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Very British
Taken in London, this photograph distils a handful of instantly recognisable motifs into a single frame — the black cab, adorned with a Union Jack roof, easing forward past a red telephone box, with “Look Left” painted on the asphalt as a quiet instruction to visitors. The two women waiting at the kerb, one in tights and flats, the other in sandals and jeans, are caught mid-interaction, their body language suggesting either anticipation of crossing or casual conversation. From a compositional standpoint, the cab takes command of the foreground, placed fractionally off-centre to allow the eye to travel backwards along the street. The depth is reinforced by the layering of…
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The Day of the Zombies
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South Bank’s Ghosts
London South Bank is rarely empty. People drift between lights, half tourists, half ghosts. This frame captures that uncertainty — the outlines of figures walking up the steps, undefined, dissolving into atmosphere. The architecture and sky barely hold form. You feel motion, distance, and a certain anonymity. I shot this image in one of those in-between winter evenings when the light fades faster than your eyes adjust. I hadn’t planned the frame; it happened as I climbed the steps toward the river and saw a group of people silhouetted against the low, cloudy sky. I missed focus entirely. What emerged, however, was a photograph that said more in blur than…
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Where Do I Go From Here?
I made this photo in the middle of a transit hall—hard surfaces, glass glare, and the quiet choreography of people mid-journey. The woman in the foreground walks with purpose, but her eyes betray hesitation. She’s holding a ticket, a folded coat, a bag slung forward in a way that suggests she’s not fully settled. That moment of uncertainty, brief as a blink, is what locked this frame for me. The Leica M9 isn’t forgiving in high-contrast light like this. Dynamic range is limited, and if you blow your highlights, they’re gone for good. I underexposed slightly, prioritising detail in the skin and clothing, knowing I’d have to manage the blown…
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Killing Time
I took this shot on a warm afternoon along the South Bank, a place that constantly offers small theatres of human behaviour. What caught my attention wasn’t just the variety of people, but the choreography they seemed to form without knowing it. On the left, a couple stand, the man in mid-turn, the woman absorbed in her phone. In the middle, four figures sit on the pavement, each lost in their own world—two immersed in digital screens, two in books. To the right, two women converse, bodies leaning slightly inward. The visual anchor is the large poster behind them: an intricate illustration of a face framed by peacock feathers. It…
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Weren’t a Smartphone and a Selfie Stick Enough?
I came across this scene by the river, a curious reminder of how professional video production still insists on carrying a certain visual gravitas—bulky cameras, tripods, cables trailing like stubborn vines, a producer juggling a laptop in the open air. The subject, immaculately dressed in black with a luxury backpack and gold-accented shoes, seemed to embrace the contrast: part street style, part broadcast formality. From a photographic standpoint, I framed the shot to capture the triangle of interaction: presenter, cameraman, producer. The bridge in the background, softened by a wide aperture, hints at location without intruding. The muted palette of the surroundings lets the splashes of colour—those gold shoes and…
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Did You Forget Something?
Two Guardsmen march in precise step, the scarlet of their tunics and the gleam of polished boots cutting sharply against the muted stone façade behind them. The one at the rear carries the regimental colour, upright and immovable, while the man in front moves with equal discipline but empty-handed. It’s this absence — that invisible weight where a ceremonial object should be — that transforms a moment of rigid tradition into something quietly humorous. I composed the frame to isolate the pair mid-stride, ensuring both figures were given enough breathing space to let the eye move between them. The shallow depth of field was intentional; I wanted the bystanders in…
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Late Night Conversation at Cardinal’s Wharf
I took this from across the street, handheld in the dark, balancing shutter speed against the pulse in my wrist. Inside, lit by that unmistakable domestic glow, a group leaned into conversation — not performative, not loud, just steady voices behind glass. I didn’t need to hear them. The posture told enough: bodies turned, heads dipped, attention fixed. The architecture did the framing. Georgian windowpanes divide the scene into grids, slicing the figures into segments — fragments of intimacy seen from a public path. The deep contrast between the warm interior and the cool, shadowed exterior gave the photo its form. This wasn’t voyeurism. It was a study in separation…
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A Single(‘s) Call
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Bus Driver
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A Bad Experiment
I had to cover “in emergency” a date of the musical Notre-Dame de Paris and found myself “unarmed” (no camera available whatsoever), so I have been forced to fall back on my mobile. While, at the end of the day and with great difficulty, I have been able to shoot something vaguely useful, this experience blew away any possible plan to use a mobile’s camera to handle an assignment. Simply put, mobile’s cameras suck, unless you go for (very)close or cheap shots. This should have been pretty obvious without the need of looking for hard evidence. Nevertheless, out of necessity, I have been able to test and learn on my…
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The Hacker and the Photographer
I took this photograph during an outdoor gathering of hackers, where conversations drifted as naturally as the summer air. The two men stood facing each other, locked in dialogue, their body language hinting at the exchange of ideas. One, casual in a T-shirt, gestures while speaking; the other, with a camera slung across his chest, listens intently, head slightly tilted, eyes narrowed in concentration. The composition is straightforward yet effective. By framing the two figures close, the photograph captures intimacy without needing to show the crowd around them in detail. The background is softly blurred, thanks to a shallow depth of field, which keeps the focus on the interaction. The…
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Antonio Onorato
I made this image on assignment, but it ended up becoming a personal one. Antonio Onorato, mid-performance, eyes closed, completely surrendered to the instrument in his hands. That wasn’t planned — no setup, no retake. Just a split-second that happened because I was watching, not waiting. The Canon EF 100–400 isn’t the obvious choice for stage photography — especially not on a full-frame body like the 5D Mark II, which, by today’s standards, is a bit sluggish in low light. But it worked, surprisingly well. I kept the aperture wide open, ISO higher than I’d usually tolerate, and rode the shutter just fast enough to freeze the tension in his…
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Franco Cerri. The Last Jazz Living Legend
Ninety year’s old and still grooving! Franco Cerri sits in the spotlight, guitar in hand, the stage around him fading into black. His posture is relaxed, his smile unforced—this is not the grin of a performer straining for the audience, but the quiet joy of a man at home with his instrument. The fingers still know exactly where to go, gliding along the fretboard with the confidence of decades, the kind of touch that only comes from living inside the music. Behind him, half in shadow, the bassist follows, letting Cerri’s notes lead. The frame captures more than a performance—it holds the weight of history. Cerri wasn’t just a player;…
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Ultras
I took this shot in Pescara during a night of celebration and mayhem—where passion collided with authority, and the air thickened with smoke, sweat, and sound. It wasn’t violence, not quite. It was euphoria channelling itself into a public rite, where boundaries between fanfare and disorder blurred in real time. From a photographic standpoint, the scene presented a compositional chaos that demanded structure. I used the police car as an anchor. It sits dead centre, unintentionally symbolic, both literally and metaphorically surrounded. The crowd’s energy surges outward from it, flags, limbs, phones, chants—all reaching towards the bus in the background that carries the real object of devotion: the team. Technically,…
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The Ubiquitous Mobile
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Strolling in Stockholm
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Under The Bridge
Thank to its architecture, Stockholm is a very good place to shoot modern pictures. ストックホルムは現代の写真を撮るには良い場所です
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A Different Passion…
If football is a religion — and for many it is — then what are its rituals, and who are its saints and martyrs? I came across this man during a rally, wrapped in his team’s colours, crowned with blue plastic strands like a DIY halo, cigarette pinched between fingers, gaze lost somewhere off-frame. He didn’t look triumphant, nor devastated. Just worn — by hope, by defeat, by something in between. This wasn’t theatre for the camera. He wasn’t performing. He was just still, in that half-breath between chants or cheers or curses. From a technical standpoint, I shot this with a shallow depth of field, using a fast lens…
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Hanging
Do dangerous things safely. 安全に危険なものを行います
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The BatFire
A butterfly with wings of fire. 火の翼を持つ蝶
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Hard Stare
Shot this on a sun-scorched afternoon with harsh overhead light slicing the scene into contrast-heavy planes. The man in the checkered blazer didn’t slow his stride, didn’t shift his glare. He simply walked straight into frame, embodying the kind of presence that turns candid street into psychological confrontation. The choice of film stock—contrasty and slightly expired—helped strip the scene down to its tension lines. Midtones were sacrificed in favour of stark lights and choked shadows, a deliberate trade-off to drive mood over neutrality. The image is overexposed in the background, the whites blooming around the tourist group like a visual buffer, pushing them back and letting him advance. Compositionally, I…
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What Could I Do?
Don’t be afraid to do a mistake, but fear its consequences… 失敗を恐れていません でも 結果を恐れて
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As Deep As The Ocean
Shot on high-speed film, probably pushed too far for its own good, this image leans unapologetically into its grain. That’s not a romantic defence—it’s noisy, and there’s no hiding it. But the grit serves the subject well. This isn’t a fashion shot, despite what the woman’s posture might suggest at first glance. It’s a street portrait in conflict, a moment of clashing worlds on a Roman piazza. She walks absorbed in her bag—her hands, her head, everything drawn into that black void hanging at her side. And then, almost dismissed by distance and shade, the three men sit slouched on the steps, in hi-vis trousers, watching. They’re not interacting, not…
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