The Aperitif

This image was taken quickly, just as I passed the window. What struck me wasn’t the act of drinking — which is unremarkable in itself — but the multiple surfaces at play. A woman in profile, lifting her glass; a man absorbed in his phone; reflections of pedestrians I didn’t see until after the shutter clicked. And then the writing — bold, cartoonish, childish even — floating across the image like subtitles with no film.

I shot through the glass deliberately, without trying to erase myself or the distractions. The transparency becomes part of the narrative. The drawing on the window, playful and crude, contrasts with the subdued tones inside: brick wall, wine bottles, bare arms. There’s a tension between performance and intimacy — the curated aesthetic of the bar versus the ordinary scene unfolding behind it.

Technically, the image balances itself on exposure and depth. The window reflects the exterior light, which can easily blow out highlights. I underexposed slightly, pulling the shadows just enough in post to recover skin tones and ambient details. Sharpness is a compromise — shooting through glass always softens detail, but the softness here works in favour of atmosphere.

The composition isn’t clean, and I didn’t want it to be. The text overlays the subjects imperfectly — the woman’s head bisects the wine bar lettering, while the man is caught beneath a beer mug icon like a misplaced emoji. But these accidents give the image its humour and awkward rhythm. It’s a layered still life, one that plays with transparency, consumption, and the false cheerfulness of signage.

It’s not a picture of people drinking. It’s a picture of how we’re seen while doing it — framed, labelled, reflected, and momentarily on display.