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The Flame is Still Burning…
I framed this image at the Altare della Patria in Rome, positioning myself low enough that the eternal flame rose against the statues behind it. I wanted the flame to feel alive, not simply ornamental, so I allowed it to breathe in the frame — neither perfectly centred nor clipped — letting the movement of the fire contrast with the stony immobility of the figures. Technically, it’s a shot about balance. The ornate bronze of the burner holds deep shadows and highlights, and getting both to read required a careful exposure, leaning slightly toward underexposing to preserve the flame’s detail. The sky was playing along that day, with just enough…
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A (Tokyo) Taxi Driver
I caught this frame mid-morning, in Tokyo’s Minato ward, just as the light turned hard and directional. The geometry of the taxi stopped at a crossing gave me a textbook profile—clean lines, bold colour, and a perfectly lit subject behind glass. But it’s the stillness that made me press the shutter. The driver, upright, masked, motionless, waiting. Not just for the green light, but within his own geometry of routine. This is a city known for velocity, and yet here he sits—disciplined, stoic, almost ceremonial in posture. The orange livery and chequered band recall a different decade, and with the crisp white gloves and lace seat covers, the car itself…
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Silhouettes@Osaka Castle
I shot this frame just before sunset, outside the grounds of Osaka Castle. I wasn’t chasing history or architecture—just silhouettes. The timing was right: the light low enough to flatten depth, strong enough to cast hard contours. The figures that passed in front of me weren’t posing, just walking—some slow, some hurried, all perfectly unaware of the geometry they were helping to construct. What worked here was the compression of scale. The castle, distant but looming, becomes almost secondary—a backdrop with less narrative weight than the humans slicing across the foreground. Their outlines are clean, their gestures distinct. A child’s exaggerated stride, a backpack slung low, a coat flaring out…
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Pizza Maker@Ueno’s Park
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We Are All Made of Stars
The street is slick with rain, fenced for works in progress, cluttered with signs and barriers. Yet above it all, the stars have returned — bright, geometric, electric — heralding the slow, luminous arrival of Christmas in Brussels. A lone figure walks toward the camera, wrapped in a scarf and his own thoughts. He is grounded, ordinary, human. But above him, a constellation of neon dreams stretches deep into the vanishing point, inviting passersby to look up, to believe, even if just for a moment. This photograph captures the paradox of the urban winter: cold, messy, fractured — and yet luminous with potential. The construction fences are still up, the…
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Caparezza – Live@Palamaggetti Roseto degli Abruzzi
Live performance photography is unforgiving. Light shifts without warning, the subjects never stand still, and meaning happens between beats. Here, I caught the performer mid-gesture — head bowed, arms bent — a pose that felt choreographed yet spontaneous, devotion laced with exhaustion. I made this photograph during a Caparezza concert, deep in that controlled chaos where theatre and music collide. The performer’s costume, a surreal mix of symbols and satire, caught the stage light like an icon in distortion — a living metaphor for the artist’s social commentary. I wanted to preserve that tension: sacred imagery reframed as pop spectacle. The expression mattered less than the posture. That bend forward,…
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Caparezza – Live@Palamaggetti Roseto degli Abruzzi
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The Bystander
Standing in the Grand-Place at night, I waited for something—anything—to break the near-perfect symmetry. Then he arrived. The man didn’t pose. He just paused in the middle of the cobbles, framed squarely between the elegant baroque façades and the soft reflection of lamplight on wet stone. His silhouette gave scale and narrative to the grandeur behind him. Alone but not lonely, motionless yet in transit—he became the photograph’s axis. I shot handheld at high ISO. Noise was a concern, but the Nikon sensor held up. I retained the grain because it added texture to the shadows without crushing the blacks. Technically, this is a symmetrical composition, but it’s also layered:…
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Max Casacci – Live@Circolo Aternino, Pescara
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Alone
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A Shooter
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The Quiet Riot
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Los Niños y El Tocaor
The guitarist was Pedro Navarro, and he played with the kind of intimate conviction that can silence a room without demanding it. I took the shot during a flamenco recital in a modest Spanish cultural venue, one of those places where chairs creak and plaster flakes off the walls, but the soul is palpable. What caught me wasn’t just the precision of his fingers on the strings, or the deliberate slowness of the opening compás—it was the quiet appearance of the two boys at the back. Dressed like miniature adults, suspended in a corridor of sound and formality, unsure whether to stay or move on. One places a hand on…
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Ramón Jarque, tocaor
I have always found that photographing musicians is less about the performance and more about the moments in between — the quiet exchanges between player and instrument. In this portrait of Ramón Jarque, I wanted to strip away the spectacle and capture him in a state of private dialogue with his guitar. The composition is simple, almost understated. I framed Ramón in profile, letting the lines of his arm and guitar neck lead the viewer’s eye diagonally across the image. The background, with its blurred wine bottles and textured wall, is just present enough to provide context without intruding on the intimacy of the moment. Depth of field is shallow,…
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Damned Pidgeons…
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The Aperitif
This image was taken quickly, just as I passed the window. What struck me wasn’t the act of drinking — which is unremarkable in itself — but the multiple surfaces at play. A woman in profile, lifting her glass; a man absorbed in his phone; reflections of pedestrians I didn’t see until after the shutter clicked. And then the writing — bold, cartoonish, childish even — floating across the image like subtitles with no film. I shot through the glass deliberately, without trying to erase myself or the distractions. The transparency becomes part of the narrative. The drawing on the window, playful and crude, contrasts with the subdued tones inside:…
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Matching Nails
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Conversation
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Natural Silohuette
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The Glassmaster
I took this photograph in a small workshop where the air was thick with heat and the faint scent of molten silica. The man at the bench was a veteran glassblower, his movements so fluid they seemed choreographed—every rotation of the blowpipe, every precise turn of the wrist, shaped the glowing mass at its tip into something delicate and exact. In composing the image, I wanted to give space to the environment. This wasn’t simply a portrait; it was a record of a craft. The cluttered benches, the brick furnace, the scattered tools—these were as much a part of the story as the craftsman himself. I framed him slightly off-centre,…
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Interpreti Veneziani – Vivaldi’s Four Seasons Live@San Vidal
I took this photograph in the interval just after the final piece had ended. The applause was still fading, and the musicians were easing out of performance mode and back into themselves. That is the moment I am often most drawn to—the release, the unguarded shift from concentration to relief or quiet joy.
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The Spectators
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The Commuter
He was already asleep when I boarded. Head bowed, earphones in, hands gently clasped over a leather bag as if the weight of his entire week rested beneath his fingers. The sun had just begun to bleed through the train window—flat and indifferent—casting the kind of unflattering, directional light that most photographers instinctively reject. But I didn’t. I raised my phone and shot. This isn’t a grand composition. It’s quiet. Framed tightly, perhaps even uncomfortably so, with the seat backs hemming in the edges and drawing the eye into the compact geometry of his body folded forward. The line of the armrest cleaves the image horizontally, a visual interruption that…
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A Three Legged Commuter?
On the Shinkansen towards Kyoto, the camera is often seduced by speed: the promise of arrival, the glamour of engineering, the blur beyond the window. This photograph refuses that temptation. It turns inward, to the carriage’s ordinary theatre—seats, signage, texture—and finds its strangeness not in motion but in composition.
