A young apprentice in an antique bookshop is framed in the lower third of a medium shot. His eyes dart rapidly back and forth, reading old gazettes spread out before him. The shop is immersed in warm, soft, muted tones, the colors of parched parchment and ancient ink. In the foreground, sprigs of wilting starworts rest in a vase, their greens and reds dulled and drained by time, out of focus but lending depth to the scene. The lighting is diffused and natural, streaks of sunrays penetrating the dusty windows, creating streaks of lighter hues amidst the room’s predominant soberness.
The rest of the frames are filled by looming wooden bookshelves packed to bursting, their unpliant forms barely containing the wealth of knowledge and histories. The tableau is balanced by the smaller, personal scale of the young man against the large expanse of walls and shelves behind him. The camera remains stationary, from an eye-level perspective. The feeling of immense space within the antique bookshop, both physical and metaphorical, pervades the shot. It’s a snapshot of a moment, of a young man lost in a world of words, blissfully ignorant of the world passing by outside.