Part 5 of 5 in a Portraiture Series from Cuba
Sometimes what makes a portrait powerful isn’t what you include—but what you leave out.
Negative space is often misunderstood in photography.
People think it means emptiness.
Void. Blankness. Nothing.
But to me?
Negative space is a character in the scene.
It shapes the frame.
Breathes into the subject.
Creates tension, rhythm, and poetry.
And in portraiture—especially on the streets—it can be the most emotionally charged part of the photograph.
The final model in this Havana series, like the others, was paid, professional, and remarkable. I didn’t know her story. I didn’t need to.
We met. We walked. We shot.
That’s how it went.
She gave me energy. Movement. Presence. But what made this session sing was everything around her.
The space.
The gaps.
The silence.
We shot in a shaded alley with textured stone walls, and then again in an abandoned lot where the architecture had long since surrendered to time and weather.
But instead of rushing in close to fill the frame with her body, I pulled back.
Let her breathe.
Let the frame breathe.
And suddenly… the photograph felt bigger than just her.
It felt anchored in place.
That’s what negative space does.
It creates context.
It reveals shape.
It lets the subject stand out by not crowding them with detail.
Sometimes, the most elegant thing you can do as a photographer is to get the hell out of the way.
Let’s talk technical again, just for a moment.
All of these photos were captured on my iPhone 16 Pro Max using mostly the 1X and 5X lenses. The 5X was especially useful when stepping back and letting the subject take up only a small fraction of the frame.
I didn’t edit much—just slight exposure tuning, maybe a bit of warmth correction.
No distractions.
No filters.
Because when you’re working with real light, real place, real person—you don’t need visual filler. You need focus. And space gives you that.
But here’s the deeper point:
Negative space isn’t just visual—it’s emotional.
It’s the pause between words.
The quiet before the answer.
The inhale before the release.
When I leave space around a subject, I’m inviting you—the viewer—to step into it.
To bring your own feeling to the image.
To imagine the sound of the place.
The mood. The heat. The breeze. The unspoken.
And you don’t need a photography degree to feel it.
You just need to look. And trust your gut.
Because space stirs something primal in us.
It reminds us that meaning doesn’t have to be loud or busy.
Sometimes, the best part of a photograph is where the subject isn’t.
There’s a frame from this shoot that still stops me.
She’s standing against a decaying green wall, barefoot, staring off to the left.
And 70% of the image is just… space.
It shouldn’t work. But it does.
Because that space isn’t empty.
It’s charged.
It’s filled with atmosphere.
Expectation.
Stillness.
Simplicity.
The eye goes to her—but then wanders.
And then comes back.
And then starts asking questions.
Where is she?
Why is she there?
What’s just out of frame?
That’s the power of restraint.
Of composition.
Of trusting space to carry weight.
And maybe that’s the larger lesson here, not just for photography, but for life:
Not everything has to be filled.
Not every silence has to be broken.
Not every frame has to be busy.
Not every portrait has to explain itself.
Sometimes the best thing we can do is offer space.
To our subjects.
To ourselves.
To the viewer.
To let things breathe.
To leave room for mystery.
To say: this is enough.
Click.
Jack.
