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Table Dressing
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Lost
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Nice Drink
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Are you Sure?
There is a delightful dissonance at work in this photograph, taken on Venice’s docks. We expect wedding portraits to be carefully curated affairs — romantic, timeless, perhaps even a little clichéd. Yet here, the scene unfolds against a backdrop of a bright yellow, graffiti-stained container, with stacks of bottled water and the raw brick of a church wall behind it. From a compositional perspective, the frame is well balanced. The groom, positioned to the left, strides toward the bride, who stands slightly off-centre to the right. The eye is drawn naturally from him to her, and then to the small entourage of photographers and onlookers who appear more amused than…
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The Stroller
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Indifference
They might be travelling together, but their body language tells a different story. I spotted them in Venice, sitting mere inches apart, yet continents away in attitude. She looks ahead, arms crossed, eyes shaded, posture closed. He’s buried in his phone call, face half-covered, shoulders turned. The irony of their proximity to water — a place where people typically pause, connect, reflect — only heightens the emotional disconnect. Compositionally, I was drawn to the layered diagonals: the canal’s edge slicing across, the dock projecting out, the visual wall created by their backs. Their separation isn’t just emotional — it’s architectural. Framing them just off-centre, I allowed the background vaporetto and…
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The Porter
There is a peculiar rhythm to Venice in summer — a constant shuffle of feet, a hum of voices in a dozen languages, the clack and roll of suitcase wheels over stone. This image came from within that chaos, taken almost in the middle of the stream. The porter is pushing against the tide, a functional counterpoint to the leisure of the surrounding crowd. His trolley, loaded with a fortress of luggage, dominates the frame, almost spilling out toward the viewer. The sign with his name and “authorized” status lends a touch of officialdom to what is otherwise a raw, physical job. I positioned myself low and close, so the…
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The Violinist
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Aren’t Tapas Spanish?
Wandering through Venice, I came across this signboard outside a small eatery, its hand-painted letters enthusiastically proclaiming Cicchetti – Typical Venetian Food – Tapas. The first two lines make perfect sense: cicchetti are indeed a hallmark of Venetian gastronomy, those small, flavourful bites served in bàcari across the city. But then comes the curious third line: Tapas. A word so rooted in Spanish culinary identity that seeing it coupled with “typical Venetian” is enough to raise an eyebrow — and perhaps a smile. From a photographic perspective, the image is a straightforward yet effective piece of documentary work. The sign is centred and fills the frame, allowing the viewer to…
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Mediterranean Games 2009
The cover image distills the Mediterranean Games 2009 into a single, decisive moment. Two judokas are locked in the opening clinch, bodies pressed forward, balance and leverage in a delicate contest. The Italian athlete’s gi dominates the frame—white fabric, bold blue “ITA” lettering, the name Frezza stitched above. Behind, the blurred figure of the opponent fades into a wash of deep blue, the background dissolved into the anonymity of the crowd and banners. It’s an image that works not by showing the entirety of the sport, but by narrowing the lens to the moment of contact. You can almost feel the strain in the forearms, the push of shoulders, the…
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Hi-Tech Temptation
The contrast was immediate and irresistible — two Buddhist monks, their robes a saturated blaze of orange, standing in front of a shop window brimming with the shiny clutter of modern consumerism. The scene unfolded in Venice, a city that thrives on paradoxes, and the colour clash alone could have carried the frame. But the real intrigue came from the posture of the two figures: one more open, almost leaning toward the display, the other turned slightly away, as if holding a polite distance from the pull of it all. Technically, the shot benefits from the light that bounces generously along Venetian streets. It’s a soft daylight, diffused just enough…
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Hey Mister!
Shot mid-morning in hard light, narrow Venetian alley, high pedestrian flow. The frame snapped into place by instinct—the older tourist in the foreground, the younger porter directly behind, moving toward the same vanishing point. No interaction between them, yet the composition forces a silent narrative: one leading, the other following, as if engaged in negotiation. They weren’t. Framing was tight but deliberate. I stepped back half a metre to let the porter’s hand, cart, and stance fall into line with the man’s shoulder. Their postures echo: left arm bent, forward step, gaze off-frame. Depth compresses them, flattening the spatial truth into a compositional fiction. The scene holds three depths: chalkboard…
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Different Loads
I’ve always been fascinated by how the street can arrange itself into small, unplanned narratives. Here, the frame catches two distinct burdens: a man in the foreground carrying a large, wrapped package clasped tightly in his arms, and another, further back, wheeling a suitcase with the ease of modern travel. Between them, a handful of passers-by slip through the scene, each in their own rhythm. The composition benefits from a strong foreground element — the man’s folded hands over the package create both texture and a sense of intimacy. They also form a visual block that forces the eye to travel diagonally into the depth of the frame. The background…
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Which Part of “No Smoking” Got You Lost?
In the waiting hall of the local court, the walls speak louder than the people. Four separate notices, two of them screaming Vietato Fumare in different typographic voices, one barking about mobile phones, and another swathed in the formal tone of bureaucracy. It’s not so much signage as it is a visual overkill — a redundancy parade that says as much about the environment as it does about the rules themselves. I framed this shot to exaggerate the emptiness around the signs. The expanse of bare white wall creates an almost comical isolation, leaving the text to float in their own authoritative bubbles. The placement isn’t random — I kept…
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Waiting For The Patrons – 2
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Waiting For The Patrons – 1
Rows of empty tables fill the frame, each one neatly set with glasses, cutlery, and the small black silhouettes of salt and pepper shakers. The chairs—red and blue—alternate without any strict pattern, giving the scene both order and disorder at once. The repetition draws the eye deep into the image, yet the absence of people leaves it eerily still. In the background, columns rise like structural sentinels, breaking the rhythm of the tables. Behind them, white sheets hang, blocking whatever lies beyond. These barriers, makeshift and plain, add to the sense that this place is on pause—prepared for service, yet suspended in anticipation. The light is soft, diffused, and without…
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At the theater, between two scenes
I took this on instinct. The curtain was down inside, but the real theatre was unfolding on the steps. Not dramatic, not rehearsed — just a handful of people suspended in that odd in-between: not quite arriving, not quite leaving. They scattered themselves across the stairs as if cast by some unseen director. The architecture held them. A brutalist façade, cyan-oxidised and flaking like tired makeup. The symmetry of the stairs did most of the compositional work — I just centred the frame and waited. The banister slices the image vertically, anchoring the eye. One figure leans left, one right, each adjusting the balance. Technically, it’s a colour study wrapped…
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Pensive
This black-and-white image, taken along the riverside steps in Paris, captures the quiet weight of stillness against a backdrop of movement. At the centre of the frame sits a lone figure, their silhouette defined against the lighter tones of the water. They face away from the crowd, turned toward the river’s shifting surface, embodying a pause in a city otherwise in motion. CompositionThe most compelling element of this photograph is its use of leading lines. The sweeping curve of the steps pulls the eye from the lower right of the frame directly toward the seated figure, and then out toward the distant pedestrians. This arc not only structures the scene…
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Skating at Palais de Tokyo
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Under the Arc of the Seine
Paris has a way of revealing its geometry to those who care to look. This photograph, taken from the cobblestone banks of the Seine, uses the underside of a bridge as a natural proscenium arch. The frame it creates is both literal and compositional, guiding the viewer’s gaze toward the urban stage beyond. The sweep of the bridge’s curve is echoed by the concentric stone steps leading down to the water, while the horizontal layers of the background—trees, buildings, roadway—add a pleasing counterbalance to the strong arc. From a technical perspective, the choice of black and white serves the image well. Stripping away colour emphasises the interplay of lines, curves,…
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PI Room At Palais de la Découverte
Walking into the Palais de la découverte, I was expecting to find science distilled into exhibits, but not quite in the graphic, almost Pop-art punch delivered by this wall installation. Bold, oversized foam digits leap from a sterile white surface, forming the endlessly irrational sequence of π. The visual rhythm is broken strategically with occasional black numerals, pulling the eye into brief moments of disruption. Below the digits, the names — EUCLIDE, EULER, FERMAT, FOURIER — provide a calm intellectual gravity against the visual chaos above. This shot was as much about the tension between mathematics and design as it was about light and form. I framed it head-on to…
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Underground Security RA(T)P
I took this shot as these three officers from the RATP Sûreté unit passed me in a corridor of the Paris Metro. The framing was pure reflex: centre-weighted, low-angle, fast shutter. I didn’t have time to fine-tune the exposure—the lighting was flat and mixed, with harsh fluorescence above and murky shadows dragging behind. But I didn’t correct much in post either. This is a moment that benefits from its rawness. Their backs tell the whole story. The staggered stride, the swing of a baton, the compressed geometry of the underground corridor—they speak of tension, routine, and latent power. It’s not a confrontational image. The officers aren’t responding to a threat.…
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Stinky Shoes
I didn’t stage the boots. They were already there — resting, waiting, perhaps forgotten. Red leather, worn smooth at the toes, zipped and upright like sentries. The scene caught my eye not because of the shoes themselves, but because of their place within this cage of repetition: iron grille, mesh netting, and behind it all, the geometry of a city reflected in the glass. The photograph rests on layers. Foreground: a net that seems both to protect and to obscure. Midground: the wrought iron, rusted and ornate, Victorian in its stubborn elegance. Background: the shoes. And beyond them, windows reflecting windows. This multiplicity of frames becomes the structure of the…
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Access Denied
