Two figures share a photograph and refuse to share anything else. He stands on the left in a black suit, glasses, mid-sentence, addressing someone outside the frame. She stands on the right in a black slip dress, eating from a paper wrapper, eyes down. Running between them is the white vertical edge of a display panel, and that edge does more work than either sitter. The hinge that isn’t there Devotional painting spent three centuries solving this exact problem.

Eight people stand on a wooden deck above a beach, bent forward at the waist with their hands reaching for their mats. Behind them the sand runs to a flat sea and a pergola with birds along its beam. Date palms rise through the whole frame, three on the left, four on the right, one heavy trunk cropped at the right edge. The trunks cut the picture into bays, and the bodies fall inside them.

Summer, sun almost overhead, shadows short and hard. This is the light every guide tells you to avoid, and it’s also the light you get if you’re standing in a Swedish archipelago town at one in the afternoon with a ferry to catch. So you work with it. The colour version of this frame would be pale render, a red-brown roof, blue sky. Pleasant and completely forgettable. Nothing in the scene depends on hue.

There is no good place to stand in front of Notre-Dame de Fourvière. The parvis is shallow, the hill falls away behind you, and the façade is enormous. You back up until you run out of ground, and you’re still looking almost straight up. Every wide shot of this building has converging verticals in it. The only real decision is whether you pretend otherwise. I decided not to pretend. This is shot upward from the stairs, portrait orientation, sky cropped out entirely, and the lean is left in.