They look like monoliths. They are seashells, smaller than a fingertip.
I collected dozens of these small pointed shells on a beach in Agadir, Morocco — each one a near-perfect cone, ribbed and spiral, no two quite identical. Back in the studio, I arranged them in a row and photographed them with a macro lens at f/16, using artificial fog and a five-second exposure to build an atmosphere the shells alone couldn’t provide.
The result is something between a landscape and a dream. The shallow depth of field turns the nearest shells crisp and sculptural while the ones behind dissolve into silhouettes — some sharp enough to read, others barely there. The fog settles around their bases like ground mist at dawn, or the haze of an old photograph.
At this scale, the shells stop being shells. They become standing figures, ancient columns, the ruins of something. The macro lens removes all context — no sand, no sea, no sense of size — and what remains is pure form and the quiet drama of objects arranged with intention.
This print suits spaces that reward a second look. The longer you look, the less certain you are of what you’re seeing — and that uncertainty is the point.
EXIF data of the photograph
- Camera Model: NIKON Z 7
- Lens model: Tamron SP 90.0 mm f/2.8 Di Macro VC USD
- Date taken: 28. 2. 2026
- Exposure time: 5.00s
- F-Number: f/16.0
- ISO speed ratings: 64
- Focal length: 90mm
- Size of the photo: 8256 x 5504px
