The Venice I know Photo Gallery

Countryside friends!

The Slower Pulse Saturday, 6:00 PM. The world is usually rushing toward the weekend, but here, everything has stopped. There is a profound weight to standing in a place that has already seen its "future" happen. We obsess over our calendar, the appointments, the deadlines, the linear march of 2026 but stone doesn't care about a Tuesday or a Saturday. It operates on a pulse that lasts centuries. Life in the past wasn't a different world; it was this exact same sky, just felt by hands that are now part of the soil. Slicing the Infinite This connection between the "now" and the "forever" is exactly what we tackled in Lesson 2: Shutter Speed https://marcosecchi.substack.com/p/starting-photography-lesson-2-shutter-speed Technically, we use the shutter to slice time into fractions—$1/500$, $1/125$, $1/60$. We think we are "capturing" a moment. But when you are faced with walls that have stood since the 13th century, you realize the shutter is actually a tiny window into the infinite. The Lesson Connection: In Lesson 2, we talked about how shutter speed dictates how we experience motion. The Fast Life: We often move through our days at a "high shutter speed"—everything is a sharp, frantic fragment. The Long View: But to photograph history, you have to slow down your own internal rhythm. When I framed this, the choice wasn't just about light; it was about honouring the stillness. By choosing a deliberate, steady moment to click the shutter, I wasn't trying to freeze a "now." I was trying to show the endurance. The calendar says it’s Saturday. The stone says it’s just another evening in an eternal cycle. As you go into your weekend, ask yourself: are you living at 1/1000 of a second, or can you dial it back? Can you find the stillness in your own "frame" and let the light settle? Photo A window into the infinite. Dvigrad, Istria, at the edge of the day. Proof that while we obsess over the calendar, the stone only cares about the light.

Morning fog rolling through the hills of Istria, just outside Motovun. This landscape does something interesting to your sense of distance. The layers of trees appear and disappear inside the mist, and suddenly the scene becomes less about geography and more about rhythm. Light, shadow, vapour, then another line of forest quietly emerging behind it. Moments like this are why I still enjoy working with a simple camera and a long lens. No drama, no spectacle. Just patience and attention while the landscape slowly reveals itself. Photographed with a Leica, somewhere between Motovun and the silent valleys of inland Istria. #Leica #LeicaPhotography #Istria #Motovun #BlackAndWhitePhotography #LandscapePhotography #FoggyMorning #MinimalLandscape #LeicaCamera #FineArtPhotography

Five days. One incredible peninsula. Our Istria Photography Workshop kicks off tomorrow! We’re diving deep into the coastlines, the history, and the art of the frame. It’s going to be an intense, inspiring week. Let’s go! #Istria #Photography #Croatia #VisualStorytelling

Ki emlékszik még ezekre? A „diafilmezés” volt a 20. század Netflixe Magyarországon. Találtam egy egész gyűjteményt ezekből az apró, papírdobozos csodákból. ​ Who remembers these? "Diafilm" was the Netflix of the 20th century in Hungary. I found an entire collection of these little wonders in their cardboard rolls.

Some mornings, Venice gives you nothing but grey skies and a ghost of a boat. That's usually when the best photographs happen. Punta della Dogana, Leica, patience. #Venice #Leica #MoodPhotography #DocumentaryPhotography #ItalyInBlackAndWhite