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Knowledge in the Atelier (or: The First Shot of 2026)
This is my first attempt at taking a photo in 2026. I took it late one afternoon in my hometown, where I’m staying for a few days. My aim was to continue experimenting with the Nikon Z5 and various manual lenses. This time, I used the Nikkor 35 AF-D F2 — an old lens that is still very capable. Technically, the AF-D has autofocus. However, since I am using a ‘dumb’ adapter, I can only use the lens manually.
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Harley-Davidson: Chrome And Presence
I shot this in a garage, mid-morning, using natural light filtered through a high side window. The intention was not documentation but compression—pulling a Harley-Davidson’s surface tension into a single diagonal, letting the chrome dominate the field without drowning in reflection. I placed the lens close, short telephoto range, aperture wide enough to throw the background car into softness without losing the suggestion of shape. The Porsche headlights were a deliberate inclusion. They echo the round mirrors and instrument cluster. Mechanically different machines, visually rhymed. The tank occupies the lower third, its curve breaking the flow of lines from lever to throttle. Shadow and reflection cross it diagonally, giving volume…
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Claws of Fire
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Leica Shop @ Strada Maggiore
The red Leica circle glows against the darkness, a beacon above a shuttered storefront. Below, the metal grate closes the shop to the street, yet faint reflections and hints of light bleed through—an illuminated mask on one side, a small display on the other. The brand’s prestige is reduced to fragments, glimpsed through barriers. Composition is strict and minimal. The glowing round sign sits high in the frame, commanding attention as the only strong colour against black. The shutter’s horizontal lines dominate the lower half, flattening depth and insisting on closure. Within that darkness, however, faint details emerge—faces, objects, light—making the viewer lean closer, as if to pry open the…
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Frames for Sale at Via Margutta
I was walking along Via Margutta when the geometry in this shop window stopped me cold. Two empty frames leaned against the glass, one upright, the other tilted sharply as though it had slipped out of formation. Behind them, more frames receded into the dim interior, creating an optical echo — rectangles within rectangles, stretching away into the dark. I shot it in black and white film, embracing the grain and high contrast that the low light demanded. The texture is almost intrusive, but it adds a grit that feels appropriate for a street scene late in the evening. Exposure was tricky: I wanted to preserve the fluorescent highlights inside…
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The True Ironman
Not in a cave. Not in a suit. No arc reactor. Just grit, weight, and heat. This is a portrait of a welder—not fictional, not cinematic, but real. And yet, standing behind the mask, lit by the fierce white arc of molten metal, it’s hard not to think of Iron Man. Not the one flying through CGI skies, but the original scene: sparks, shadows, invention by necessity. But this isn’t fantasy. This is work. The man in the photo is sculpting structure with his hands, joining steel under blinding light. Every gesture is deliberate. Every spark, a fragment of labour. The mask doesn’t make him a superhero. It protects him—barely—from…
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What Lasts of A Workbench
Shot on 35mm film, this frame shows what remains of a once-active workspace—dust settled, air hoses tangled, the table cluttered in quiet disarray. I was drawn to the repetition of the coiled tubing, which leads the eye through the composition like a question mark—where did the work go? Technically, the image leans heavily on contrast. The film’s grain structure reinforces the tactile feel of the setting: the rusted corrugated metal, the splintered table legs, the pitted concrete. Exposure runs slightly hot in the highlights, but it works here. The wall texture and tool remnants need that brightness to emerge from the shadows. Compositionally, the corner perspective introduces depth without dramatics.…
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The Angel Maker
There are some things you only find in Rome. Down a narrow street behind the Teatro di Pompeo, inside a studio that smells of dust, turpentine and time, I watched a man restoring angels. Not metaphorically—literally. Plaster cherubs laid out across the table, grey with primer, one mid-stroke under his steady brush. The place looked more like a reliquary than a workshop. And in a way, it was. He’s a master restorer. The kind of figure you expect in an old Fellini film, surrounded by faded tapestries, cracked frames, and gold leaf so fine it breathes when you exhale near it. But this wasn’t a scene. This was a day’s…
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The Restorer’s Nest
Bringing back to life what was nearly lost
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Coffee Doesn’t Need a Table. It Needs a Moment
I didn’t need to wait for this shot to compose itself—it already had. The empty espresso cup, still fresh with crema residue, sat on the curve of the car roof like it belonged there. No fuss, no coaster, just placed with the kind of instinct that only comes from repetition. Mechanics don’t schedule coffee breaks. They take them where they stand. The car’s soft metallic paint reflected just enough light to form a clean, curved foreground. I used a wide aperture to isolate the cup, letting the background—raised vehicles, industrial stairs, soft chaos—bleed into blur. The contrast between the sharp plastic rim and the defocused scene behind it is where…
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A Mini At The Garage
In motorsport, the story is often told on the track—in the blur of speed, the roar of engines, the chase of the apex. But there is another narrative, quieter and equally vital, found in the moments before a car is ready to move again. This photograph of an old Mini Cooper captures that in-between state: the stillness of a machine awaiting service. The perspective is deliberate. We see the car from the rear, centred on the whip antenna and the roofline, framed by the muted geometry of the workshop. Reflections curve across the back glass, warping the ceiling lights into soft arcs—a reminder of the interplay between machine and environment.…
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A quiet watchdog or long-time friend who enjoys some rest??
I was walking through a narrow street in Rome when I saw him—stretched across the threshold of a dusty antiques shop like a soft barricade. Head down, ears flat, but not asleep. Not quite. He was watching with the kind of calm that doesn’t need to prove anything. The Leica M9 was set to zone focus, aperture around f/5.6, and I didn’t have time to fuss. I framed, stepped slightly left to catch the reflections in the glass, and took the shot. The light was diffuse—no harsh shadows, just a steady wash of warmth from the tungsten bulbs inside, softened further by the grey sky outside. The exposure held nicely,…
