The longer I shoot, the less I trust the obvious frame.

The first composition that comes to me — the one that feels "right" the moment I lift the camera is usually the one everyone else has already made. It's the postcard my eye has been trained on by a thousand other photographs.

So now I take it. Then I stay.

I wait until the easy picture leaves the room. What's left underneath a shadow falling wrong, someone hesitating at the edge of the frame, light that doesn't behave — that's where the photograph actually lives.

Photography rewards the second look. And the third. The first one belongs to your memory, not your eye.