One thing I keep coming back to in my photography is scale.
Not the technical kind, I’ll happily leave that debate to people arguing about lenses on the internet, but the visual kind. Big scenes, tiny people. A huge landscape with a lone figure. Massive buildings with someone wandering through like they’ve taken a wrong turn.
I love those moments where people are barely noticeable.
You know the ones, you look at the image, take it all in, and then suddenly spot a person tucked away somewhere, looking very small and possibly questioning their life choices.
There’s something oddly satisfying about it.
In a world where we’re all encouraged to feel important, be seen, and make our mark, these scenes do the opposite. They quietly remind us that we’re actually not that big a deal. Zoom out far enough and we’re just tiny dots on a very large, very old planet.
And honestly, I find that quite reassuring.
Because when you’re standing in front of something vast like a mountain, the sea, a city that seems to go on forever, then all the usual noise fades away. The stress, the rush, the need to be important, it all shrinks. You’re just there, existing, in a world that doesn’t revolve around you.
Mother Nature, it turns out, is not particularly impressed by us.
The planet has been doing its thing for a very long time, and it’ll carry on quite happily long after we’ve finished arguing about things that probably won’t matter next week, never mind in 100 years.
Which is actually quite freeing. Because if we’re all just small parts of a much bigger picture, then maybe we can relax a bit. Stop taking ourselves so seriously.
Get out, explore, and enjoy it while we’re here. That’s what these photos are about.
They’re not about people being the star of the show, they’re about people being part of something much bigger. Small, temporary, slightly insignificant, but still lucky enough to be there.
And sometimes, making people look tiny in a photo is just my gentle way of keeping things in perspective.
