Daniel Goron
Daniel Goron reflected in a mirror hung in a Paris café window, a Leica held at his chest, the street visible through the glass beside him.
Self-portrait, Paris, January 2026. Leica Q3, 28mm, f/1.7.

About

I'm a photographer based in London. Most of what I make happens on the street, at 28mm, close enough that people occasionally notice.

I'm drawn to glass. Shop windows, café mirrors, the doorway of a junk shop where a portrait of a Yorkshire terrier stares out at a woman in sunglasses who hasn't seen it. A pane of glass gives you two pictures at once and lets neither of them settle, which is roughly what I'm after: a frame I found rather than one I built.

The habit travels. On the Algarve the frame is a gap between two rocks; in Valletta it's the slats of a shuttered window, or two chairs left facing the harbour with nobody in them. Different material, same instinct — stand where the picture is already framed, and wait.

It's mostly black and white, and mostly quiet. Colour turns up when it insists: pink hair against a black wall, fairy lights in a café in Paris, and the entire Atlantic coast at about eight in the evening. I carry one camera and one lens, so there is nothing left to decide except where to stand and when.

Mountains I still can't do. I go back anyway.

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