Most weekends, Karrie and I spend time driving through the city, visiting coffee shops, and running errands. My camera is always with me, ready to capture the quiet moments that often go unnoticed. I find myself constantly scanning my surroundings, framing scenes instinctively. And while I hesitate to lean on the cliché, I genuinely tend to see the world as a series of photographs—fragments of time, space, and lighting waiting to be composed.

This way of seeing traces back to my skateboarding days, when we would recognize surfaces, textures, and flow in the built environment. That visual sensitivity never left; it simply shifted from movement to stillness. On the day I made this photograph, the sky was softly overcast, with diffused light. As we passed this building, something in its symmetry and silence caught my eye. It appeared to be a former county vehicle maintenance site—or perhaps one of those now-defunct state-required yearly personal vehicle inspection stations.

Though clearly no longer in use, the site retained a subtle sense of purpose, as if operations had only recently paused. The doors remained shut, the signage still legible, and the structure largely untouched, holding onto a quiet sense of readiness.

This photograph, like much of my recent work, reflects an ongoing interest in the American built environment—spaces shaped by utility, now caught in transition. I find myself drawn to these in-between places: mundane, overlooked, yet deeply familiar. In that way, the image echoes the spirit of the New Topographics movement, which sought to document the landscape through clarity, restraint, and honest observation.

These scenes are simply seen, and through that seeing, given meaning. I approached the fence, visualized the frame, and with limited access, positioned my lens through an opening in the chain link. I made several exposures before we continued. What remained was a moment of stillness and subtle history—an image that sits somewhere between function and memory, presence and disappearance.

What are the TWO most impactful features that make your image a good photograph? Don’t be shy!

I think the two most impactful features that make this a strong photograph are the sense of suspended time and the composition.

First, the image captures a space that feels like it’s caught in between—visibly unused, but not completely abandoned. There’s this subtle tension, like it could still be functioning or might have just recently stopped. That ambiguity invites the viewer to pause and consider what they’re looking at, and I think that makes the image more engaging.

Second, the composition plays a big role. I used symmetry and a straight-on perspective to give it a kind of quiet, documentary feel. I just wanted the structure and space to speak for itself. That simplicity, for me, adds to the overall honesty and impact of the image.

If you could make this photo again, what would be the ONE thing you would like to do better or differently?

Nothing. That moment has passed, and I wouldn’t be able to recapture it—not with the same lighting, atmosphere, or feeling. Part of what makes the image meaningful is that it exists exactly as it was during that brief window of time when I was there.

Christopher Wharton shared this photograph with the FRAMES Facebook Group.

Photographer

Christopher Wharton, United States

INSTAGRAM
FRAMES PHOTOGRAPHY CIRCLE

Equipment and settings

Fujifilm X100F
1/800 sec., f/4, ISO 200