Once A God

Poseidon emerges from above the sign like a relic of popular imagination—muscular torso, crown, and trident, his authority now reduced to advertising. Below him, the oversized fish and bold lettering spell out his name with certainty, though the plaster figure betrays wear, paint faded and surfaces weathered. It is not divinity but decoration, a reminder of how myth survives in commerce.

Composition stresses perspective: the low angle forces the viewer to look up, as if paying homage, yet the clean blue sky strips the scene of grandeur, leaving only figure and name. The fish’s body stretches across the lower frame as a pedestal, while Poseidon’s arms, frozen mid-gesture, create diagonals that animate the otherwise static sign.

Technically, the image is sharp, exposing detail in both the sculpted muscles and the rough texture of the signage. The even light allows for faithful colour without extremes: the pale skin of the statue, the grey-blue fish, the vibrant sky. Shadows are minimal, keeping the image direct and unambiguous.

The photograph functions as a study of irony. What was once a god of the seas is here reduced to a mascot, commanding not the tides but the front of a building. The grandeur of myth is preserved only in posture; the rest is plaster, paint, and nostalgia.