During one of my wife’s hospital visits, I found myself with a few hours to spare. Instead of sitting around restlessly, I slung my camera over my shoulder and wandered off into the chilly Melbourne morning. South Yarra, with its elegant clash of old and new, was calling.
It was just after sunrise, and the air still had that crispness that lingers in late April. Commuters were already on the move, some on foot, coffee in hand; others tucked behind the wheel of their cars, weaving their way through narrow streets. The pace felt purposeful, yet unhurried, typical of a weekday morning in the city’s more stylish quarters.
South Yarra’s charm lies in its architectural contrast. I passed rows of restored Victorian terrace homes, their cast-iron lacework and tall sash windows.
Right next to them, sleek new residential structures stood defiant — all clean lines, oversized glass panels, and brushed concrete.
But I was especially drawn to the quieter corners — where the city’s wear and tear tell better stories than modern architecture ever can.
One thing I’ve always gravitated toward in my photography is detail, not just in the form of sharp focus, but in visual texture and atmosphere. South Yarra’s walls didn’t disappoint. Here, graffiti tags and full-blown murals coexist awkwardly, sometimes layered over brick and peeling paint.
Vibrant colours, or faded and washed out, they all pull me in like a moth to a flame.
You still see the scars of COVID lockdowns here. Cafes and restaurants that once overflowed with crowds now sit hollow, with “For Lease” signs peeling in the corners of their windows. These eateries, in the inner suburbs were once so busy, but now they sit eerily empty, like a forgotten movie set.
In contrast, you turn the corner and walk on to the streets with residential homes, and the trees are shedding with dramatic flair. The footpaths had become patchworks of yellow, rust, and burgundy. I stopped multiple times just to frame fallen leaves against parked cars on the streets.
Though I’m still hesitant to point the lens at strangers, I’m starting to appreciate the rhythm of people moving through these busy places. Their presence, even in the periphery, gives shape to the story of place.
I’m learning that street photography doesn’t always have to mean confrontational or candid portraits, sometimes it’s in the interaction between the people and their environment where the magic lies.
However, I do enjoy a good candid photo.
I snapped quickly as a man crossed the street, catching my lens mid-stride.
His glare says it all.
Maybe he just needs more coffee.
This little photo walk turned out to be more than a distraction, it was something grounding. I exercised my joy in observation, the value in slowing down and watching how life weaves itself quietly into our surroundings.
I’m still navigating my comfort zones with street photography, especially when it comes to people. But South Yarra reminded me that it’s OK to look for stories in brickwork, in leafy streets, in the worn-out beauty of the everyday.
