Day: 13 March 2025

The Mushroom’s Last Heist

by

The mushroom stood there in the depths of the forest like a washed-up card player who had seen too much, won too little, and now passed the time by lazily puffing smoke. It didn’t care about the audacity of passing snails or the gossip of the moss—it just kept puffing, as if waiting for a long-overdue secret meeting.

Then came the flash. A sudden burst of light, an exposure, and every spore scattered in panic, like a gang fleeing after a botched safe-cracking job. The photographer nodded with satisfaction: “Gotcha, old chap.”

The mushroom had no comment on the event. It simply stood there in silence—because a self-respecting mushroom does not issue press statements

Tell me what you think (but be nice)!

Sea of Legs

by

At the edge of the world—more precisely, at the rim of a puddle—a tiny traveler cautiously surveyed the terrain. The universe reflected on the water’s surface, and if it had any philosophical inclinations, it might have pondered whether it was walking in reality or merely stumbling through its own reflection.

But there was no time for such thoughts. The focus had to be on the legs. All of them… well, many. One wrong move, and it would find itself in another dimension—namely, the water.

The lights shimmered, the bokeh danced, and the photographer murmured softly, “Just one more step… just one more…”—as if the tiny creature could hear. But it simply kept moving forward, because that was all it knew to do.

Tell me what you think (but be nice)!

The Great Nature Photography Adventure – The Narrow Path Between Frostbite and Heatstroke

by

Few professions in the world inspire as many romantic misconceptions as nature photography. Outsiders imagine a photographer gliding effortlessly through the forest, a light bag slung over their shoulder, as the setting sun casts a perfect glow over wildflowers where butterflies eagerly pose for the camera. The reality, however, is quite different.

Let’s say a nature photographer decides to capture the perfect moment. Perhaps a springtail dancing on a dewdrop. First, they’ve already been assembling this image in their head for days, much like a maniacal chess player setting up a final checkmate. Falling asleep is impossible because their mind is racing with visions of red-eyed pixels, debating whether an ISO setting of 800 will produce too much noise, and wondering if that DIY light guide made from a toilet paper roll will be enough.

Then comes the fieldwork. A nature photographer never simply sits down at a nearby bench with a coffee. No, they must cross at least three mountain ridges and a swamp—carrying a ten-kilo backpack packed with a camera, lenses, tripod, and enough gear to open a small photography store. The bag is always precisely heavy enough to bring tears to their eyes but also filled with items so indispensable that leaving even one piece behind is unthinkable.

If it’s summer, the temperature is guaranteed to be 40°C (104°F); if it’s winter, it’s -10°C (14°F). The weather is always extreme, and the idea of a comfortable middle ground is nonexistent. If it’s hot, they’ll turn into a soaked sponge within 15 minutes. If it’s cold, their nose will start freezing within three.

After finally arriving at the chosen location—which by then feels like the worst possible spot in the world—the next challenge is finding a model. The difference between a nature photographer and a fashion photographer is that the latter can ask the model to adjust their pose. The former, however, can only beg the ant not to turn its back to the camera and, if possible, to avoid diving into the mud. Naturally, the ant ignores all requests and disappears into the horizon.

For the next three hours, the nature photographer looks like a crime scene investigator searching for evidence with a magnifying glass. Kneeling, lying on their stomach, crawling like a secret agent in a bad spy movie—desperately trying to align the light, background, and subject into perfect harmony. Meanwhile, they take thousands of shots. The result? A single usable image. The rest end up in the trash because something moved, something was misexposed, or a stray insect wing photobombed the composition.

And then comes the cruelest moment of all: editing. Hours are spent sifting through the countless images, deleting the bad ones, fine-tuning the best ones. And finally, when the masterpiece is complete, the first reaction is:

– Wow, what a beautiful photo! You must have a really good camera!

And at that moment, the nature photographer just stares silently into the distance, burying deep within their soul the memories of frostbite, heatstroke, and lugging

The Myth of a Lack of Creativity

by

My wife always says she doesn’t really have an imagination or creativity.
Sure. And on weekends, I conduct at the Metropolitan Opera.

Then, out of nowhere, she comes up with an idea—a vision so detailed and astonishing that I stand there like a half-finished chess game, my brain struggling to process whether this is a photography concept or a military operation for colonizing Mars.

Her “modest” ideas sometimes present such challenges that I spend nights tossing and turning, wondering whether I should turn to physics, optics, or black magic to even attempt the execution.

She just shrugs and says, “Well, if it’s not possible, we can just forget it…”

But by then, it’s too late. The thought has burned itself into my mind. The challenge has been set. And there’s no turning back, because if I don’t capture this image, it would be like stopping a Dirty Fred novel halfway through. And that just wouldn’t do.

So, I dive in—relying solely on her “lack of imagination”—and when the final shot is done, she simply says:

“See? That wasn’t so complicated.”

Oh, sure. It only took two days of experimenting, three rounds of rebuilding the flash setup, and nearly getting my name into the world records for “Optical Illusions and Other Madness.”

But hey, as long as she’s “not creative,” at least I’ll never be bored. 😆📸

About Me – More Than Just a Photographer

by

When I look at the “About Me” section of a photographer’s website, it’s often so dry and concise that even a desert cactus would ask for water.
“I was born here. I bought this. I studied there. Now I’m here. I’m good, but I want to be better.”

Yes, sir! It’s like reading a military report where the sergeant acknowledges with a firm nod that the recruit was born on time, purchased a camera, and learned something.

If I wrote about myself like that, it wouldn’t be me at all. Because if photography was just about megapixels and focal lengths, then a parking garage would be a thrilling attraction. But no, photography is so much more: failed shots, missed compositions, pockets accidentally photographed instead of the night sky, and the realization that “perfect exposure” is a mythical creature someone once claimed to have seen, but no one has ever provided credible proof of its existence.

So if I’m introducing myself, I’m not going to do it like a lifeless resume summary, but in a way that makes it clear: I’m not just a photographer, I’m also a person.

The kind of person who once took 3,000 photos in four hours on a trip, only to be asked afterward:

– “Did the shutter button get stuck?”

The kind of person who sometimes feels this isn’t for them because professionals effortlessly produce stunning images, while I sometimes spend days working on a composition, only for it to end up as digital waste.

The kind of person who spends every spare minute on this, walks 10 kilometers without taking a single shot, and who scares lost hikers at night because they think some supernatural phenomenon is flashing in the darkness. (But really, it’s just me trying to capture a springtail in focus.)

So yeah, this is what a photographer’s life looks like – or at least, mine does. 😊

The Experimental Photographer – Or How I Almost Became a Scientist

by

It was as if they had created this category just for me. If there’s one thing I truly excel at, it’s experimenting. Whether it’s with flashes, LED lights, or even a toilet paper roll repurposed as a DIY light modifier. Not to mention my extensive research in the field of alcohol-based experimentation—though those tests rarely concluded with publishable scientific results.

At first, my monthly submissions weren’t delivering the expected success. Each time I eagerly awaited the evaluations, only to realize that maybe this month wasn’t quite the one where I’d take the photography world by storm.

But then, around mid-year, something changed. My scores started climbing, and suddenly, I wasn’t just scraping by with “honorable mentions.” I was actually in the running for a podium finish.

Then came the final two months of submissions.

And I swept the competition.

Not by a little. By a lot. My scores skyrocketed, and I imagined the jury nodding in approval (at least, that’s how I pictured it). Before I knew it, it wasn’t about whether I’d make the top three, but rather about the fact that I had won the category.

First place. The champion of the Experimental Photographer category.

At that moment, as I stood there, processing it all, I realized that maybe—just maybe—there is a place in the photography world for someone who approaches everything with creativity and curiosity.

Or at the very least, for someone stubborn enough to keep trying.

So, can I call myself a scientist now? Probably not. But one thing is certain: the experiments will continue.

Maybe next time, I’ll enter a macro photography series featuring fröccs (Hungarian wine spritzer). Who’s in? 🍷😆

Bonus Thought:

As a nature photographer who usually shoots in solitude, accompanied only by a serpa (a.k.a. my wife) on seemingly endless quests, being called up a year later as a category winner felt surreal. But in that moment, I did feel like someone.

If no one else, at least like a real photographer. 😊📸

The two photos I attached also made it into the exhibition.

Spritz, Sweat, and a Little Surprise

by

Life didn’t stop after Lowland. Well, at least not for me. For the snails, that was still debatable.

It was 2023, and while nothing was certain yet, one thing I did know: I had a pretty good chance of securing 3rd place in the international category of Varázslatos Magyarország (Magical Hungary). Of course, this wasn’t handed to me on a silver platter. It took long, sweaty battles, countless sleepless nights, and enough spritz (fröccs) consumption to make winemakers slightly concerned about their reserves.

But the important thing was—this one was in the bag.

Then, in February, the notification arrived: I had placed! What’s more, they asked for the EXIF data for my photo. Excellent! That could only mean one thing: I had definitely won something!

At moments like these, one starts imagining oneself among the greats, nodding humbly while sipping champagne, as the press lines up for interviews. (Or, more realistically, a relative asks, “So, does this mean you can finally buy that new lens?”)

But then came the surprise. Another notification.

I re-read it, thinking at first it must have been the aftereffects of all the spritz. I had also secured a podium spot in the Birds category!

I could have caught a bird with my bare hands out of sheer joy! But then I figured that might be pushing things a bit, so I settled for just standing there, struggling to process what had just happened.

For a moment, I felt like I had finally joined the ranks of the greats. But that feeling didn’t last long—mainly because no one called to inform me that I’d now have a say in the geopolitics of wildlife photography.

However, one thing was certain: that next spritz wasn’t going to drink itself. 😄 The two attached photos also made it into the exhibition—so now at least other people can stare at them too, instead of just me at home.