Nautilus by Ali Berrada
Caught in a heavy Parisian downpour, the photographer sought shelter within a local residence, where he discovered the striking, spiraling geometry of this staircase. The resulting image, titled Nautilus, captures the architectural elegance of the structure, emphasizing the interplay of light and shadow within the confined space. By embracing the challenging weather conditions, the photographer transformed a moment of necessity into a creative opportunity. The shot is award-worthy for its masterful composition and the way it elevates a mundane interior feature into a compelling, rhythmic visual narrative that draws the viewer into the heart of the spiral.
Ali Berrada
Hailing from Casablanca, Morocco, Ali Berrada is a dedicated freelance photographer who views the world through the lens of passion and simplicity. As a self-described citizen of the world, he travels extensively in pursuit of the perfect light, striving to capture fleeting moments that endure through time. His work is defined by a deep appreciation for beauty in the void and a commitment to finding creative expression in everyday life.
Resonance Score Breakdown
Transparency Note: The resonance score (13.3/20) is calculated based on social engagement metrics collected before the award announcement.
Expert Photography Reviews · 5
The Rhythm of the Climb
I spent twenty minutes this morning just staring at the spiral staircase in my apartment building. I usually rush up those steps, counting the floors until I reach my door, my mind already on the next task. But today, I stopped.
Read the reflection →The Architecture of Return
There is a peculiar comfort in the spiral. We are taught to think of life as a line—a steady, forward march from birth toward some inevitable horizon. But the natural world rarely moves in straight paths.
Read the reflection →Reviews & Comments
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Extraordinary photo of a staircase in Nautilus style. Taken from above, revealing the beauty of the staircase to the viewer. Exceptionally good perspective, beautiful colours.
The spiral’s geometry dictates the frame’s internal logic. It’s a rigid, rhythmic descent that anchors the eye within the central void. The spatial tension between the iron curves and the encroaching shadow creates a necessary, claustrophobic weight. It doesn’t rely on the narrative of the rain; the architecture suffices. I’m genuinely unsettled by how the staircase swallows the light. The composition holds because it refuses to offer the viewer an exit. It’s precise, cold, and entirely sufficient.
The spiral pulls. It’s a descent into quiet. I’ve stood in stairwells like this, waiting for the rain to stop, feeling the weight of the stone. Berrada doesn’t crowd the frame. He lets the shadows breathe. The curve isn’t just geometry; it’s a breath held in the dark. Nothing here is accidental. The empty corner is not empty. It’s a pause. I feel a sudden, sharp stillness in my chest. It’s enough.
Shelter is a convenient excuse for a quick snap, isn’t it? One suspects the rain did the heavy lifting here. While the geometry of the spiral is undeniably tidy, it lacks the grit of a long-term commitment. I’ve spent weeks chasing a single shadow in the Alps, so I find this opportunistic approach a bit thin. It’s a pleasant enough view, but I’m left wondering if the photographer ever bothered to return when it wasn’t raining.
At f/3.5, the 18mm focal plane struggles with the staircase’s extreme depth, yet the resulting soft-focus falloff creates a rhythmic, almost hypnotic blur. The ISO 1600 noise isn’t a distraction; it’s a granular texture that mimics the grit of Parisian stone. I’m genuinely moved by how the light wraps around those curves. It’s a rare moment where the lens’s optical limitations don’t hinder the geometry—they actually heighten the spiral’s dizzying, organic pull. It’s beautiful.
Most architectural shots of staircases are just geometry exercises, but this one breathes. I’ve seen thousands of spirals, yet Berrada’s choice to shoot at f/3.5 keeps the depth soft, almost dizzying. It’s the slight imperfection in the light’s fall that makes me want to reach out and touch the stone. In thirty years, this won’t just be a record of a Paris stairwell; it’ll be a reminder of how a storm can force us to truly look.