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Open Window
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Wire Stylist
When I photographed “Wire Stylist”, I was struck by the absurd elegance of decay — a rusted doorbell, its wires splayed like an eccentric haircut. The scene felt alive without life, playful and tragic in the same breath. It wasn’t planned. I noticed it while walking past an old building, the kind of wall that’s been painted too many times and forgotten once too often. The exposed wires twisted outward in chaotic curls, catching light in a way that almost mocked order. The eccentric “hair” needed asymmetry to feel spontaneous. Straightening the shot would have sterilised the humour. I left slight tilt and irregular framing to preserve its found quality.
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Pillars
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Bulbs
This photograph was taken from the ground up, the lens almost brushing the asphalt. By choosing such a low perspective, the surface of the road becomes as important as the row of streetlights that recede into the distance. The texture of the pavement dominates the foreground, glistening with a grainy sharpness that catches the artificial glow. Technically, the image pushes the limits of night photography. The exposure is long enough to register detail in the dimly lit environment, yet short enough to keep the lamps from collapsing entirely into pure white orbs. The result is a series of glowing bulbs, haloed by flare, guiding the eye deeper into the composition.…
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Too Big To Be Dumped
This frame came to life walking past an alley where time seems to have hit pause. The bins stand in perfect alignment, regimented like bureaucratic soldiers, while behind them, the decaying wall tells a different story—chaotic, layered, unresolved. I shot this with a 35mm prime, letting the midday sun carve stark shadows that add to the irony of this supposed order. The exposure demanded precision. Too much light and I’d have lost the texture on the old plaster; too little and the bins would sink into murk. I leaned into the contrast, embracing the Leica’s natural tonal harshness in black and white. No dramatic angles, no “decisive moment” flourish—just frontal,…
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A Fisherman
In a quiet marina, under the forgiving light of the late afternoon, a fisherman tends to his nets. There are no waves crashing, no shouting, no sails unfurling—just the steady, patient work of untangling, mending, preparing. This is not a romanticised image of the sea. There is no dramatic storm, no heroic pose. Just hands worn by salt, wind, and time, labouring over nylon threads that, like veins, carry sustenance from ocean to table. These nets are not merely tools—they are lifelines, a continuation of tradition, a quiet resistance to obsolescence. The photograph captures a kind of devotion: to craft, to survival, to family. Each knot tells of a…
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Red
The image was taken in the evening, when artificial lights mix with the faint remnants of daylight, producing a palette that can easily become muddy if exposure and colour balance are not carefully controlled. The choice to keep the scene in its natural ambient light preserves its authenticity, though it comes at the cost of some detail in shadowed areas. The central figure in the red jacket acts as a visual anchor, standing out decisively against the more subdued hues of the crowd. From a compositional standpoint, the frame is well balanced: the converging lines of the street lead the eye into the depth of the scene, pulling attention from…
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Winter Leaves
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Suspicious
Every street photographer knows that moment — the fraction of a second when a stranger’s gaze brushes against yours and something shifts in the air. Suspicion. Wariness. An almost imperceptible tightening of the body. That’s the curse: the invisible threshold you cross when candid turns into confrontation, even if only in the subject’s mind. In this frame, the man in the magenta sweater and black coat is mid-stride, his expression caught somewhere between concentration and mild irritation. He’s moving with purpose, but his eyes — just soft enough in the focus to keep anonymity intact — seem aware of my presence. The shallow depth of field lets the textured walls…
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Guest Are Welcome!
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The Drying Machine
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A Lamppost
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Life Within the Post Office
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Avid Readers
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An Old Wi(n)dow
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Faces in the Façade: A Ghostly Smile in Stone
The camera tilts upward, catching the weathered skin of a building where plaster peels like old parchment. Two circles and an arch, carved decades ago, sit quietly above the passageway. Yet in this photograph, the mind cannot help but play: the decoration forms a round-eyed, wide-mouthed face, its features soft and slightly comic. The resemblance is uncanny—here is the echo of the Marshmallow Man from Ghostbusters, peering down with an oblivious grin. The cracked and flaking surface becomes its aging skin, the faded stucco a reminder that even ghosts of pop culture can find new haunts in architecture. Light and shadow turn structural detail into character. The deep arch below reads…
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Blow Up
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Fun
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Columns
In Brussels, this curved colonnade sits like an architectural punctuation mark in the middle of a park — a statement without a sentence. I positioned the frame to face it directly, giving symmetry the upper hand. The central alignment was intentional: it allows the gentle arc of the structure to pull the eye from one end to the other without distraction. The light was flat, filtered by a heavy overcast, which meant no harsh contrasts or deep shadows. This helped preserve the fine details in the stone — the weathering, the subtle variations in tone — while keeping the surrounding foliage rich but not overpowering. The grey of the columns…
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Orange Scarf
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A Fence
What drew me to make this photograph was not the fence itself, but the way it interacted with the geometry behind it. The wire grid overlays the diagonal of the concrete stair and handrail, creating a tension between rigid containment and directional movement. The eye wants to follow the slope upward, yet is repeatedly interrupted by the vertical and horizontal bars in the foreground. In terms of composition, the alignment was deliberate. I positioned the frame so that the grid sat almost perfectly square, avoiding converging lines that would soften its structural authority. The diagonal cuts through the otherwise orthogonal arrangement, introducing a dynamic that stops the image from becoming…
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A Fishnet – 2
Fishing boats, when they’re not at sea, have a stillness to them that’s almost deceptive. You look at this image and all you see at first are the nets — layered, coiled, heavy with their own weight. But you know that once the boat moves out of the harbour, these same nets will vanish into the water, turning into something entirely different: a tool in motion, an extension of the crew’s livelihood. The shot is a straight-on composition, framing the netting in the foreground so it fills most of the image. It creates a natural barrier for the viewer’s eye, almost demanding you examine the knots, the frayed edges, the…
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Handling the Fishnet
I shot this on 35mm film, standing just close enough to feel the humidity roll off the hulls. The frame came together fast—nets lifted mid-air, a weather-worn fisherman pausing in the background, boats docked like tired beasts. The timing wasn’t choreographed. It was observational. The kind of moment that offers itself, briefly, before it folds back into routine. Technically, I trusted the light meter and let the film carry the tonality. Overcast conditions gave me a flat, diffuse wash—ideal for capturing texture without losing shadow detail. The greens of the net, mottled with rust stains and bleached ropes, became the visual anchor. It’s a dirty, complicated green that only salt…
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The Seagull And The Sentinel
In front of the solemn geometry of a royal palace in Oslo, the eye is drawn not to the grand columns or orderly facade, but to the understated absurdity playing out on the forecourt. To the far right, a sentinel paces with ceremonial rigour — upright, focused, unyielding. His role is one of symbol and service: a visible reminder of authority, history, and order. But his dedication unfolds before an almost entirely empty square. Almost. Because to the left, alone and unconcerned, a seagull meanders across the open expanse. It neither salutes nor flees. It simply exists — indifferent to the weight of flags, uniforms, or palatial power. This…
