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The Bored Bassman
Jazz stages have a way of amplifying not just the music, but the moods of those who inhabit them. This frame, taken mid-performance, says less about the notes being played and more about the space between them. The singer is in her moment, eyes closed, wrapped in the phrasing of a lyric. The bassist, by contrast, rests his chin on his hand — a gesture that could be concentration, fatigue, or simply waiting for his cue. From a compositional point of view, it’s an image split in tone and focus. The spotlighting was harsh, and while it gave the singer’s red dress and skin a luminous presence, it also pushed…
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An inconvenient way to spend time.
Waking up at dawn, layering up like a World Cup slalom contender, waiting your turn at the ski-lift, gliding up to 1,800 metres… and then, instead of carving lines on powder, seeking out the perfect sunny corner to unfold a deckchair and read a magazine. De gustibus, indeed. I took this photograph partly amused, partly curious. The two figures, bundled in ski gear, are frozen in a still life of leisure that feels completely at odds with their surroundings. It’s an unspoken reminder that the mountains aren’t only for the adrenaline-seekers — they’re also for those who see them as a backdrop for a slower kind of pleasure. Technically, the…
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Overexposed?
The scene was candid — two figures, winter jackets zipped to the chin, one holding a small camera at arm’s length, the other patiently posing. The patchwork of snow and rocky ground under a hard midday sun gave me a chance to play with tonal contrast, though it came with its own technical hazards. Snow in bright light loves to trick meters, and the risk here was losing detail in both the highlights and the shadowed areas of the coats. I exposed with the snow in mind, letting the darker parts fall slightly under, trusting that I could lift them later without ruining texture. The clouds, stretched across the frame…
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Rest in peace
after half a day of ski.
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The perfect ski outfit
… which one is best?
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Waiting for the Justice to Arrive
In this hallway of the Tribunale Penale di Roma, time seems suspended. Lawyers sit or stand, briefcases at their feet, bundles of files in hand. Some engage in hushed conversation, others review notes with ritualistic precision. A woman in red draws the eye—a rare burst of colour in an otherwise subdued palette of solemnity. The title, Waiting for the Justice to Arrive, operates on two planes. On the surface, it is procedural. The court has not yet opened its doors; the judge is late, the hearing is postponed. These legal professionals must simply wait—idle, static, alert. Justice, here, is both person and principle: the judge must enter the courtroom for proceedings…
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Chitchat under the rain
every moment is the right one, to enjoy a friendly conversation.
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Under the Yellow Umbrella
It had just stopped raining—just enough to make the pavement shine, but not enough to fold away the umbrellas. I took this photo in passing. No setup, no waiting. Just a quiet moment shared by two people walking slowly, pushing a shopping trolley and carrying a red bag, both tucked under a loud yellow Bardahl-branded umbrella. The kind of umbrella you don’t buy, but are given somewhere and end up using forever. There’s nothing dramatic here. No grand gesture. Just two people—maybe a couple, maybe not—navigating a wet day together. The colours caught me: the dull browns, the muted jackets, that flash of red, and of course the umbrella. It…
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The sentinel…
… hawkeye!
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Bored
… why go to dinner together, just to enjoy a boring night?
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The Last Puff, Before the Kitchen Opens
He leans into the corrugated shutter like it’s the only stable thing in his world. Dressed in pristine whites, but already marked by the day’s fatigue, this cook steals a few quiet moments with his cigarette and his phone. The street is empty, the restaurants still closed, and everything about the frame holds a soft tension—the pause before the fire and oil, the clang of metal, and the heat of service. What struck me first was the geometry. The vertical roll-up doors, the receding line of storefronts, the bricks underfoot—all form a corridor that isolates him visually and narratively. I composed slightly off-centre to echo the disconnection between his world…
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The Alchoolist’s garbage
…
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Lonely cart
… of a potato manic
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None of my business…
Two local police agents try to block an African guy because of the CD he was supposedly selling. But this is none of our business…
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Enough Is Enough…
The man in the blue windbreaker is not just leaning on a railing — he’s leaning on a lifetime. I caught him mid-pause, his posture tilted forward yet anchored, as if he had been running but something — or perhaps nothing — made him stop. Behind him, others drift along the walkway, anonymous shapes in dark jackets, contrasting with his bright, almost defiant blue. Compositionally, I wanted the railing to serve as a visual guide, leading the viewer’s eye from the man into the horizon, creating a kind of bridge not just in space but in thought. The diagonal sweep of the barrier, with its graffiti and padlocks, speaks of…
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The Scooter
Trying to run faster than its shadow.
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Who’s Carrying Who?
When I spotted the man hauling this enormous red buoy, I didn’t hesitate. The irony was irresistible—a question of balance, effort, absurdity, and metaphor all in one frame. The netted lines clinging to his shoulders mirrored the posture of a beast of burden, and yet the visual punchline lands clearly: who’s really pulling whom? I shot from above, not just for vantage but to strip away all unnecessary background clutter. By doing so, I let the geometry speak. The diagonal created by the rope lines contrasts with the rigid, blocky paving and soft curve of the buoy. It’s a clean visual split, but not sterile. There’s dirt, grit, marks of…
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A videographer…
… or a human sundial?
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What a odd couple of bipedals…
told himself the seagull.
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The Real Street Photographer: Bold and Fearless
I was walking along the seafront when this little scene unfolded: two women, a dachshund, and a child armed with a compact camera. No hesitation, no awkwardness — he simply stepped into the moment and claimed it, directing his subjects with the quiet authority only the very young can get away with. It was pure, unfiltered street photography, stripped of the adult self-consciousness that so often blunts spontaneity. Technically, the light was harsh, the midday sun cutting strong shadows across the paving and lending the image a slightly brittle feel. The Leica M9, with its CCD sensor, tends to emphasise contrast in such conditions, and here it works in my…
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A promenade
… in a forbidden place.
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Business people in Rome
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A moment of break…
I made this image at a street market in central Italy, just as the vendors were preparing for the day ahead. It was early, cold, and the air smelled of roasted chestnuts and diesel from delivery vans. These two stood silently, each holding a small cup—likely coffee—while surrounded by synthetic softness still wrapped in plastic. Quilts, towels, fleece. The kind of items whose colour is always a little too bright under cloudy skies. Technically, the shot is far from pristine. It’s handheld, slightly out of focus at the edges, and not particularly well exposed. But I’m not sorry. What it lacks in clinical sharpness it gains in truth. This wasn’t…
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Smoke is everywhere…
and is here to stay.
