Ni

I photographed this wall for its simplicity: two scraps of weathered wood fixed to rough concrete, nothing more. Yet in their placement they formed a minimal composition, two marks on a textured surface that immediately reminded me of the Japanese character for “two” (二). It was not intended, but the resonance was unavoidable once I saw it through the viewfinder.

The surface itself does much of the work. The granular, uneven wall contrasts sharply with the grain of the old planks. The top piece, broader and darker, bears the scars of age—splits, nails, faint stains. The lower fragment, smaller and lighter, almost echoes it, as if the two are in dialogue. Their alignment is slightly irregular, and that imperfection prevents the scene from feeling staged.

Technically, this was straightforward natural light photography. I wanted to keep the texture honest, so I exposed to preserve detail in both the shadows and highlights without flattening the tonal range. The colours lean towards muted earth tones, with just a hint of warmth from the wood. I resisted adding contrast in post-production; instead, I let the quietness stand. The sharpness is enough to reveal the grit of the wall and the splinters in the timber, details that root the image in its material reality.

The frame itself is tight. Cropping close eliminated distractions, turning the composition into a study of form and surface. This reduction gives the photograph an almost abstract quality, though its rawness anchors it firmly in the physical world.

The photograph is minimal but layered: two objects, a wall, and the suggestion of meaning that arises from their relation. Sometimes photography needs nothing more than that.