Some shoots stick with you — not for the planning, the lighting, or the subject — but for the way they just appeared in your life. This one? A rusted-out shell of a car, half-sunken into leaves in the middle of a Hampshire woodland. No signs, no trails, no context. Just stillness.
Time does not erase — it reclaims.
This wasn’t a location you scout. This was something you stumble on — and then cannot forget.
The silence said more than the engine ever did.
I took these shots a while ago now, but they’ve lingered. There’s something oddly beautiful in the way the metal gave up to the forest, how nature started to claim it without a sound. The leaves had settled around the tyres like a shroud. The green of the canopy, rich and untouched, contrasted perfectly with the burnt reds and corrosion of the car’s skeleton. A natural vignette with no need for artificial lighting.
Found in the woods, framed by decay.
Every angle told a slightly different story — one of impact, abandonment, resilience. The bonnet still half-lifted like it wanted to be saved. Doors flung open, frame twisted, tyres long gone. It’s cinematic, eerie, but never cartoonish. Just quiet.
There’s no glamour here, no flashy edits. Just texture. Mood. Story. This set is a little time capsule — not of what happened, but of what it made me feel. Sometimes, decay makes the best muse.
Studio DJC 