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Waiting to Go Home
The gate is still close, a long wait before boarding, is easier to bear when seated comfortably.
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Shopping in Bruxelles
Early afternoon in Bruxelles, The best moment to go shopping.
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Landed
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A Winter Outdoor Chat
In the late afternoon light, when the sun sat low and cast a warm hue across the scene, two men are captured in conversation: one standing, bundled in a heavy jacket, the other seated, his green woollen cap and dark windbreaker contrasting with the golden glow. Their exchange appears informal, unposed, an everyday moment shaped by the season’s chill. Technically, the image benefits from natural light. The exposure leans toward warmth, enriching skin tones and enhancing the textures of clothing and tree bark. Shadows are long but not intrusive, while highlights avoid excess glare. Compositionally, the tree trunk on the right acts as a vertical anchor, framing the seated figure…
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The 365th Shot: Between Sacred and Profane
“Between the Sacred and Profane” is the 365th picture that I’ve posted on this blog and it is the end of a one-year project where I made a point of publishing one picture per day. When, exactly 356 days ago, I decided to start I couldn’t imagine what would have been happened. I became deeply involved into exploring different genres and styles, covering big live events for a music magazine, cinema and arts awards ceremonies, street-photography, portraits, photojournalism and sport events. I went in for a couple of contests and started giving (for free, as I promised) seminars about the rights of the (street)photographers. Of course I don’t do photography…
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When the Rubbish Basket is full…
I made this photograph with the lens barely above the surface. The irony hit me only later: a crumpled, rusting bin—designed to contain waste—floating free, stripped of purpose, drifting like a rejected artefact in a river that had no interest in borders or rules. This wasn’t a chase-the-light moment. It was more of a document-what’s-happening moment. But even in documentary photography, composition matters. The crumpled bin sits dead-centre, emerging from the water like a reluctant symbol. The surrounding wash of grey-brown is indistinct by design—an oppressive field of repetition, without texture or detail, forcing the viewer back to that sodden, disfigured centre. Technically, I shot this with a long lens…
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The Day After The Tide
After the tide, the river comes back to normality, while the boatmen account for the damages. I waited for the light to fall low enough to cut across the hulls and expose what the flood left behind. This isn’t a storm photo—it’s what follows. Boats grounded sideways, lines tangled, some afloat, some tilted into the banks. Nothing dramatic. Just consequence. Shot from the opposite bank with a 300mm telephoto, compressed enough to layer the damage. The image stacks: river in the foreground, boats mid-frame, wreckage and crane behind. The eye bounces between verticals—poles, masts, supports—and diagonals—listing decks and snapped canopies. It’s cluttered by design. Recovery never looks clean. Exposure leaned toward…
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Saving the Boat
The tide is coming, and a sailor works hard to protect his boat.
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A HDR Experiment
This is my first – and possibly, last – attempt of using HDR to post-process my pictures. Unless I’m able to get a more creative outcome, there is no reason to have pictures that look deadly similar to those of the other users of Nik Software Collection (as I am:))
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Remainders in Prati
No need to spend huge money,to have a good read. There’s a certain romance in a place where books are stacked so high they seem to form their own architecture. This remainder bookstore in Rome’s Quartiere Prati is one such space — an organised chaos where towers of paperbacks and hardcovers lean against each other like old friends, and the scent of yellowed pages lingers in the air. When I framed this photograph, I wanted to invite the viewer inside, to feel that they might squeeze through those narrow aisles and get lost in the labyrinth. The open doorway, flanked by bookstands spilling onto the pavement, works as a visual…
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Clandestine Seagull
I took this photograph in the harbour, late in the afternoon when the light had already started to fade into that bluish, uncertain zone. The boat was clearly not preparing to set sail, yet there was this lone seagull perched as if ready for departure, almost waiting for a conductor to come and check its ticket. That hint of anthropomorphic humour is what made me stop and press the shutter. Compositionally, the bird sits roughly on the intersection of thirds, naturally drawing the eye amid the clutter of fishing gear, ropes, and rust. The machinery around it frames the subject without enclosing it, lending a sense of depth and context.…
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The Traffic Controller
The man in the reflective uniform wasn’t posing, wasn’t waiting. He was simply doing his job — coordinating chaos with the quiet authority only experience provides. The scene unfolded quickly: the fire brigade’s crane on standby, the red and blue lights diffused by daylight, the line of hesitant cars waiting for a signal that only one person could give. I didn’t have much time to frame this; sometimes a good photograph is more a matter of presence than planning. I shot slightly underexposed to preserve the detail in the brighter areas of the sky and keep the colour temperature cool and flat, emphasising the mundane over the dramatic. Compositionally, the…
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A Couch in the Yard
When the winter falls, a lonely couch only hosts a few leaves.
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An Altar for the Propaganda Machine
A powerful weapon, that equally served the good and the evil. I centred the composition with purpose. The typewriter is the object of worship—flanked symmetrically by twin candelabras, topped by a crude wire-and-canvas sketch. Every element builds the metaphor. This is not furniture. It’s altar, theatre, relic. The machine is a vintage Olivetti. The light picks out its curves softly from camera right, bouncing off the keys and reinforcing the tactile weight of metal. It’s flanked by yellow candles—unused, deliberately vertical, unnaturally pristine. The contrast isn’t subtle. Industrial memory and ornamental symbolism in rigid balance. Above it all, the artwork floats: childish, abstract, gestural. Possibly a bicycle, possibly nothing. I included it…
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Up Where the World Unfolds
Some things — and some beings — refuse to stay where they are expected. This small mushroom, instead of emerging humbly from the soil like its kin, chose a perch on a weathered branch, lifted just high enough to see more of the world. I don’t know if fungi can be ambitious, but the sight of it certainly suggested a story of quiet defiance. I positioned the camera so the log would slice horizontally through the frame, letting the mushroom rise like a solitary sentinel against the blurred green backdrop. The shallow depth of field was essential here: it isolates the subject while allowing the texture of the bark and…
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Common Fate
There is a certain poetry in abandonment, a quiet narrative that emerges when objects, once part of daily life, are left to weather the seasons. Here, a potted plant—its container fractured but still holding its fragile inhabitant—leans against the white planks of a wall. Beside it, an old wooden chair, tipped forward, legs worn and uneven, stands as if caught mid-fall. Both share the same exile: placed outdoors, exposed to the damp green creep of moss and the chill of winter air. Their once-practical roles—providing comfort, holding life—have shifted into symbols of transience. The wood of the chair, scarred by years of use, echoes the plant’s brittle stems. Each has…
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Night Shift At The Gas Station
The cold was real. It soaked through the synthetic layers, condensed on every metal surface, and wrapped this frame in its own damp silence. What drew me to release the shutter wasn’t the uniform or the pump, but the stillness — a kind of pause in the machinery of necessity. This man, anonymous but emblematic, stood under the artificial glow of sodium light, framed by geometry and function. Technically, this isn’t a sharp image — and I’m glad it’s not. The slight blur works to its advantage, echoing the condensation on the glass through which I shot, or maybe just the fatigue of a night too long. The colours, though,…
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An illuminated escape path will help you to reach the exits …
Not only when airborne.
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Under the Bridge
Here I am again with a video…
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A Mysterious Bag
Big enough to contains a whole life…
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A Fisherman in Rome
There is a quiet irony in standing on the banks of the Tiber, camera in hand, and seeing this scene unfold — a solitary fisherman, rod extended, gazing into the slow, opaque water. Just a few metres above, Rome hums and roars: scooters weave through traffic, tourists cluster at monuments, and shopkeepers call out in markets. Down here, however, time seems to flow at the river’s pace — unhurried, stubbornly indifferent to the world above. From a compositional standpoint, the photograph makes good use of negative space. The wide expanse of muted, silty water forms a calm, almost monotone backdrop that lets the figure of the fisherman stand out without…
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Next, please!
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The Last Icecream?
I was drawn to the quiet anticipation layered between three figures, each framed by glass, glare, and gesture. The woman in the foreground, partially silhouetted in a hoodie, acts as the emotional anchor — patient, uncertain, her posture leaning subtly forward. She could be next, or just waiting. The man to her right, elderly, suited, stoic, exists in quiet counterpoint. And behind the counter, blurred yet bright, the server becomes an abstract suggestion of service or denial. It’s the moment before transaction — a gesture paused in the theatre of everyday life. Technically, the image is soft, and I’m fine with that. Focus falls more on atmosphere than detail. Depth…
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