Lost Cigarettes at Piazza Affari
The Milan Stock-Exchange is just closed, another stressful day is gone, so are the cigarettes.
The Milan Stock Exchange has just closed. Another day of trading — of numbers, speculation, tension, and relief — is over. The square begins to exhale. The crowds thin, footsteps fade, and the traces of human presence remain in small, almost invisible ways. Here, in a shallow puddle on the cobblestones of Piazza Affari, the day’s residue is quietly recorded: cigarette butts, scraps, and the inverted grandeur of a neoclassical façade.
I was drawn to the way the water held both the building’s form and the detritus of the day in a single frame. The reflection, sharp in places, slightly blurred in others, mirrors the dual nature of the square — an arena of precision and chaos, order and disorder. The composition is anchored by the puddle’s irregular outline, which acts as a natural vignette, guiding the eye to the architectural details while never letting the viewer forget the gritty reality of the ground beneath.
Technically, shooting reflections like this is always a delicate balance. The exposure needed to retain the golden tones of the building without washing out the sky’s blue required careful control. Here, both colour and contrast are well handled: the warmth of the stonework plays gently against the cool blues, and the darker cobblestones provide depth and context. The debris, far from being a distraction, becomes an essential narrative element — the “gone” cigarettes marking the end of another workday ritual.
The inclusion of the bicycle wheel at the edge of the frame might polarise viewers. To some, it is an interruption; to me, it is a grounding detail that reminds us we’re in a living, moving city, not just an abstracted reflection. It’s the kind of imperfection that makes the image honest.
This photograph works because it’s not trying to sell a romanticised vision of Milan. Instead, it offers a fleeting, layered moment: the city’s economic heart reflected in a shallow puddle, its beauty and its weariness intertwined, waiting for the next market bell to sound.
