Roman Break

The light was harsh that day in Piazza di Spagna, shadows cutting deep, reflections flaring off windshields and stone. I was walking without intent, Leica in hand, when I noticed these two men — coachmen, likely — parked in the shade of their own carriage, deep in conversation.

Their posture was telling: relaxed, inward-facing, close without being performative. Whatever was being said wasn’t for anyone else. It was a moment of pause between tourists, an honest interruption in a day spent performing a role.

The scene called for monochrome. Colour would have distracted from the shapes and lines — the interlocked limbs, the glint off the bridle, the folds in their jackets. I metered for the highlights, letting the shadows block up a bit. Film latitude helped retain enough midtone detail in the coach, without flattening the contrast too much.

Framing from a low angle helped draw the eye into the wheel arc and back toward the men’s faces, and the off-centre perspective gave the composition a gentle tension. The bank in the background, Monte dei Paschi, gives it a distinctly Italian anchor without shouting for attention.

This wasn’t a decisive moment in the Cartier-Bresson sense. It was slower — a held breath, a conversation midstream. I was just fortunate enough to be let in, unnoticed.