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Should I Seat?
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Landing
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Bronine Volkit Camera Hub. Mixed feelings
The picture is self-eplaining. Patona batteries show odd parameters, while a Nikon original battery is more in line with the declared specs. This is by no way a reliable experiment, as the batteries’ state is not comparable. I will continue experimenting with different models because these results are pretty odd. However I can not blame Patona for the outcomes, for the bromine volkit itself might be defective and a fair comparison should be based upon batteries handled similarly.
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A Skateboarder
I took this shot with a long lens, standing just far enough back to flatten the scene and compress the zig-zag of the bike lane into a graphic, winding ribbon. What drew me to the moment was the contrast between the physical tension of the skateboarder’s posture and the rigid lines of the urban environment. He’s caught mid-shift — arms out, knees bent, entirely present in his balance. No theatricality, no posing. Just rhythm and gravity. The geometry of the path worked as an unintentional compositional gift. The white lines, curved rails, and signage almost funnel the viewer’s attention into the skater’s hunched figure. A classic leading-lines scenario, but more…
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After Heat, Structure
I made this photograph handheld, late afternoon. The car was still warm. Fire had done what fire does: reduced all function to form, all value to surface. What remained was metal, glass, ash—and light. I chose a shallow angle, head-on through the front windscreen, to confront the wreckage as directly as possible. The lens was at roughly 60mm, allowing a slight compression of space. I focused on the mid-depth—the charred dashboard—so the frame reads in layers: foreground (rust and blistered bonnet), middle (molten plastic and exposed seat frames), background (burned upholstery, collapsed interior geometry). Each plane tells a different part of the story. The light was flat, which helped. No…
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Black Cat
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Toxic Waste in Open Air
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Fixing the ship
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A ‘Trabocco’ on the Adriatic Sea
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Deserved Rest
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A Street-Skater on the Waterfront
I came across him by the harbour on a day when the wind carried the smell of salt and diesel from the moored fishing boats. He wasn’t performing for an audience—just skating alone, immersed in his own rhythm. His movements were sharp but fluid, somewhere between dance and martial art. I wanted to capture that moment when the body leans into balance, teetering on the edge of a fall but never crossing it. The setting presented an immediate visual contrast: the fluidity of his posture against the static, almost heavy backdrop of the docked ships. I framed him to the left, letting the background breathe, so that the masts, ropes,…
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Open Interior
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Splinter
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Drying Clothes
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The Last Journey Of An Hero of Italian Motoring
Behold, the Fiat 500. Not the modern one that’s all airbags and Bluetooth and makes you feel like a fashion blogger. No, this is the real thing. The original. The glorious, underpowered, unapologetically tinny Italian shoebox. And look at it now—strapped to the back of a truck like a pensioner wheeled out of the bingo hall for the last time. Rusted. Flat-tyred. Beaten. Magnificent. I spotted it being hauled away through a southern Italian town, and frankly, I nearly wept. This was once the car that got a nation moving. The people’s Ferrari. The automotive embodiment of an espresso shot. And now? A hunk of oxidised metal destined for the…
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Uninterested
No glance. No nod. Just two people moving through the same space, as if the other didn’t exist. This was taken on a beach that should have felt wide open, maybe even freeing—but something about the moment made it feel small, enclosed. The boy looks down at his phone. The girl walks past him, eyes fixed forward. Neither slows. Neither turns. They’re metres apart, yet orbiting separate worlds. I didn’t ask for this scene. It unfolded on its own. A brief choreography of disconnection. Their postures say enough: one drawn into a screen, the other into her own stride. There’s no hostility here—just absence. A quiet kind of loneliness, the…
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Pensive
Manual focus needs practice. This photo would have been better if I framed also the top of the cabin and focused better the person.
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A Skater
Framing the whole statue would have made this photo better. The mistake was caused by the necessity to shoot fast, the lens’ field of view and the distance between the subject and the focal plane.
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A Droplet
Sometimes the most unassuming subjects hold the greatest visual intrigue. A Droplet invites us to pause before a corroded pipe, its mouth fringed with moss and decay, and notice the minute beads of water suspended in time. The scene is humble, even neglected, yet it carries a quiet dignity — a testament to the slow, unrelenting processes of nature reclaiming the man-made. From a compositional standpoint, the photographer has made the astute decision to centre the pipe, drawing the eye directly to the mossy rim and the droplets. The shallow depth of field isolates the subject from the textured wall behind it, giving the image a pleasing three-dimensionality. The fine…
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A Rudder
Pentax K-1/smc Pentax-A 135/2,8
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A Mesh
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An Essay on Composition
This photograph began with geometry, but it ended up being about contradiction. Sand, marble, sea—each a distinct texture, each performing under different rules. It’s not a landscape and it’s not abstract, but it borrows from both. The diagonal lines, the flattened depth, the conflict between order and erosion—all deliberate, but not staged. I rotated the frame on purpose. The eye expects a horizon, some gravitational anchor, but here that’s denied. The marble slabs—cold, precise, quarried and arranged—seem to float or fall, depending on how you orient yourself. The band of sand running diagonally across the frame interrupts their perfection with a tactile, natural disorder: dunes formed by wind, not by…
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A Lockheed C-130 Hercules
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Kite Surfer Under Duress
The wind was already rising when I reached the beach. Grey sky, hard light, the kind of day most people read from behind a window. But the kitesurfers were already out—lines taut, boards skipping through the chop. What always strikes me about this scene isn’t just the colour of the kites against a flat sky, or the sharp angles they carve into the wind—it’s the resolve. They know what they’re getting into. The cold. The salt in their eyes. The bruises. And they do it anyway. Because this is when it’s real. That’s what drew me to raise the camera. The same drive, maybe. You don’t wait for golden hour.…
