Every day
Diary of a black and white photographer 4
Through the fogged subway windows, a kaleidoscope of graffiti and tags danced in layers of reflection and transparency. The city's voice, raw and uncompromising, spread across walls and tunnels in bright colors and bold strokes. Each tag told a story, a name, a declaration, a moment of rebellion frozen in paint. The play of light and shadow through the glass added depth to the scene, blurring the boundaries between inside and outside. It was art in motion, ephemeral but powerful, a reminder that even in the most banal spaces, creativity leaves its mark.
In the warmth of his mother's arms, the young boy burst out laughing, pure and spontaneous. Her smile was tender, filled with pride and joy, as if the outside world didn't exist at that moment. His little hands clutched her, his eyes sparkling with the innocence of a child who knows only love and security. It was an image of simple happiness, a fleeting moment when time seemed suspended. In her arms, he wasn't just her son, he was her whole world, and her laughter was the melody that held every piece of it together.
The man was sitting on the bench, his gaze lost, he seemed elsewhere, perhaps deep in thought, or wondering what he was going to eat for lunch. His posture gave the impression that he was thinking about something far away, like the meaning of life, or simply meditating on his next cup of coffee. In this peaceful corner of the Buttes Chaumont in Paris, everything seemed to slow down, and for a moment, it was just him and his thoughts, hanging on the last autumn leaves.