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A shared moment between a couple at Spy Pond. It's not someone that I know. It just reminded me of how difficult it is in these days to make a human connection!
In this COVID world, we all try to avoid each other physically! (for a good reason)
On this unfamiliar soil, beneath sterile lights and a heavy hush,
two adults embrace.
Their suits set them apart, yet cannot dim the gesture.
Perhaps they are fathers — or simply souls who’ve come to understand
that beyond all borders, closeness remains the only remedy for estrangement.
Their child runs joyfully toward another —
perhaps born here, in this old-new land,
or arrived just a little earlier.
A friend from a former world,
a quiet sign that strangeness can melt.
What does it mean to be welcome?
Sometimes, perhaps, it takes no more than a smile, an embrace,
or the eager footsteps of a child reaching out to the other.
They sit on the edge of the harbor, close enough to forget the scale of things. Her hand lifts mid-sentence, his smile answers before the words arrive. Behind them, the water keeps moving, ferries pass, and the white sails of the Sydney Opera House wait patiently for another performance.
Some moments don’t need an audience.
They happen anyway—softly, and exactly once.
She pauses mid-gesture, phone lifted but undecided, eyes flicking sideways as if she already knows she’s being measured. The ibis stands close—not by accident, not by chance—but by experience. It has learned the patterns of human pause, the generosity of distraction, the brief openings where food appears.
They share the space with different aims. She guards her moment. The bird leans gently into it, patient and practiced, aware that cities feed those who pay attention.
In Sydney, coexistence isn’t accidental.
It’s negotiated—quietly, and on borrowed ground.
the city of arts and sciences in valencia, a cathedral of glass and steel, where light dances with geometry. the morning sun throws bold shadows across the floor, lines cutting through space like verses in a poem. figures walk in the distance, caught between the present and the timelessness of this architectural wonder.
the dome looms to the left, a silent guardian, while the vast windows frame the city outside, a world of modernity juxtaposed with human stillness. it feels like a theater, the shadows the actors, the light the script. you step into it and are part of the story, even if just for a fleeting moment.
One carried music.
One carried years.
And for a few minutes,
the city asked nothing more
of either of them.
They sat at the harbour’s edge as the light softened,
the city rising behind them in glass and quiet glow.
He leaned in. She leaned back.
Shoulders touched. Breaths matched.
A ferry slid past like a passing thought,
but they held to each other—
as if the evening had been made
for this one small closeness,
and Hong Kong, for a moment,
existed only to frame it.
In the quiet hum of the train, he met the camera like an old friend.
Leica Q2 Monochrome
Summilux 28mm/f1.7 Asph.
A hand extended.
A boat held steady.
And a lesson unfolding gently—
that movement, like care,
is something we learn
by watching it done well.
a quiet slope of stone, cut with late sun. two silhouettes cross the light—one tall with age, one tiny with wonder. their shadows stretch behind them like memories. there’s no rush, no noise—only the rhythm of steps in a frame that forgets time.
Definitely stepping way out of my comfort zone with this one - the first portrait in my gallery (well, technically a landscape-oriented portrait, but still!).
While revisiting shots from my Vietnam trip in April, I came across this moment. This lovely woman was having a selfie taken by her friend, and I was just loitering nearby, camera in hand, soaking in the scene. The background colours happened to match her beautifully, and I thought….. why not?
She spotted me straight away, of course. I was hoping she wasn't annoyed, but she gave me a big, cheerful wave. Such a simple, generous gesture.
So wherever you are, thank you unknown stranger for letting me capture such a lovely, spontaneous moment.
They sit close enough to disappear into each other, a private orbit carved out of a public place. His arm settles with certainty. Her forehead leans in, carrying words meant only for one ear. Around them, the city keeps moving—faces blur past, footsteps overlap—but none of it intrudes.
There is something fragile in moments like this. Not because they are weak, but because they are honest. Affection without performance. Protection without spectacle. Love not yet shaped by memory or caution.
It feels like the kind of closeness that exists before the world teaches you how easily it can be interrupted.
they ride like they’ve done it a hundred times, in sync without trying. her curls catch the light, his glance looks back, maybe just to check the way the sun hits her shoulders. this tunnel of glass and silence belongs to them now. valencia slows for a second, just enough to notice.
alone in the movement. the city rushes past, and yet, for a moment, everything is still. in madrid's underground, a reflection gazes back. maybe it's her story, maybe it's ours. madrid.
A knee to the ground.
A hand raised to the sky.
Two friends turning the walkway into a small stage,
where affection looked like play
and play felt like trust.
three figures move through light. the child holds both hands. above them, a thousand stars made of wire and electricity. beneath their feet, stone that remembers centuries. avenida antoni maura, palma, 2026.
on a narrow street in madrid, the echo of a painted face meets the calm presence of a passerby. flesh and pigment align in a fleeting moment of symmetry — a silent dialogue between the living and the imagined. the light catches truth and illusion with equal grace, blurring the edge where reality ends and story begins.
in the hush of a rainy afternoon, two umbrellas form a quiet cathedral. beneath one, a man gazes sideways—his white hair tracing the years, his silence louder than the crowd beyond. in this brief frame, time bends inward, and all that matters is the shelter we find in each other, spoken or not.
she stood behind the glass and pressed her hand against it. the glass was old, ridged, impossible to see through clearly. she could have been anyone. she could have been no one. the hand was the only thing that was real—five fingers, spread wide, reaching for something on the other side.
a fleeting moment, stretched wide in laughter, spilling into the air like sunlight breaking free from clouds. her hands clasped in a pause between bursts, the soft blur of the world behind her, the bokeh glowing like tiny stage lights for an unscripted performance.
i’m running a small giveaway on instagram for this image — if you want to join in, you’ll find the details here: instagram.com/arnds.photos
Amid the marble and echoes of a city that has seen too much beauty to be surprised, she poses with playful grace — part performer, part passerby. The square around her hums with footsteps and camera shutters, yet she seems untouched by it all, caught between laughter and thought.
There’s something eternal in her gesture — a reminder that joy often arrives not as a performance but as a pause: the quiet second before the smile, the moment when we forget to be seen.
In her, Venice feels young again — not in age, but in spirit — the city’s weight of history momentarily lifted by a single, spontaneous breath.
a street portrait of josé marÃa almoguera. we were coming from the banksy museum when we saw a man being photographed, a camera crew around him. i asked him what he did. i didn’t recognize him. he said he’s on tv sometimes. then i asked if i could take his portrait. he nodded right away. i still don’t really know what he does. but he was kind.
🇬🇧 ENGLISH
His posture says everything: pride, patience, and a touch of humour. Leaning against his shopfront chalkboard, this butcher becomes a landmark of the street, as rooted in the scene as the brick and stone around him. An ordinary workday frozen in a charismatic moment — the kind of encounter that makes a town unforgettable.
Part of the ongoing series: AT WORK – Fragments of Labor and Dignity
👇 www.flickr.com/photos/201798544@N06/albums/72177720325357941
🇫🇷 FRANÇAIS
Sa posture dit tout : la fierté, la patience et un brin d’humour. Appuyé contre l’ardoise de son échoppe, ce boucher devient un repère dans la rue, aussi enraciné dans le décor que les briques et les pierres qui l’entourent. Une journée de travail ordinaire capturée dans un moment de charisme — le genre de rencontre qui rend une ville inoubliable.
🇮🇹 ITALIANO (facultatif)
La sua postura parla da sola: orgoglio, pazienza e un tocco di umorismo. Appoggiato alla lavagna della sua bottega, questo macellaio è un punto fermo della via, radicato quanto le pietre intorno. Un giorno qualsiasi, colto in un momento che racconta tutta una città .
madrid. a quiet corner. the man sits behind the glass, phone pressed to his ear. his eyes hold years, his scarf rests softly on his coat. reflections dance, layering the world outside onto his moment inside. a cane leans close, a quiet witness to his life. it’s a simple scene, framed in warmth, yet it speaks of time, solitude, and connection.
in color, pere garau feels alive. the golden light catches their faces, the fabric textures, the small details that make them real. the grandfather’s firm, protective hand, the child’s quiet confidence. their presence is part of something bigger—the pulse of this neighborhood.
pere gerau is one of palma’s most diverse districts, a melting pot where cultures, languages, and generations meet. once an industrial area, it has grown into a lively quarter filled with local markets, small shops, and families from all over the world. its streets tell stories of migration, resilience, and community.
she was focused on her phone, fingers moving across the screen. then she looked up. just for a second. a glance, sharp and unreadable. raindrops clung to her umbrella, the city moved around her. but in that moment, it was just her and the camera.
pret a manger, piccadilly. er sah mich, bevor ich ihn sah. oder vielleicht gleichzeitig - dieses kurze erkennen, wenn zwei blicke sich durch eine scheibe treffen und beide wissen, dass etwas passiert ist. seine frau schaute auf ihr telefon. oder vielleicht auf ihre hände. er trug camouflage, als wollte er verschwinden, aber sein blick war das gegenteil davon. draußen hingen sterne im schaufenster. drinnen dampfte der kaffee. zwischen uns das glas, das trennt und verbindet, das schützt und ausstellt. ich drückte ab. er schaute weiter. keiner von uns schaute weg.
morning light streamed through the window, sharp and golden, carving shapes in the air. two tables away, a man sat still, the lines on his face deep as stories untold. i asked if i could take his portrait. he chuckled, waved me off. "i’m not a good-looking man," he said. nonsense, i told him. the light wasn’t interested in good looks. it loved character, and he had plenty of it. he let me shoot, the glow falling across his weathered features like a map of a life lived. when i showed him the raw frame on my phone, his lips curled into a smile, faint but real. "not bad," he said. he was right—it wasn’t bad. it was honest.
walking along the promenade of portixol, she seems lost in thought, her pace matching the rhythm of the waves. the curve of the path mirrors the endless expanse of the sea, drawing you into the simplicity of the moment. the darkened sky lends a quiet weight to the scene, as if time itself has paused to listen. it’s the kind of silence that speaks, where the sea and the road become one, and her solitary figure is both fleeting and eternal.
fleeting moment on an escalator, where the city’s chaos mirrors its quiet routines. her reflection feels like a parallel reality, a fleeting reminder of the everyday narratives that unfold silently. shadows and light, focus and blur—all tell a story of movement and stillness.
i had tried three times. each time in the office, ten shots. all of them were fine, but none of them felt right. andreas v. lochow is a joyful person. thatâs what i wanted to capture. but joy is not something you ask for. it has to happen. so i waited. and then, finally, i made him laugh. and that was the moment.
i’m running a small giveaway on instagram for this image — if you want to join in, you’ll find the details here: instagram.com/arnds.photos
in a bar on a quiet street, the light hangs heavy like a forgotten song. the woman leans in, her hand raised mid-thought, her face etched with the years she carries. across from her, the man listens, still and shadowed, the weight of a backpack on his shoulders. lanterns float above them like ghosts of the past, casting their glow on the worn wooden bar and the half-empty glass. voices echo soft and low, murmurs from lives passing through. it’s a scene as timeless as the streets of valencia, where moments like these drift in and out, unnoticed but unforgettable.
i was walking past a laundromat on calle de hortaleza. saw this man and thought: if only he would turn around. and then, at some point, he did.
his face, weathered like old leather, told stories no words could reach. from the street, i caught a glimpse of him—his hands folded, his gaze steady, as if lost between memory and the present. the café den coll, open to the street, framed the scene like a stage. he spoke to another man, but his thoughts seemed miles away. i focused my lens on him, drawn to the weight of his silence, the years etched in his features. the slate beside him bore the words "se feliz," a handwritten reminder, almost ironic in its quiet boldness. perhaps it’s the simplest wisdom, the hardest to follow: be happy.