Inside The Clocktower

I made this photograph standing in the cramped, dusty heart of the clocktower, where the public face of time is reversed, fragmented, and framed by machinery. From here, the bold Roman numerals of the clock are a shadow-play against frosted glass, mirrored in a way that strips them of their usual authority. The word TREBINO—the maker’s mark—appears backwards, as if time itself had been flipped.

The challenge in this shot was balance—both in composition and exposure. The brightly lit clock face risked blowing out entirely against the dim, oil-stained gears and pulleys in the foreground. I underexposed slightly to retain detail in the shadows, allowing the face to glow without losing the grit and texture of the mechanical parts. The grain, inevitable in this low-light, high-contrast setting, feels appropriate here; it adds a tactile quality, as if the image itself were covered in the same fine dust coating the tower.

Compositionally, I resisted the temptation to centre the clock face, instead letting the mechanical components dominate the frame. The weight and counterweight, the chains, the dial of a smaller maintenance clock—they all form a layered narrative about the unseen work behind a public display of precision.

From the outside, a clocktower projects nothing but certainty. Inside, it’s a world of shadows, moving parts, and quiet, imperfect labour—an apt reminder that even the most rigid measurements of time are sustained by human hands.