I shot this travel photo while on vacation in Greece. I started taking travel pictures many years ago while on a vacation to Australia. I was inspired by the landscape and scenery. Greece is a photographers dream location. I love photographing historic landmarks and unique structures. In my career I'm known as a wedding and event photographer. When on vacation I love taking travel photos. This photo was taken with a Canon 70D using a 24-70 2.8 lens. As a experienced scenic photographer my first rule of thumb is to shoot at a lowest iso setting as possible. In this case I used F16 at iso 160. The trip was arranged by Boca Raton Express travel.
There’s something profoundly moving about standing in a place where history echoes through every stone. For me, that moment happened when I crouched behind an ancient archway in Olympia, Greece, and framed my camera just right. Through the gentle curve of eroded stone, I saw the heart of the Olympia Stadium, a site that had once pulsed with centuries of athleticism, celebration, and culture.
For a photographer, moments like these are rare gems. Like a painter with the perfect palette, the aged textures of the archway, the soft Mediterranean light, and the expanse of the historic stadium formed a composition that seemed destined to be immortalized. But this photo isn't just another shot in my portfolio. It tells a story—a tapestry of my life growing up around photography, my family's bond over images, and the creativity that emerges from viewing the world through different frames.
Photography has been interwoven with my life for as long as I can remember. It’s not just art; it’s legacy. My father, a doctor by profession but a talented amateur photographer by passion, introduced me to the magic of the lens at a young age. We weren’t just a family that took photos; we became students of them.
Some of my earliest and fondest memories are our family’s slide-show evenings. With the lights dimmed and the whir of the slide projector filling the room, my family would gather around, popcorn in hand, to view the Kodachrome slides my father had captured. He always used Kodachrome film, revered among photographers for its rich, vibrant saturation and incredible sharpness. It was the gold standard, and his devotion to it proved how seriously he approached his craft.
Those evenings were more than just casual entertainment. They taught me how to truly see a photograph—not just as an image but as a story. My father would explain the elements that made a particular shot stand out. Was it the interplay of light and shadow? The composition? The subtle framing that made you notice something you might otherwise miss? These lessons in visual storytelling deeply influenced how I viewed the world even before I had a camera of my own.
By the time I was 16, I had already started taking photos with a mix of eagerness and experimentation. My father’s influence was palpable, not just in the technical tips he provided but in the contemplative approach he modeled. Photography wasn’t about snapping moments haphazardly; it was about pausing, framing, and appreciating the endless possibilities of artistry.
Over the years, I’ve developed my own unique style, rooted in the curiosity and creative spirit instilled in me by my upbringing. One recurring motif in my work is my love for shooting through tunnels, doors, and arches. There’s something almost magical about the way these portals can turn the ordinary into the extraordinary.
An archway creates instant drama. It becomes a framing device all on its own, adding depth, perspective, and intrigue. When the viewer looks at a photo composed this way, they don’t just see the subject at the center; they see dual layers—the boundaries of the arch as well as the world beyond it. It invites exploration.
When I arrived in Olympia and found myself standing before those ancient arches, I couldn’t help but marvel at how timeless this concept of framing is. The architects of ancient Greece understood this visually as much as I did behind my lens. Each arch served not just as a structural necessity but as a celebration of gateways—of movement, transition, a sense of arriving somewhere momentous.
The Olympia Stadium is steeped in history. Walking onto its grounds feels like stepping back into a time where legends were born and the spirit of competition united the ancient world. It’s considered the birthplace of the Olympic Games, a tradition that has shaped culture and sports for centuries.
For a photographer, being in such a location is a treasure trove of inspiration. Every stone whispers a thousand stories; every angle offers a new way to interpret the site’s grandeur. When I stood beneath one of its iconic arched gateways, peering through to the stadium floor, I felt as though I was capturing more than just an image—I was preserving centuries of human history.
The stadium itself is simple by today's standards. A flat, open field surrounded by earthen banks, it lacks the towering grandeur of modern sports arenas. But in its simplicity lies its power. It’s pure. It’s authentic. The minimalism allows you to focus on the rich textures of the past—the way the stones have weathered over millennia, the vastness of the sky overhead, the footsteps of countless athletes who raced before spectators of the ancient world.
When framing this particular shot, there was a certain symmetry I wanted to achieve. The curve of the arch was imperfect but beautiful. Its uneven hues and weathered edges created a natural vignette, softly framing the sunlit expanse of the stadium beyond. The open space through the arch suggested an invitation, beckoning the viewer to step into history.
I adjusted my angle meticulously, crouching and shifting to get it just right. The stadium in the distance was bathed in gentle golden light—a hallmark of the Mediterranean that makes everything feel dreamlike. Photos like this can’t be rushed. It’s all about breathing in the moment, sensing the weight of the place, and allowing that to guide your artistic intuition.
For me, capturing this scene wasn’t just about technique or composition. It was a deep, reflective moment, connecting me to the shared human story of this place. After all, this stadium—long before it became a tourist destination—was once alive with clamor, emotion, and the universal yearning for excellence.
Photography has always been a means for me to explore connections between the past and the present. The act of looking through an arch ties directly to this idea. The arch itself is static—rooted in history, unmoving. But what you see beyond it constantly changes.
Standing in Olympia, I felt the profound weight of my personal history as much as Greece’s. My creative passion was shaped by moments in my childhood—those quiet slide evenings with my family, learning about framing and artistry through my father’s Kodachrome slides. Who could have known in those small moments that years later, I’d be in a place like Olympia, using those same lessons to capture an image that reflects both artistry and heritage?
I hope this photograph inspires others to pause and look, not just through my lens but through their own. Photography, for me, isn’t about simply taking a picture. It’s about uncovering the layers of a story, framed in such a way that we can see the world with fresh eyes. This archway—and all the arches in my work—reminds us to look deeper. From my family gatherings to the timeless stones of Olympia, it’s about the beauty of framing life, one moment at a time.
Location: Olympia, Greece.