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Seats
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Restaurant or Killing House?
Taken in Tokyo, this photograph shows the façade of Musashi, a ramen restaurant, but the presentation is far from the warm, inviting atmosphere one might expect from an eatery. At night, under the glare of its signage, the scene takes on an ambiguous mood. The bold kanji, stark in black against an overexposed white panel, dominate the frame’s upper third, flanked by circular emblems. Below, the silhouette of a swordsman — rendered in cut-out form with glowing characters down the centre — adds an almost cinematic tension, more reminiscent of a samurai film poster than a dinner venue. From a compositional standpoint, the frame is split into strong horizontal bands:…
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Every Single Day
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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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Mistress Of Puppets
I titled this one Mistress of Puppets. A nod, of course, to the Metallica anthem where the master pulls the strings, controls the fate of others—merciless, mechanical, in charge. But in this frame, the dynamic is flipped. The puppet isn’t controlled. She’s in control. Shot through a shop window, the mannequin doesn’t stand, she sits—curled into herself in an oddly introspective pose. Not a gesture of command, but of knowing. Dressed in soft florals, faceless but not neutral. The glass between us acts like a screen, a membrane, a boundary between worlds—hers synthetic, silent, and oddly powerful; ours fast, distracted, and easily led. Because really, who’s manipulating whom? She doesn’t speak.…
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The Quest for Belgian Chocolate…
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The Sorcerer’s Shop
Walking past the narrow streets that night, I was struck by the oddly theatrical composition this small shop presented. “La Bottega delle Streghe” — The Sorcerer’s Shop — proclaimed the sign above, and there in the doorway hung a single jacket, swaying faintly in the evening air. Through the open door, the frame split into two narratives: the interior, softly lit and cluttered with fabric and objects; and beyond it, the alleyway, dimly illuminated, with a car just visible in the background. The framing here is deliberate — the doorway acts as both literal and visual threshold. The viewer is pulled in, suspended between the world outside and whatever spells…
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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 Special Dress for a Special Party
At night in Stockholm, when shop windows become small stages and the city quiets enough, interiors to speak outward. The mannequin stands alone, dressed in white, suspended between the street and the room behind it. There is no reflection of passers-by, no movement intruding — only the slow, deliberate stillness of fabric and objects. The dress is light, almost ceremonial, while the surrounding space is heavy with material: stacked books, dark wood, layered garments, textured rugs. The shop feels less like a retail space than a private archive, somewhere between wardrobe and memory.
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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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A coffee at Saint Eustachio’s
Saint Eustachio is not a place for rushed photography. Between the crush of customers, the warm glare off the coffee machines, and the tight spaces, you’ve got to work with precision — and patience. Using the Fuji X-E2 with a Zeiss Planar 50mm f/1.5, I knew this would be a manual focus game. Autofocus would have been hunting in the low light, and besides, the Planar has a way of rewarding the slowness it demands. I focused carefully on the barista’s eyes, knowing that at f/1.5 depth of field would be razor thin. He was completely absorbed in his work, and I wanted that concentration to be the anchor…
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Sales Force
There’s an odd tension in this photograph — one that pulls you in before you’ve even had time to work out why. On the surface, it’s a straightforward shop-window scene: mannequins in carefully styled outfits, lit with that clinical precision that retail chains excel at. Yet the longer you look, the more unsettling it becomes. The composition is tight, almost regimented, with the mannequins arranged in military formation. Their identical, expressionless faces create a chorus of stillness, reinforced by the repetition of hair colour, pose, and stance. The red “ALDI” sign in the foreground slices into the frame with an almost aggressive verticality, its bold typography competing for attention with…
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Should I Buy It? (Best Taken With an 85mm)
…but actually with a 23mm (35mm equivalent, cropped.) It’s not just a shopping street. It’s a stage. Look closer: this frame holds a silent performance — a subtle interplay of desire, decision, and doubt. Three women stand just outside the warmth of the boutique, their eyes fixed on mannequins who, ironically, seem far more confident than the living observers. The mannequin inside strikes a bold pose, clad in red and certainty. The women outside? Bundled in coats, their body language somewhere between ambivalence and negotiation. On the far left, another kind of window. A glowing child’s fantasy, plastered with Disney’s “Frozen” — a reminder of simpler times, when wanting something…
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A Nikon’s Portrait Made With a Fuji
A Nikon camera strap curls into the lower left of the frame, its familiar yellow letters unmistakable to anyone who’s ever held one. Yet the photograph itself was taken with a Fujifilm—a quiet, almost private joke between photographer and viewer. The rest of the image leans into misdirection. The camera is not the subject, at least not in the obvious way. Centre stage belongs to a pair of hands opening a quilted leather handbag, rings catching the light, fingertips poised in the act of searching or arranging. The fabrics, textures, and colours—matte grey, deep burgundy, soft velvet—compete gently for attention. The Nikon strap rests there almost incidentally, but of course…
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Reflexes
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Busy
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One Coffee
The man was seated comfortably in the outdoor café, not in a hurry, holding a small cup of espresso with the ease of someone for whom this ritual is long-established. His posture—leg crossed, coat unbuttoned just enough, scarf tucked in with care—suggested familiarity rather than performance. What interested me most was the way he occupied the space. He wasn’t watching the street or waiting for company; he was simply present. The café terrace around him was active—people talking, a stroller being adjusted, the waitress passing through in mid-step—but his stillness formed the quiet centre of the frame. It’s not stillness as in isolation, but stillness within movement.
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A (Out-of-Focus) Break Between Lunch and Supper
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Cold Stuff
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Belgian Chocolate – Godiva
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The Jewels Sale
Photographing through glass is always a test of patience. Here, I wanted to capture not just the jewellery but the human presence behind it—the quiet choreography of selling and browsing. The glass served as both barrier and canvas, introducing subtle reflections that blend the sparkle of the display with the blurred outlines of the people behind it. Compositionally, the image leans on the central placement of the black necklace bust. Its matte surface contrasts with the glint of gold and the shimmer of stones around it, giving the frame a clear focal point. The surrounding watches and earrings fill the edges without overwhelming the centre, leading the viewer’s gaze in…
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Belgian Chocolate – Neuhaus
Photographing in a place like this Neuhaus boutique is always an exercise in restraint. The scene is a sensory overload: gold, red, pastel blues, mirrored surfaces, and the intricate geometry of countless chocolate boxes. It’s easy for the camera to drown in the details, and the trick is to find an anchor point—the human presence that gives context and focus. Here, that anchor is the shop assistant, absorbed in her task, the bend of her head drawing the viewer into the very centre of the composition. The overhead golden arc with the reversed “1970” is not accidental—it creates a frame within the frame, hinting at the brand’s heritage while subtly…
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A Lamp
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Glancing Books In A Brussels’Night
A casual walk in a Brussels’early evening, wandering through the old streets near the city centre. The light from a comic-book shop window cut into the dark pavement like a beacon. Inside, Tintin, Snowy, and the bright spines of Hergé’s world stood stacked and waiting — nostalgia perfectly lit for passers-by. Then a man stopped with his bicycle, leaning slightly toward the glass. He didn’t enter; he only looked — half-curious, half-distracted. The glow of the display made him a silhouette, almost part of the window’s composition. His reflection blended with the books, erasing the boundary between observer and story. For a moment, the scene assembled itself.
