I thought I’d photographed most of the textures that catch my eye: leaves, bark, puddles, concrete; until today’s walk handed me a surprise: fungus. I don’t think I’ve ever featured one here before, and that made it the perfect subject for my black-and-white series. What drew me in were the rings and ripples, like tiny shorelines frozen in place. In color it felt ordinary; in monochrome the forms turned sculptural.
I kept my “window-frame” layout to tell the story in four moments. One frame is a broad fan with scalloped edges, like a seashell resting on dark soil. Another shows small cups sprouting nearby, a cluster of voices answering the larger shape. The third reveals a denser, darker disc where age and decay deepen the tones. The last frame layers two caps that look almost like planets in a quiet orbit. Together they feel both delicate and resilient—soft bodies thriving on a rough stage.
Editing was simple and intentional. I raised the highlights to let the pale caps glow and pulled the blacks down so the ground recedes into a velvet backdrop. A little extra clarity teased out the concentric rings without pushing the texture into something artificial. I wanted the light to do most of the work, the way it always does when I’m chasing contrast.
Nature keeps reminding me that “new” is often hiding in plain sight. Today it wore the shape of fungus—humble, patterned, and unexpectedly beautiful. Adding it to my monochrome collection feels like discovering a new dialect of the same language I love: light and texture speaking in shades of gray.
”To see in color is a delight for the eye, but to see in black and white is delight for the soul.”
~ Andri Cauldwell
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