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Hard Choice In Quai de la Corse
I made this frame near Île de la Cité, on Quai de la Corse—one of those places where the mundane and the picturesque casually coexist. What first drew my attention wasn’t the postcard rack, but the slight choreography unfolding around it. Two figures—clearly together, maybe tourists or locals revisiting the familiar—stood split by the display, momentarily anonymised by a turnstile of nostalgia. That was the hook: a photo of people concealed by the very thing designed to represent their surroundings. The irony held my attention long enough to lift the camera. I composed the shot with that in mind. The vertical rack bisects the frame precisely, interrupting the couple’s presence…
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Relaxed Call at Boulevard du Palais
Paris lends itself so well to moments of quiet theatre, and this image captures one of those understated urban vignettes — a waiter leaning against a doorway, mid-call, somewhere between duty and a fleeting pause. The scene’s composition is clean and deliberate. The vertical symmetry of the architecture — the heavy wrought-iron window on the left, the dark panelled doors on the right — creates a structured backdrop that frames the human subject without overpowering him. The soft patina of the stone façade carries a sense of history, its muted tones setting off the crisp whites of the waiter’s apron and shirt. His black vest and bow tie anchor him…
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Stand-up, Sugar!
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The Taste Master
Through the glass, the words float like ingredients in the air—sugar, chocolate, honey, milk—layered over the figure in the white chef’s hat. He stands in the narrow frame of the kitchen window, hands mid-motion as he pulls on a pair of blue gloves. The gesture is deliberate, unhurried, the quiet preparation before work begins. Behind him, the corkboard pins up the rhythm of the week—Tuesday, Wednesday, Saturday—handwritten notes, printed orders, the mundane scaffolding behind the alchemy. But the chef himself is framed as something more than a worker; he is the “taste master,” the one who turns lists into flavours, recipes into experiences. The typography on the glass becomes part…
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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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Small Talk
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Luck is an Attitude
That’s an interesting catch. The Latin word for “luck” is “fortuna” that doesn’t mean “luck”, but “fate”. So I’d rather like to be, as an old aphorism from Appius Claudius Caecus says (“Fabrum esse quemque fortunae suae) the “builder of my own fate”.
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A Fashion Shop in Milan
In a fashion shop is always hard to tell the difference beween a model and a store clerk.
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Next Time, Maybe…
I made this image in one of those narrow alleys in central Brussels, where restaurants compete not just with food but with neon, colour, and attention. It’s visual overload by design. Menus on easels, signs screaming prices, waiters halfway between invitation and insistence. But what caught me wasn’t the display—it was the woman walking straight through, uninterested, unmoved. She wasn’t choosing where to eat. She was choosing not to. The photo hinges on that gesture. Her hands are in motion, her shoulders hunched from the cold, her gaze slightly lowered. She becomes the counterpoint to the street’s whole premise. All this effort around her, and none of it lands. That’s…
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What an Elegant Chocolatier!
Brussels wears its chocolate heritage like a badge of honour, and this image captures that sense of refinement and indulgence with a quietly cinematic touch. The composition is cleverly split between the interior glow of the shop and the poised figure outside. The chocolatier, dressed in an understated but impeccably tailored suit, stands just beyond the threshold, his profile framed by the shop’s edge. The counterpoint to his form is the rich, inviting display of chocolates, boxes, and ribboned confections bathed in warm light inside. This juxtaposition — cool tones on the left, warm tones on the right — creates both visual and thematic tension: the disciplined elegance of the…
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Welcome in the New (?) Year
The year is new, but the job is same old. Work hard, earn your day.
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Ceci n’est pas un cadre
A few, different meanings. The most evident (?):it is a mirror, actually. Thus is not a peinture. The less evident: the title is a sleight of word on the famous Magritte’s masterwork “Ceci n’est pas une pipe“. The lesser evident: I shot the picture in Bruxelles, where is located the Magritte Museum.
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The Silent Listeners
Covent Garden, again. Like the music of Orpheus’Lyra, the voice of the singer brings back to life the lifeless mannequins.
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Behind the Beer
Behind the beer’s sockets, a barman discretely fulfills the order placed by his clients.
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Christmas Time at Covent Garden
I caught this moment at Covent Garden during the run-up to Christmas—a place already soaked in atmosphere, now further steeped in the low murmur of seasonal anticipation. The light was dimming, not quite golden hour, but soft enough to let the scene breathe. Shot with the Leica M9, the CCD sensor rendered the colours with that particular tonal grit that makes digital files feel almost filmic. You can sense the density of the blacks without them ever falling into shadow-mud. What first caught my eye was the woman in the red coat. Not just the brightness of the garment—which naturally draws the eye—but the posture, the precise angle of the…
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A Bookstore in the Gallery
Taken in Bruxelles with a Leica M9, this photograph is as much about the atmosphere of a winter evening as it is about the subject itself. The bookseller, wrapped in a red scarf, is absorbed in the simple act of handling a book — a gesture that feels timeless, insulated from the passing crowd outside. The “Joyeuses Fêtes” decoration strung above her offers a seasonal frame, hinting at the warmth inside against the cold beyond the window. The composition is direct and frontal, using the shelves of books as both background and structure. The vertical and horizontal lines create order, their rhythm occasionally broken by a tilted spine or a…
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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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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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Next in line, please!
A disciplined and contemplative street photography shot captured with documentary precision. A quiet urban scene unfolds on a cobblestone street, framed by soft, overcast light. In the foreground, a stone bollard supports a small display of trinkets and souvenirs, sharply focused against the subdued blur of pedestrians and parked scooters. The muted palette and shallow depth of field evoke a cinematic stillness, contrasting motion and stasis, commerce and transience—an observation of everyday life
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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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Same Space, Different Worlds
Lost in their own business.
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The Chess Players
Well, this is not Alechin vs Capablanca but… who cares? The photograph captures two men deep in thought over a chessboard, in what appears to be the dim, warm interior of a Brussels café. One sits with his back to the camera, the word Corvette stitched boldly across his jacket. The other, leaning forward with his hand pressed to his temple, peers at the pieces through half-slipped glasses. Between them, the board sits in a pool of light — the only element in sharp enough focus to feel anchored — while the surrounding chairs and tables fade softly into the background. Compositionally, I opted for a perspective that placed the…
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An Intense Conversation
Some photographs hold silence. This is one of them. Shot in a small restaurant in Bruxelles — the kind you’d only find by chance, and never the same way twice — this frame preserves what no longer can be: a place, a conversation, a quiet evening at a table now vanished. Two women sit facing one another, generations apart, mirrored by the soft geometry of light and posture. One speaks — or perhaps listens. The other waits — or perhaps remembers. Their hands do most of the talking, resting, folding, rising to punctuate a point. There’s water on the table, a half-empty bottle, a flickering red votive. Nothing staged. Everything…
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Lost in mumbling
It was a hot evening, the kind that slows time down. I stood just inside the entrance of a small southern Italian bar, camera slung low, as this scene unfolded naturally in front of me. Two young men, surrounded by the low buzz of a small crowd and the fading daylight, absorbed in their own bubble of silence. One leans into his smartphone with all the weight of someone trying to escape; the other, lost in thought, stares past the counter’s glare. The band in the background plays on, unnoticed. I framed the shot deliberately tight, giving the Ferrarelle fridge full prominence. It anchors the scene in place and era—local,…
