I don’t take pictures of buildings. I expose their silence.
I’m not interested in beauty, symmetry, or what makes people say "nice".
I look for the things that go unnoticed—the fractures, the stillness, the ghosts in the geometry.
My camera doesn’t flatter. It confronts.
It strips a space bare until all that’s left is tension, shadow, and the quiet ache of something once alive.
This isn’t minimalism for aesthetic’s sake.
It’s what happens when you turn away from the noise—and dare to look at what’s left.
I’m not interested in beauty, symmetry, or what makes people say "nice".
I look for the things that go unnoticed—the fractures, the stillness, the ghosts in the geometry.
My camera doesn’t flatter. It confronts.
It strips a space bare until all that’s left is tension, shadow, and the quiet ache of something once alive.
This isn’t minimalism for aesthetic’s sake.
It’s what happens when you turn away from the noise—and dare to look at what’s left.
Konstantinos Zouganelis