Libor 
Most people walk by. Photographers stop, frame, and see.
On my morning walk through Sittard, I noticed this rail guard cutting through the shot. So I lined it up, turned it into a leading line, and hit the shutter.
Nothing fancy. No big setup.
Just me, chasing shapes before the city wakes up.
“The road was empty, the air was cold, and for once, I didn’t want to be anywhere else.”
This morning I rode further than I planned. No goal… just my bike, my camera, cold air, and the sky turning orange.
The streets were empty, lamps still humming, and for a moment it felt like I was the only one awake.
There’s a kind of freedom in moments like that. No noise. No notifications. Just breath, wind, and tires on asphalt. Pure, quiet bliss.
My favorite time of the day.
Spent the morning giving my bike some love… wiped off the mud, swapped the chain, tightened what rattled loose on the trails.
There’s something about clean gear, smooth spin that doesn’t rattle and makes you want to hit the trail again.
I stopped by the lake this morning. Two ducks were gliding across the water, calm as hell.
The sunrise turned everything gold, and they just floated… no stress, no noise, no hurry.
I stood there, breath showing in the cold, knowing I would soon be stuck at work, listening to someone tell me what to do. And all I could think was… out here, life is still and beautiful. And most of us are too busy to even see it.
This was in Portorož, Slovenia — a trip I won’t easily forget. Every evening, I would walk the beach with my camera, chasing light, chasing stillness. I don’t remember the exact settings that day.
But I remember the air. The smell of salt and heat. The way the light wrapped itself around everything — turning the whole evening into fire.
On the way to Austria, I snapped a photo of this river. Nothing special. The kind of shot you forget about… maybe even delete.
But yesterday, I decided to try something in Lightroom.
“How can I turn this boring photo into something cinematic? Moody? Maybe even like a scene from a thriller?”
So I started messing with hues and saturation in the Color Mix tab. Muted everything except the greens — and was pretty happy with the result. Then I pulled up the curves, made a few tweaks, and that’s when it really came alive.
I’ve already tested this preset on other shots, and I love how it transforms them.
Anyway…
If you’re interested, I’ll be giving it away soon.
Lately, I’ve been experimenting in Lightroom, trying to create very specific looks.
I’ve been pulling inspiration from Hollywood cinema—thrillers, horror films, you name it.
With just the Color Mixer, you can dial in tones that completely change the mood of an image.
Personally, I’m a big fan of moody, desaturated looks, and I’ll be experimenting with them a lot more.
If you’d like to see more about how it’s done, drop a comment below.
There’s something about moody, desaturated photos that feels like they’ve been ripped straight out of a movie.
I’ve been tinkering with that look a lot lately. Ever since I ditched Luminar Neo for Lightroom, it’s felt like stepping into a workshop where every knob, slider, and dial begs to be twisted.
Truth is, pulling off that vibe isn’t easy. It takes a dozen little steps. A lot of back-and-forth. And it doesn’t always work on every photo.
But once you nail the basic look? You can save it as a preset. From then on, that same moody, cinematic feel is just sitting there at your disposal… ready to tweak on the fly.
Now, this style isn’t for everyone. Some people like their photos bright, bubbly, and shiny.
Me? I’m digging the grit. I might even sprinkle some noise into my images.
Doesn’t mean I’ll use it forever. Just means I’m experimenting, seeing where it leads.
Let me know if you’d like me to share some deeper insights on how to pull it off.
Day 3. The hike to Jahnaci Štít, Tatra Mountains.
A while back in Slovakia, I set out to climb a peak a day in the Tatras. By day three, my body was wrecked. Legs barking for mercy. Mind whispering excuses. And then came Jahnaci Štít. Not the hardest trail out there, but the third one in a row.
That’s what made it brutal.
I pushed. I cursed. I kept climbing.
When I reached the top, it felt less like conquering a mountain and more like conquering myself.
The shot? I left it in black and white. Because sometimes the story’s stronger when you strip away the color.
Most of the crap you buy collects dust. This didn’t.
Last year I stumbled on a video of some guy car camping in the mountains, flipping burgers on this foldable RidgeMonkey grill. Five minutes later, the idea had me by the throat. Next thing I knew, I was cooking my own burgers on it. And here’s what I’ve got to say about it…
I’ve grilled with it, cooked with it, dragged it along on trips… and it hasn’t let me down once.
Most gear is hype. This little BBQ? The best thing I bought in 2024. No doubt!
Most people step over miracles because they don’t look big enough.
That morning, it wasn’t a forest or a sunrise that caught me… it was a single leaf dripping with rain.
The kind of thing your brain almost skips, because it doesn’t scream for attention. But zoom in close, and you realize it’s got everything: light, reflection, texture, movement… It’s all there!
Photography, like life, rewards the ones who slow down long enough to notice what everyone else ignores.
Most places don’t surprise you after the tenth visit. Mechelse Heide did. A few weeks ago in Belgium, I showed up expecting the usual… trees, water, a quiet place to clear my head.
I got that.
But I also got fog spilling over the lake like smoke from a fire, and sunlight cutting through it like a blade.
I’ve been here more times than I can count, but that morning reminded me why you always carry a camera… I was lucky enough to capture it all.
In Westkapelle, I barely had time to lift the camera before the ship was out of frame. I almost missed the moment. few shots and the boat was gone… a quick reminder that most things in life don’t wait around for you to be ready.
