowly, pushing a shopping trolley and carrying a red bag, both tucked under a loud yellow Bardahl-branded umbrella. The kind of umbrella you don’t buy, but are given somewhere and end up using forever. There’s nothing dramatic here. No grand gesture. Just two people—maybe a couple, maybe not—navigating a wet day together. The colours caught me: the dull browns, the muted jackets, that flash of red, and of course the umbrella. It…
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The sentinel…
… hawkeye!
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Bored
… why go to dinner together, just to enjoy a boring night?
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None of my business…
Two local police agents try to block an African guy because of the CD he was supposedly selling. But this is none of our business…
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Enough…
The man in the blue windbreaker is not just leaning on a railing — he’s leaning on a lifetime. I caught him mid-pause, his posture tilted forward yet anchored, as if he had been running but something — or perhaps nothing — made him stop. Behind him, others drift along the walkway, anonymous shapes in dark jackets, contrasting with his bright, almost defiant blue. Compositionally, I wanted the railing to serve as a visual guide, leading the viewer’s eye from the man into the horizon, creating a kind of bridge not just in space but in thought. The diagonal sweep of the barrier, with its graffiti and padlocks, speaks of…
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The Scooter
Trying to run faster than its shadow.
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Who’s Carrying Who?
When I spotted the man hauling this enormous red buoy, I didn’t hesitate. The irony was irresistible—a question of balance, effort, absurdity, and metaphor all in one frame. The netted lines clinging to his shoulders mirrored the posture of a beast of burden, and yet the visual punchline lands clearly: who’s really pulling whom? I shot from above, not just for vantage but to strip away all unnecessary background clutter. By doing so, I let the geometry speak. The diagonal created by the rope lines contrasts with the rigid, blocky paving and soft curve of the buoy. It’s a clean visual split, but not sterile. There’s dirt, grit, marks of…
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A videographer…
… or a human sundial?
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What a odd couple of bipedals…
told himself the seagull.
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The Real Street Photographer: Bold and Fearless
I was walking along the seafront when this little scene unfolded: two women, a dachshund, and a child armed with a compact camera. No hesitation, no awkwardness — he simply stepped into the moment and claimed it, directing his subjects with the quiet authority only the very young can get away with. It was pure, unfiltered street photography, stripped of the adult self-consciousness that so often blunts spontaneity. Technically, the light was harsh, the midday sun cutting strong shadows across the paving and lending the image a slightly brittle feel. The Leica M9, with its CCD sensor, tends to emphasise contrast in such conditions, and here it works in my…
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A promenade
… in a forbidden place.
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A moment of break…
I made this image at a street market in central Italy, just as the vendors were preparing for the day ahead. It was early, cold, and the air smelled of roasted chestnuts and diesel from delivery vans. These two stood silently, each holding a small cup—likely coffee—while surrounded by synthetic softness still wrapped in plastic. Quilts, towels, fleece. The kind of items whose colour is always a little too bright under cloudy skies. Technically, the shot is far from pristine. It’s handheld, slightly out of focus at the edges, and not particularly well exposed. But I’m not sorry. What it lacks in clinical sharpness it gains in truth. This wasn’t…
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No time for lunch at Piazza Fiume …
It was the shadow that pulled me in first—mine, cast sharply onto the boot of the car, creeping into the scene like an unwanted narrator. Midday sun can be harsh, unforgiving, but here it helped slice the moment cleanly into layers: man, car, street, façade. Rome, in its winter light, does this beautifully—sculpts with sun rather than bathing in it. The man was absorbed, cigarette in one hand, eyes squinting into the curbside distance. His posture wasn’t idle. It was tight, waiting. The shoulder bag pulled across his frame like a restraint. The frame itself is compressed—everything close, tight to the lens, from the Mercedes emblem to the man’s jacket…
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Alive Or Not?
It’s a fraction of a gesture—half a figure, half a scene, the rest left to suggestion. The photograph wasn’t staged; I caught it walking past a mirrored office entrance. A man stood statue-still in the morning light, the crisp shirt collar slightly rumpled, his cardigan misaligned, tie pulled just a bit too tight. And in his hand, a cigarette—not lit, not smoked, merely held. Suspended. That detail alone tilted the entire scene into ambiguity. Technically, the image relies heavily on contrast—natural, unforgiving light from the left collides with deep shadows on the right. The tonal division reinforces the emotional ambivalence. It’s clean, yes, but harsh. The edges of the shirt…
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The Ghost
There’s an almost cinematic eeriness to this image, as if the subject has just stepped out of one reality and into another. The woman, her red hair catching the muted afternoon light, stands mid-pavement with her back partially turned. Her black gloves, long coat, and still posture evoke a figure from another era — an apparition caught in a modern street. The muted colours of the cars and buildings behind her only serve to make her presence more striking. From a compositional standpoint, the frame is well balanced. The subject occupies the vertical centre-left, her figure breaking the dominant horizontals of the street and architecture. The crossing lines of the…
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Hard work
I took this photograph on a blisteringly hot summer day, the sort of day when the air seems to shimmer and the beach hums with the sounds of leisure — waves, laughter, and the distant hum of radios. But while most people lounged under neat rows of parasols, there was this man, moving with quiet determination, his back to the sea. The scene was visually irresistible: the repeating pattern of red and orange parasols receding into the distance, the bright blue rescue boat and the vivid plastic sunshades forming an almost painterly composition. The man, central in the frame, breaks the symmetry. His white shirt catches the light, contrasting sharply…
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Multitasking
This frame is one of those candid catches where the absurd quietly sits inside the ordinary. Two men, mid-meal, are absorbed in their respective worlds: the one in the centre toggling between a phone call and a glass of wine, the other leaning forward in conversation. The table is cluttered with the civilised chaos of lunch — sparkling water, empty glasses awaiting purpose, a scattering of breadsticks. The composition is built almost like a play: the seated figures as protagonists, the window behind them acting as both set and light source. That window, however, is a double-edged sword. The strong backlight pushed the dynamic range to its limit, forcing me…
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The Businessman…
Restless, waiting for the last flight to come back home.
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Impatience
In a hurry, while somebody else is late…
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Generations
Generation after generation, the passion for the photography always lasts.
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Lost in iPhone while the wind blows
A man walks along the seafront, head bowed, gaze fixed on the tiny black rectangle in his hand. His grip is firm, the frown on his forehead faint but telling. Behind him, palm trees bend slightly under the steady breath of a marine wind, and the horizon dissolves into a washed-out Mediterranean haze. It could be spring, or autumn—hard to say. The light is neutral, as if suspended. This is the image of the now: digitally connected, sensorially detached. The tide rolls, the wind whispers, figures drift in the background—and he is elsewhere. Not here, not in the place his body inhabits. Not with the sea, not with the moment.…
