Subscribe now

The biggest week of the year in Miami. By a long shot. Art Basel at the conference centre isn’t just Art Basel at the conference centre. It’s two more large shows on the beach, several around the beach side, more on the city side, and countless pop-ups in galleries, hotels, coffee shops, and street corners. And I dread the idea of it.

This is my one and only year in Miami. Summer was incredibly quiet. Too hot for people to come here. I’m averse to crowds, so that was fine. I’m also averse to extreme heat. I got out some mornings, but by 10am the sun and humidity were a potent force. Daily lightning saved my sanity. And it never got boring.

October arrived, and the temperature started to mercifully taper off. Still very hot, but now there was an “oooh, that breeze feels nice.” The coffee shop was busier. Traffic building. Landscapers out in their droves. “THE SNOWBIRDS ARE COMING,” the South Floridian Paul Revere cried. For my non-American friends, that’s people from colder climates who have decided never to experience a cold winter again. Down from the North they come, and Miami comes back to life. And the unofficial welcoming party – Miami Art Week (MAW).

This was to be our first experience of MAW. Art Basel Miami, of duct-tape banana fame, is the poster child of the week. Around it, Untitled and Scope held their places on the beach, with Aqua and Satellite between them. On the city side, Art Miami’s Context, Red Dot, Feria Clandestina, Nada, and on and on. No shortage of shows to see, art to buy, and afterparties to attend.

“Take my advice…” a local gallerist told me two weeks before the event, “…plan your days on either side of Miami. You can’t do the city and the beach in the same day. You could easily sit in traffic for 2–3 hours just getting from one side to the next.”

It’s not cheap to get around either. Basel priced from $88 for general entry to over $3,000 for VIP tickets. The venues are built, the booths are built, and the people come. As an attendee of similar shows, I usually feel worn out after just one major show. That’s just my feet. In Miami, your wallet gets worn out buying the privilege to wear out your feet.

As it turned out though, none of that would bother me. I wouldn’t be troubled by long traffic jams. No exhibit floor fatigue. My wallet safe from buying KAWS and Lichtenstein replicas (originals I could NEVER afford). And crowds? Not my problem. Our first experience of MAW wasn’t as visitors; it was as gallerists at the Satellite Art Show. applause, applause “Thank you, thank you, too kind”.

Cue a dread level I didn’t even know was possible. For reference:

Level 1: Attending a crowded event.
“They’re dressed well. I should have worn something else. I feel fat. Ohh that’s amazing! How much?? There are way too many people in here. I’ll just wait outside.”

Level 2: My work in a group show.
“People will show up. It’s the gallery’s responsibility, right? My friends are coming? That’s renting a crowd. Oh, everyone’s work is better than mine. That guy talked to me about my work, but he’s just being polite. It feels kinda good though. No, no, it doesn’t. I’ll wait outside.”

Level 3: Solo Show.
“I don’t want to go.”

Level 4: Any of the above, but with a requirement to present something.

Defcon 5: Gallerist showing other artists’ work.
“OH MY GOD, what if people don’t come? What if they come and leave IMMEDIATELY? Or they don’t buy anything? The artists are going to be here?? I hope we sell their work. It’s a big effort for them to be here. I feel sick. Is it too late to back out? What if I pass out? This parachute is just a backpack with bricks!!!”

And so on.

Brief pause for context. We created a nomadic gallery called ankydyn gallery (lowercase on purpose) on October 1st this year (2025…just in case the algorithm serves this to you in the future). It’s part of a longer-term plan to support artists whose work we love. We fast-tracked the launch because being in Miami and part of MAW seemed too good to pass up.

We applied and were selected for the Satellite Art Show at the Geneva Hotel, Miami Beach. A five-star rated, Qatari-owned boutique hotel with a bar/nightclub and guest DJ J-Lo at the front. Lolz no. It was a hellhole. The first install day involved shifting furniture out of the room that was meant to be gone before we arrived. The walls were yellow. Not a sunny yellow. A “tar from 50 years of chain smoking” yellow. Not optimal for showing art. And we were at the end of a hallway. Great, I thought, for keeping a safe distance from bone-crushing dubstep, coke heads, and tech bro rage I’d feared. As it turns out, Brian and Brittany, the head honchos of Satellite, had great taste in music. Sadly, being at the end of the hall was more hindrance than sanctuary.

Here’s the real truth. I loved it. We overcame the room’s challenges. The artists’ work (12 painters, sculptors, fabric artists, 4 filmmakers, and 29 photographers) was varied, hugely talented, and worthy of space at the big shows. The artists who were present helped install, sell, engage with visitors, and turned the show from stressful into fun. We were incredibly lucky to secure a sponsor, Ilegal Mezcal, and that absolutely helped. Moe from Ilegal was onsite serving visitors and adding to the room’s welcoming vibe. We turned what should have been a condemned hotel room into a lived-in space. Lamps were art. The closet, the iron, the cups, the wine bottles, the bathroom mirror. No area left untouched, yet the room still felt breathable. Room to move. We even held movie nights hosted by M&MDB Films, screening a film made specifically for our show, complete with popcorn runs. That smell brought people in too.

And news alert: Visitors were great. Friendly, interested in the art and the artists. We had some great conversations and made meaningful connections.

I dreaded the experience. Representing other artists was new to me. I desperately wanted to do the best job we could. Some artworks sold, others didn’t. That’s how it is. My feet hated me each day, but visitors were likely overstimulated, exhausted, and sore-footed too. It helped to remember that and not take every non-sale as a personal failure.

I’m proud of what we did. With ankydyn gallery, we jumped into the deep end and learned so much. I’d do MAW again. I’d even do it in a hotel. With many, many caveats. White walls being one. And next time, I won’t freak out ahead of it by inventing disaster scenarios in my head.

Right?

With immense thanks to all 45 artists involved for putting trust in ankydyn gallery to represent your work at MAW.

Here’s a few more photos from our room. Thanks for reading.

Paul

Treat me to a coffee?

Subscribe now

Subscribe now

“It’s just a border. Why can’t I figure it out.”

I’m printing photos. Not just any photos, but the work of 29 photographers. This is not the same as printing my own work, which I’ve done for the last couple of years. I’ve often been so bored with the technical process that I’ve resorted to “that’ll do.” Now, “that’ll do” won’t cut it.

Let me take you back a little, to add some colour to where things are now. I am coming up on my third anniversary of owning a camera. Before that, my last one was a Canon EOS something-or-other about fifteen years ago. I bought that camera because I was going to a Formula One race and wanted better photos than my Samsung Galaxy 4 could take. Spoiler. They weren’t better. Photographer, not the tools.

In the last three years, I’ve taken courses with ICP, gone on photo walks with photographers I admire, consumed a stupid number of photobooks, owned more cameras than is sensible, and taken well over 50,000 photos. 20,000 this year alone. Practice made me a better photographer. Not the gear. Not any talent. Just practice, and the inspiration I’ve found from people I’ve met along the way.

My wife and I created a gallery a couple of months ago. Ankydyn Gallery. It’s mostly online for now until we find a physical space. We have our first in-person show at Miami Art Week this December. A hotel room will be converted into a gallery to showcase the work of 16 multidisciplinary artists and 29 photographers. 45 artists in our first independent show. Which is a wild sentence to write.

For the photographers, I reached out to people who have meant a lot to me over the last few years. People who shared some of that journey. People who encouraged my work. People whose work showed me what a world without competition feels like. A world full of people who are simply driven by their passion. It has been humbling that almost everyone I asked said yes.

Now I’m standing over my printer, battling the technical quirks I had zero patience for in the past. The weight of expectation feels higher. None of these photographers will be in Miami to see their printed work in person. That matters to me. I want their experience to be as good as I can make it from afar. I’ve dreaded this moment for weeks. I bought backup ink. I have high quality paper, an excellent printer. The equivalent of buying all the gym gear. Now I have no more excuses not to go to the gym.

Between my mate ChatGPT and me, we worked through settings, test prints, and colour management. And yes, I figured out the border issues. And then I held a print from Hana Adams in my hands and had a strangely intimate feeling. The paper felt heavier than any I’d held before.

“I’m printing someone else’s work. I’m holding someone else’s work.”

And it is stunning.

I’ve printed so many of my own images. I often let the process overshadow the fact that I was printing for a show or a sale. Now I’m holding someone else’s work and, because I’ve forced myself to understand the technical side properly, I can finally see the image for what it is. Remarkable. And it will be in our show.

I needed this. I needed to step out of my own way. My insecurities about my own work have pushed me into “that’ll do” far too often. It’s a genuine honour to print these photographs. The printer has never produced a better result, and I’m proud that Ankydyn Gallery will represent them in December.

If you are in Miami, come by and see the work. And my printing skills.

Head over to ankydyn.com to see all artists (including the photographers) involved in Miami Art Week.

Subscribe now

Share

Buy me a coffee!

I went. I saw. It conquered. My heart. And my SD card.

Wrote a bit about it which you can find here.

I made a questionable travel decision. But it was worth it.

Thanks for reading!

Share

Subscribe now

Subscribe now

For many years I worked in sales. Most of us have. Selling a product, a service, our skills, or our personality. Life is full of transactions. Lots of opportunities for wins. Equal opportunities for rejection.

This week gave me three big moments. Huge moments. They arrived almost back to back, and for an instant I let myself feel wonderful. Then, in true Statler and Waldorf fashion, those two Muppets in the balcony who start with one opinion and swing to the opposite, that feeling turned into something else entirely.

Here are those three moments and their alternate reactions.

1. The Leica Mastershot

Leica Fotografie International selected one of my photos as a “Mastershot.” It is their second highest honour, behind “Picture of the Week.”
I was delighted.

Then I saw that someone I know personally had been awarded Picture of the Week. Of all the gin joints. Their photo is amazing, and they deserved the praise, which poured in through our WhatsApp group.

In the past, when anyone in the group had a photo selected, they would share the news and the congratulations would follow. I felt that sharing my achievement would pale in comparison. I said nothing. I shared a story on Instagram, and twenty-four hours later it was gone. I haven’t thought about it again until now.

2. The Der Greif Publication

Der Greif is an award-winning photography magazine distributed globally. Issue 18 launches this week at Paris Photo, the biggest photography fair in the world.

They have chosen one of my images for the issue. My first ever appearance in print. A huge milestone.

However, until I physically hold a copy, I don’t actually know which photo they picked. And somehow that uncertainty has soured the experience. I keep imagining it’s a photo I don’t like. Not the best representation of my work. Even though they chose it. That is some strange, twisted logic.

3. The Gallery Showcase

My wife and I launched a gallery, ankydyn gallery, and we have our first major show in person at Miami Art Week, just two blocks from Art Basel. Sixteen featured mixed-media artists. Twenty-nine photographers.

Last week we announced the photographers, and the feedback has been incredible.

But the excitement never really surfaced. I am so desperate for the photographers (and the other artists, but my affinity is the photographers) to have a good experience that my own joy is buried under anxiety and the weight of expectation.

It feels like inviting friends to a fancy restaurant. They insist on paying, but you still feel you have to cook, otherwise it won’t be good enough.

From my years in business development, not much has changed. You have your KPIs, professional and personal. You hit them, tick the box, and move straight to the next. Achievements are rarely celebrated because “enough” always moves just out of reach. Even when you know the thinking is irrational, you can’t help yourself.

Maybe the hustle mindset rewires us. “Enough” becomes the can we keep kicking down the road. The pursuit of happiness gets confused with the pursuit of more.

I am in my mid-forties now and no closer to understanding what “enough” means. What I do know is what I do not want. That feels like a start, but it does not define satisfaction either. Especially as I feel I’ve known what I don’t want for a few years now.

It isn’t validation, though I keep pretending it might be. I still tell myself that if I achieve x, I will feel y.

But these three things didn’t change how I feel. Writing this is my way of noticing that.

Validation feels like bowling a strike. You tell yourself you are not a good bowler (and I am definitely not), and that everyone bowls a strike eventually. But when you do, you don’t celebrate. You sit back down, pretending it is nothing, while everyone else seems to enjoy the game with effortless ease.

Being human is weird.

P.S. If any of this rings true, I’d love to know how you handle your own version of “good news.” Do you let it land, or do you find a way to dismantle it too?

Buy me a coffee?

Share

Subscribe now

For 15 years, I lived in or around London. I had a car for most of that time. I spent weekends popping over to Marlow or Henley (20 mins drive), Hampton Court (30 mins drive), or, ooh, the John Lewis in High Wycombe (30 mins drive). Very, very occasionally would I travel farther than that. And if I did, it had to coordinate with long weekends, as longer vacation time was reserved for trips abroad.

And who hasn’t said, “I haven’t been to such-and-such a place in my own country,” because you assume it’ll always be there? “I’ll get to it at some point.”

Then I moved to the US. And with that move, I left undiscovered the coastlines of Wales, the moors of the Peak District, the castles of Scotland, the wild Atlantic coasts of Ireland, and what had been top of my “it will eventually happen” list, the Lake District in Northwest England.

For reasons that are far too laborious to mention, it made most sense to travel to the Lake District now. Now that I live in Miami, it took three flights to get me to Manchester, England. A mere 2 hours south of the Lake District.

Slight aside here. If I’d gone when I was living in England, it would’ve taken about 5 hours door-to-door. And if that’s not bad enough, I very frequently drove to Manchester to watch my favourite football team. At any stage, I could’ve just continued for another couple of hours and found myself by the lakes. But alas, no. Now, I flew from Miami to Atlanta, then to Dublin, and finally to Manchester, and then rented a car.

And it was glorious.

There are places you will visit that have undergone, or will undergo, periods of extreme modernisation. Cities creeping outwards are the clearest example. But aside from the influx of artisanal coffee shops and bakeries that were unlikely to be so heavy in numbers (and calories) when I could have visited previously, the place was exactly how I had envisaged it being 15-20 years ago.

The wifi and phone signal were sketchy. Which I loved. And, oh, the land, the buildings, the history. Perhaps I have lived in the US too long that I’ve forgotten…no, that’s negative…Perhaps I have lived in the US just long enough to appreciate the history of places that were once wallpaper to me. Or maybe it’s just age.

And with age, time, or mainly a desire to photograph sheep and birds interesting places, I have more than a travel bug. I have always traveled. I moved out of my home when I was 21, and until I travelled for work, I was still going back to Ireland 4-6 times a year and taking the odd city break in Europe or a weekend excursion to John Lewis in High Wycombe.

But travel always felt tied to something, not self-serving. Home was for duty, family, obligation; city breaks were box-ticking exercises; work trips were airports, hotels, and meeting rooms. Now I crave a car and my cameras on the passenger seat with the expectation that I will be pulling over, unplanned, to photograph sheep and birds something unique. To me, at least. And there are few greater feelings than the feeling of flow with a camera (or writing).

Subscribe now

But I started this story by calling it a questionable decision. Well, my plan is to move back to Europe next year. But for some reason, it made sense not to wait.

The great philosopher William Crystal once mused,

“When you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with someone, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible”.

This was not quite like that, but the sentiment is similar. If you can, maybe don’t put off that trip or opportunity to explore something close just because “it’ll always be there”.

And as another wonderful poet, William Mack, once quipped,

“It’s a terrible, terrible mistake, chubbs, but you turned out to be the f**cking love of my life.”

That could be you and your Lake District!!

Here are a few more images.

Buy me a coffee?

Subscribe now

Wait behind the yellow line. Don’t give them a reason to be angry. Wait to be called. He gestures for me to move forward. I’m his first of the day.

I place my passport, boarding pass and green card on the counter.

“Remove your hat.”

I was just about to, but fine. He beat me to it. I remove my hat.

“Stand on the yellow mark. Look into the camera.”

I’m on the mark, but I readjust anyway. I look into the camera. I don’t blink, I don’t smile, I don’t breathe.

“Passport and boarding pass.”

They’re right there on the counter in front of him. It’s okay. It’s fine. I pick them up and hand them to him.

“Where do you live?”

“Miami.” No emotion. Just answer the question.

“Why were you here?”

You’re holding an Irish passport, I think. I’m trying hard not to say that. He’s looking at me suspiciously.

“I’m from here,” I say, my Irish accent underlining the point.

“That’s not what I asked. Why were you here?”

The anxiety rises. The snappy response builds. He’s staring at me now. It feels less a light questioning and more an interrogation. He knows the answers he wants. He’ll judge anything outside of that.

“I was visiting my mother.”

“How long were you here?”

“About a week. Two.”

Damn, I know I messed up there. They don’t like hesitation.

“Which is it?”

“Two. Two weeks”

“Did you go anywhere else?”

“I went to England for a week.”

“What for?”

I think of the car, the winding roads, the changing leaves, the lakes.

“Because of the beautiful countryside.”

He doesn’t like that. And his face tells me that I’m being difficult now.

“Do you know anyone in England?”

“I know lots of people in England.”

He really doesn’t like that. I know what he meant but I couldn’t stop myself.

“Did you meet anyone in England?”

What are we even doing now? I met a load of people. B&B hosts. Friends. Other residents. I went to a football match, spoke to another Irish guy for two hours among seventy thousand people. I chatted to a father and kid about the game afterward.

“No.”

He sighs, gives me the look, then slams my passport, green card, and boarding pass on the counter.

“Okay.”

That’s it. That was the exit from my childhood home. A visit to celebrate my mother’s eightieth birthday. Time with family. More conversations about the welfare of an aging world and increasing responsibility.

And that was also the welcome to my current home. The place I worked hard to earn the right to live.

I’m not alone in this experience. In the grand scheme of things, it’s nothing more than the words, actions, and reactions of a person in a role that seems to grant a right, or at least a habit, of power.

I’ve gone through this process countless times in the ten years since moving to the United States, and it says something that I can recall the moments when people have been kind. That’s how unusual it is.

And I know that even with this discomfort, I’m still moving through the world with every advantage. I speak the language. I’m white. I carry the right passport. If this is how it feels for me, I can’t imagine what it must be like for someone without those shields.

I’ll forget his face soon enough. But not the feeling. The unfortunate aide effects of a learned reflex that comes before every border. The calculation of tone and movement.

A reminder that belonging is always conditional, even when the passport says otherwise.

Buy me a coffee!

Subscribe now

“I’ll probably move away for a year”.

Subscribe now

I was confident in that prediction. As a 21-year-old Dubliner, I couldn’t quite think of a future longer than a few months ahead, let alone more than a year. I was at a mini crossroads in my life at the time. I’d just broken up with a girlfriend, my first “real” job had made me and two-and-a-half thousand others redundant, and my parents had left the family home I grew up in and retired to the country.

I moved to Windsor in England. My brother was living there at the time, although he traveled frequently and for long spells with work. I spent large parts of that first year alone, settling into a new life, a new country, and a new friend group. By the time the first anniversary of my move had come around, my brother had announced that work was taking him to live in the US. On the surface, I felt as lost as when I arrived. I went back to Ireland.

I lasted three weeks.

I realized two things. It had taken me that year to feel settled in England. And three weeks were enough to know I never wanted to move back to Ireland.

Ireland changed fast after I left. In that first year alone, the Euro came in, the metric system replaced the old measures, new roads bypassed the towns I used to pass through, and immigration laws reshaped the country. With my parents gone from Dublin, it didn’t feel like home anymore.

That was 24 years ago. A quarter of a century.

Of course, so much has happened in that time for all of us. But something strange happened to me in June this year. On a trip to Dublin, where my mother is now living again, I took her car to Howth Head, a place I had visited countless times growing up, and walked a trail I had never been on before. Ever.

“So, what you’re telling me, Paul, is what changed for you is that you went home for a walk?”

Well, yes, kinda. I grew up going to this place in a car. Parking at an overlook with a view across Dublin Bay. Sitting there for a few minutes and leaving again. Whenever I went back and was playing tour guide, I just did the same thing. Never ventured on a walking trail. But on this trip, I craved the idea of walking alone with my camera. The scenery took on new life for me, but something that was, I thought, so familiar to me suddenly became new again. I fell in love. And I can’t say that I had ever been in love with Dublin before. I was like realizing the girl whose pigtails you keep pulling is actually the love of your life. You know it, but something needs to be revealed to make you see it for what it is.

Will I ever move back? Unlikely. Truth is, I am in love with other places too. Windsor will always hold a special place in my heart. London, New York. I’m so happy to be reacquainted with a love I never appreciated, and now I can.

That is also in no small part thanks to my love of photography, which has pushed me into things I wouldn’t have done.

Here are some shots from that day.

Thanks for reading

Subscribe now

Instagram

Website

I’ve written two pieces negative space in street photography. How what you bring into a frame can enhance what’s left. Links to both are below.

Negative Space, Positive Impact

Negative Space and Fancy Footwork

Thanks for reading. As always, would love to hear your thoughts.

Paul.

I bought a DSLR about 15 years ago. Everything in auto. No idea or desire to truly understand what it did. I just wanted to marvel at the resolution of the photos. I took it to Virginia Water Lake on the first day.* I didn’t know what I was doing, just walking around with an expensive point-and-shoot. But even then, I found myself drawn to images of, well…nothing. Blank space. I didn’t think about it then, and I don’t really think about it now. Even if the camera isn’t in auto, I am.

Last week I wrote about negative space. How what you leave out of a frame can be just as important as what you include. This week, I’m sticking with that theme, but with a bit of fancy footwork. Less about space itself, more about how you move your feet until the shot feels right.

The images all come from a public dance event in Battery Park, New York. I’ll also share some other images that give me the same vibe. (I always feel too old to be using words like vibe)

A caveat. I don’t tend to check the screen on the camera when I shoot. I shoot what feels right. Often, it isn’t right, but I move around, try different angles, experiment, and then check the results later. And that’s the main point here…move your feet. I’ll explain why below.

First up, a miss — but I’m finding my position.

At public events, you are often surrounded by multiple cameras all vying for the “best spot.” Sometimes the best spot is opposite of what is obvious.

Photographers, sometimes against their own will, are often pushed into a small section in front of the stage. But at events where there are no sections, you have more freedom to decide what suits your style.

In the above image, I’ve circled the elements that I’m personally not happy with as distractions. Crowd crossing with performers, photographers huddled together, limbs just out of shot, wiring on display, etc.

The main reason I moved to the side of the stage was because I wanted an interesting backdrop. In this case, the city. The other photographers in this image are facing a harbor. However, with the stage elevated and the water and boats below stage level, there would have been nothing that indicated where these performers were or why this performance was unique.

That works if you’re just there to shoot the performers. But as a street photographer, anything that can highlight the uniqueness of a scene can be the difference between a good photo and a great one.

Closer, but not quite.

Here I’m moving away from the crowd. I love shooting performances where you can see expressions on the crowd’s faces. Still, if the angle doesn’t allow for a clear separation between the performance and the viewers, I sacrifice something.

Here, I have a backdrop (albeit out of focus in this image), the Jenga building, so we know we’re in New York. I have some interesting performance angles, but still too much noise around the stage.

Giving up on the whole view.

For this one, I’m starting to use a barrier in front of me to cut out the underside of the stage. I have most of the components I think I need for a good shot. Performers, wires blocked, the NYC backdrop.

Yet when I look at this photo, I think: “Well, why not just crop the bottom part of the stage out?”

Where’s the fun in that!?

The one that did it for me.

As with my shots around the Jokoro in Tokyo, I feel that a search for emotion or some drama trumps everything.

The performer is positioned on the closest side of the stage to me. So I had to give up on the backdrop for this image. I wanted to block out the wiring under the stage, but including both the Jenga building and the wiring would have obscured the first part of the stage. So I opted to lose the building.

Small shifts like these can help when you find yourself in a similar situation. Moving around to find a unique shooting spot, finding ways to incorporate place as a subject, using the environment to draft in negative space, rather than thinking, shoot now, fix later.

I’m curious — how do you approach it? Do you walk and experiment, or do you prefer to settle in one spot and wait for the moment to come to you?

Until next week, happy shooting.
Paul

*FYI, I tried to locate those images, and guess what? I deleted them. A lesson for another day.

Instagram

Website

Subscribe now

A major grocery store brand currently features a tagline on its paper bags.

“It’s what’s not in the bag”.

It’s their way of saying that their products have no unnatural additives. It’s a clever way of saying that they are all about organic without actually saying it.

When I see this, I think of negative space in photographs. I could say,

“It’s what’s not in the photograph”.

Someone once said to me that Black and White photography covers a whole manner of sins. I don’t think I fully agree with that. I believe that to be the case with high-contrast adjustments or masking out something in the image that you want to cover up. However, naturally framing negative space into the shot can both cover the “sins” and provide subject focus, added drama, and enhanced composition.

The photo in this post was taken at Top of the Rock, the roof observation deck of New York’s Rockefeller Center. They have recently installed a couple of attractions to boost revenues, but also to compete with newer observation decks that offer more modern, visually appealing, Instagrammable features. One of these new attractions is inspired by one of the most famous black-and-white photos from New York’s golden Art Deco age. “Lunch atop a Skyscraper” depicts workers having a break sitting on an iron beam amid the construction of the Rockefeller Center. Now, you too can sit on a beam, complete with a seatbelt and minus lunch, and be lifted into the air, rotated, and lowered again.

This new attraction presents an opportunity for those who don’t just want the photos of the immense view of Manhattan’s skyline. The challenge, for me, is how to compose an image that conveys an element of drama, and that drama is not diminished by the crowds of onlookers, with phones and GoPros out, coffees in hand, and the obviously less than perilous safety measures of the Beam. To expect to have an image without the crowd is tough, UNLESS you cover them up with something else. In this case, a wall. What I am left with is a focus on the things I do want. And then I have to be patient to capture the right subject, the right expression, and to leave viewers with a question: “What is going on here?

Check back next week for a process post with more examples of how negative space conceals the clutter and pulls the eye where it belongs.

Cheers,

Paul

Leave a comment

Website

Instagram

I’ve written two pieces about the scenes from this amazing location in Tokyo. What it invoked for me but also my process as a street photographer when faced with it. Links to both are below.

Now, It's Smoke

Chasing Smoke at Tokyo’s Sensō-ji Temple

Thanks for reading. As always, would love to hear your thoughts.

Paul

As a street photographer, I’m a sucker for smoke. The faintest wisp drifting through the air, and I’m all over it. Most of those shots never work, but the addiction is real. Sadly, context still matters more than smoke itself.

At Sensō-ji, the source of this smoke is a large incense burner called a Jokoro. Visitors crowd around it for all kinds of reasons. Some believe the smoke cleanses body and spirit, others say it sharpens the mind or even heals injuries. For me, it’s a perfect excuse to think monochrome. In my head, black and white always feels right for smoke. The strands separate and pull the drama through.

Here are a few frames that explain why context is everything, even when the smoke is this good.

First up, a miss.

This might seem obvious. Lots of my own bug bears! Phones, backpacks, wandering arms, it’s all here. In general, a 35 mm lens is fine for a scene like this, but I couldn’t get far enough away from the Jokoro without picking up a mess of distractions. The solution for me is to get closer.

Closer, but not quite

I moved in to escape the clutter and ended up too close to capture the full pit. A wider lens would have helped, though the crowd would still have crept in. Even then, my angle cut heads in awkward ways, and the scene still felt busy in ways I didn’t like. Hands over faces, more phones. Still, the smoke is my subject; I just needed some better context.

Giving up on the full view

At this point, I stopped chasing the entire scene and started looking for gestures. That freed me to process in the black-and-white look I wanted. I shoot mostly monochrome, though the camera records color; later, I decide whether to keep what I saw in the camera or push it somewhere new.

Context & Subject

This, for me, has more drama. No faces needed. I have my smoke, and the hands are gesturing to a power within the Jokoro. Once I had the context and subject aligned, I was happy to move on, although I could have stayed there all day.

Below are one or two more images. I hope these small steps–starting wide, accepting misses, changing angles, narrowing attention–offer something you can use the next time you find yourself in a similar situation.

Questions, ideas, or requests for future process posts are always welcome.

Until then, happy shooting.

Paul

There’s a song by Ben Folds Five called “Smoke.” For years, it’s been burrowed in the back of my brain. Each time I hear it, I’m reminded how simple, and how hard, letting go can be.

“Leaf by leaf, page by page, throw this book away.”

Those lyrics were written about moving on from a broken relationship, but to me, they’re about acknowledging the heaviness we carry. Write down the anxieties, grief, and pain. Put those chapters on paper, then burn them.

“Now, it’s smoke”. It’s a physical act that can become emotional relief.

When I visited Sensō-ji in Tokyo, I was struck by the large incense burner. Visitors gather around it, bathing in the smoke believed to bring health and purification. Watching people circle the rising smoke, hands reaching, faces briefly lost, brought Ben Folds’ lyrics back to me.

I know the smoke at Sensō-ji has its own spiritual meaning, separate from my own interpretation. Still, the connection felt personal. In the days and weeks since making this photo, I keep thinking of that song. That’s the beauty of art and of moments: we each find our own connections in them.

You don’t need to write a book and burn it. But maybe there’s something you can release today, something heavy you’re ready to turn to smoke.

Let it go.

I’ll be back later this week with comments on the process for this shot plus some of the others from that day.

Subscribe now

I left the marketing world in late 2022 to focus on photography and writing. Since then I have shown work in more than thirty-five exhibitions, including four solo shows in New York City. The real work has been the learning. Lots of soul-searching. Lots of rejection forcing me to accept that I was not immediately great with a camera or on the page. My goal is to share what I have learned and what I am still learning, warts and all.

In a nutshell, you will see:

• Essays anchored in a real scene

• Behind-the-frame notes (position, timing, edit choices)

• Process pieces (simple techniques that mattered to me and might help you)

• Contact sheets with the keeper and the near-misses

Cadence: 1 to 2 posts a month. It’s free. No growth hacks. No gear wars. Just useful, honest notes.

First up later this week. A short piece from Sensō-ji in Tokyo. Incense. Ben Folds Five’s “Smoke” and letting go.

If you are here from LinkedIn or Instagram, thank you for giving me a minute. Hit reply and tell me where you are reading from, or what you would like me to cover next.

Thanks for reading.
Paul