Mi is a black-and-white photographer working across three distinct realities—or possibly just very damp urban corners. The work asks serious questions about perception, space, and how far one is willing to crouch in public with a camera before someone asks, “Are you okay?”
The Unnoticed — This reality involves reflections, most often found in water: puddles, ponds, fountains, or anything vaguely horizontal and conveniently damp. Mi often heads out just after rain—a time photographers romanticize and pedestrians actively avoid—to hunt for fleeting mirrors in the street. These surfaces become portals into an inverted world, offering the only time a pavement could reasonably be considered poetic. The ordinary fractures into abstraction. The abstract pretends to have meaning. Sometimes, someone steps right into the frame, and sometimes the frame is literally a puddle in a parking lot.
The Unseen — Infrared photography reveals what’s usually hidden to the human eye. Trees glow. Skies darken. Grass becomes ghostly. It’s photography, but with a bit of sci-fi and just enough technical confusion to keep the curious asking, “Is that Photoshopped?” No—it’s just light you can’t normally see, captured with gear that took an embarrassing amount of trial and error to master.
The Unnatural — The square format is used deliberately—not because it’s cool, but because it breaks compositional habits and forces everything to coexist in a confined, elegant box. Also, Instagram did not invent the square; it just monetized it. In Mi’s world, the square is a visual equalizer, a frame where there’s no up or down, just tension, balance, and the occasional pleasing symmetry ruined by a stray pigeon with no respect for timing.
Black and white is not a nostalgic affectation, nor a rebellion against color—it’s a choice. A ruthless one. Without color to lean on, the image has to stand on shape, contrast, and tone. It also saves time arguing over whether the greens were too green.
If viewers find themselves tilting their heads, squinting, or quietly asking, “Wait… what am I looking at?”—then the work is doing exactly what it was meant to. And if not? Well, there’s always the next puddle.
Mi is a black-and-white photographer working across three distinct realities — or possibly just very damp urban corners. Her work asks serious questions about perception, space, and how far one is willing to crouch in public with a camera before someone asks, “Are you okay?”
The Unnoticed
This reality involves reflections, most often found in water: puddles, ponds, fountains, or anything vaguely horizontal and conveniently damp. Mi often heads out just after rain — a time photographers romanticise and pedestrians actively avoid — to hunt for fleeting mirrors in the street. These surfaces become portals into an inverted world, offering the only time a pavement could reasonably be considered poetic. The ordinary fractures into abstraction. The abstract pretends to have meaning. Sometimes, someone steps right into the frame. Sometimes, the frame is a puddle in a disused car park.
The Unseen
Infrared photography reveals what’s usually hidden to the human eye. Trees glow. Skies darken. Grass becomes ghostly. It’s photography with a bit of sci-fi, and just enough technical confusion to keep the curious asking, “Is that Photoshopped?” (No — it’s just light you can’t normally see, captured with a camera that took an embarrassing amount of trial and error to master.)
The Unnatural
The square format is used deliberately — not because it’s trendy, but because it breaks compositional habits and forces everything to coexist in a confined, elegant box. In Mi’s world, the square is a visual equaliser — a frame with no obvious top or bottom, only tension, balance, and the occasional symmetry ruined by a stray pigeon with no respect for timing. Also, Instagram didn’t invent the square; it just monetised it.
Black and white is not a nostalgic affectation, nor a rebellion against colour — it’s a choice. A ruthless one. Without colour to lean on, the image must stand on shape, contrast, and tone. (It also saves time arguing over whether the greens were too green.)
If viewers find themselves tilting their heads, squinting, or quietly asking, “Wait… what am I looking at?” — then the work is doing exactly what it was meant to. And if not? Well, there’s always the next puddle.