Architecture Through My Lens: Shapes, Stories, and Silent Details
Architecture has always spoken to me — not just as design, but as presence.
It’s the quiet interplay between people and the structures we build. And for me, it’s a conversation that began long before I held a camera.
Back in college, I studied architecture. I never became an architect, but those years left a deep mark. They gave me a way of seeing — one that still shapes how I photograph the world.
You won’t find me chasing interiors or elaborate facades. What interests me is something simpler. More essential. I’m drawn to the forms, the colors (or lack of them), and how time shifts everything — how sunlight softens angles, how clouds bend shadows, how rain turns the ordinary into something else entirely.
I see architecture as a layered system: A structure imagined by someone, placed somewhere, to be used by others. An object created by the human mind, positioned inside a city, inside a country, inside a planet. It’s man inside an apparatus, inside another apparatus. And that’s fascinating.
Through my lens, I try to capture that — Not the grandeur, but the rhythm. Not the perfection, but the pause. Not just what architecture looks like, but how it feels to live beside it.
This isn’t about big names or iconic buildings. It’s about the in-between spaces. The silence. The human scale.
It’s about noticing how architecture ages, adapts, and eventually blends with everything around it.
So here’s to shapes, and shade, and the stillness that buildings hold. Here’s to architecture as a story — not of ego, but of use, of memory, of presence.
Thanks for being here.
