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Fine Art Photographer | Dublin

@tomimiophotography

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Fine Art Photography | I photograph the tension between what is seen and what is felt.

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Fragments. Silence. A question I have not yet learned to answer.

Work in progress. by @tomimiophotography

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6 days ago

Epoché. To look at someone you know by heart as if you had never seen them before.
Years teach you a face until you stop looking at it. So I set aside everything I know, the name, the history, the habit, and let her appear again.
Some questions are not meant to be answered once. by @tomimiophotography

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12 days ago

This is Provincia Malinconica, Taormina edition, where the light decides what to reveal and the shadows keep the town’s secrets. taken in Taormina, Sicily by @tomimiophotography

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20 days ago

Taormina never looks at Etna directly. It builds a column, a wall, an arch, a hotel, and looks through them instead.
Perhaps that is how anyone lives beside something larger than themselves. You don’t stare at it. You give it a window, frame it carefully, and go back to setting the tables for dinner.
The mountain keeps breathing either way. By nightfall, only the signs are still lit. Black and white photo of Mount Etna erupting, framed between an ancient column and brick ruins of the Greek Theatre in Taormina, Sicily taken in Taormina, Sicily by @tomimiophotography

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a month ago

I went back to the same stretch of water twice, mostly because the first time I forgot to bring a plan.
The horizon doesn’t know it’s a horizon, which, honestly, puts it ahead of most people I know. It just stands there — once almost in the middle, but not quite, because commitment was never really its thing, and once low enough that the sky takes over completely, the way sky tends to do when you give it an inch.
Look, I could tell you this is about nostalgia, but honestly, some days grey just needs a little warmth to lean on.
Some of it, I’ll admit, is already worth more than the screen you’re watching it on, which is a strange thing to say about water. by @tomimiophotography

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a month ago

The sea doesn’t need decoration. Only a horizon, and the patience to look at it long enough.
I was there, still, watching the water hold its line against the sky.
Minimalism is order — water reduced to a single line, light reduced to what remains.
Some horizons don’t end at the frame. tomimiophotography.com taken in Shankill Beach by @tomimiophotography

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2 months ago

Minimalism isn’t absence. It’s order.
A form that asks for nothing more than what it already is — a line, a shadow, the space between them.
Content here is secondary. Everyone finds in it what they bring with them.
Nature has always known this. Minimalist black and white mountain ridge against soft gradient sky by @tomimiophotography

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2 months ago

A road doesn’t always lead forward. Sometimes it leads inward, to a place that was there all along, waiting for someone to stay long enough to hear it.

Let’s look inside, because that is where the answers we search for live. The only anchor that holds us still is a conscious breath, and it only takes hearing that quiet voice within for so much to become clear.

Link in bio Extreme close-up of closed eye and eyelashes in low light, high contrast black and white by @tomimiophotography

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2 months ago

The body becomes a network of roads, worn not by decision but by repetition, grooves that settle into the skin the way a path settles into the earth, step by step, without conscious consent.
You don’t recognize this landscape at first. Only years later do you realize you have been walking through it your entire life, never learning to read your own furrows as a map.
And its passages never announce themselves. You find them only by continuing to walk, regardless, because every road, sooner or later, leads somewhere. by @tomimiophotography

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2 months ago

This is Roads. We begin from above — where the body is terrain, unfamiliar and vast, beautiful in ways we rarely let ourselves notice.
We walk through our own life without knowing it’s there, disconnected from who we are.
It only takes stopping. Looking inward. Finding what’s real. That quiet voice. That presence between the thoughts.

Full series at www.tomimiophotography.com by @tomimiophotography

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2 months ago

This was never one blow. One blow can be named, pointed at, folded into a single sentence and set down.
This was smaller, and it came back. A silence that never earned a name. A look that turned away one second too soon. It asked nothing of your survival — only of your safety, your worth, until quietly, without asking, it began answering for you.
“Enough” does not arrive as a scream. It arrives as a fist that has held itself closed for so long it no longer remembers holding anything else.
And what finally gives way was never going to give way from one strike. It gives way from the thousandth. by @tomimiophotography

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2 months ago

Not every wound announces itself. Some arrive quietly, again and again, until quiet becomes the only thing left standing.
No single moment did this. It was built the way erosion is built — one small refusal at a time, one small silence too many.
What survives isn’t unmarked. It just learned not to show where.
Full series at www.tomimiophotography.com Man’s face partially in shadow, contemplative expression against dark background by @tomimiophotography

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2 months ago