Lost Bottles

I found them by accident, tucked into a shadowy corner of a collapsing shed — still standing, still sealed, thick with dust and memory. The light coming in from a broken window caught the glass just enough to animate the greens and browns. These weren’t just empty bottles; they were forgotten time capsules — unopened, useless, and somehow alive.

This image is all texture. The rough chalky surface of the dust, the worn corks, the splinters in the labels. I didn’t clean or move anything. What mattered was fidelity to the scene, not styling it. Every bottle sits where it was found. The composition is tight, cropped to eliminate the background noise and focus on the group. They feel like figures: hunched, weathered, gathered for some purpose they’ve long since forgotten.

Shot wide open, handheld, the depth of field is shallow — just enough to keep the front line of glass in focus while letting the rest dissolve softly into blur. That decision wasn’t just aesthetic; the light was low, and I didn’t want to push ISO beyond what the colour depth could take. So instead of fighting the softness, I leaned into it.

The contrast was pushed a bit in post. Not to dramatise, but to carve out the form. The natural patina of time needed to register without slipping into mud. I kept the shadows open just enough to separate the bottles from the gloom.

This is a photograph of stillness — not quiet, but arrested time. Of objects that once had purpose, now left to ferment in their own silence.