The Shot I Nearly Skipped — How a Forgotten Frame Made the Top 5

There’s something humbling about realising you’ve underestimated your own work.

A few weeks ago, I submitted a couple of entries into a photography competition themed “Men at Work.” The usual PhotoCrowd setup: public voting first, then the judges step in. I didn’t have high hopes, if I’m honest. One of the photos wasn’t even marked as a favourite in my Apple photo library. It was more of a last-minute addition—a ‘may-as-well’ upload.

Predictably, public voting didn’t go great. I hovered well below the halfway mark and quietly resigned myself to being one of those background entries—the visual equivalent of polite applause.

And then something odd happened.

The judges—those elusive, detail-loving creatures with actual technical taste—ranked that very same image fifth out of nearly a thousand entries. Fifth. As in: Top 5. As in: “maybe you should’ve rated it higher, mate.”

It’s weird. I spend hours curating, editing, debating which image has the right emotional tone or technical crispness, and it turns out the one I nearly overlooked is the one that gets the nod.

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How the Photo Came to Be

I remember exactly when I took the shot.

I was out walking with my Canon R6 Mark II, fitted with the RF 85mm F2 macro lens, just scouting for interesting compositions. No particular plan—just seeing what the streets were offering that day.

Then I heard a noise. A bit of commotion. Men shouting instructions to each other.

I followed the sound and found them replacing a window outside a sports shop. At first, it was just two of them, but they soon called for backup and started manoeuvring this massive sheet of glass into place.

I raised the camera.

I’ll admit, part of me was hoping they’d drop it—not in a sadistic way, but because the idea of catching that mid-air moment of chaos had photographic potential. A sort of real-world ballet meets disaster. But no such luck—they got the glass in smoothly, no drama.

Still, I fired off a few frames. Then moved on, thinking nothing more of it. Kept looking for something more ‘interesting.’

It wasn’t until I got home and started editing that I noticed something. I switched it to black and white, and suddenly the whole scene came alive. The layering. The symmetry. The quiet tension. It all just… worked.

It still wasn’t my favourite from the day, but it held something. And that—well, that stuck.

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So Let’s Talk About the Shot

The photo is a black-and-white street scene: four glaziers fitting a new pane outside a Barclays bank. On the surface, it’s not flashy. No dramatic lighting, no cinematic lens flare, no Insta-glow filters. But what it does have is layering, reflection, tension—and an accidental bit of street choreography that just clicks.

There’s a rhythm to it. The mirrored body positions through the glass. The hands frozen mid-action. That almost balletic suspension of movement. At first glance, people often interpret it differently—some see a strange dance, others just see street clutter. But when you look closer, you realise there’s a sheet of glass dividing the scene, playing tricks on the eye. That’s the magic of it. It’s subtle—but it breathes.

The judge’s comment summed it up: “I had to look at it for some time to work out all the details… It is simply a masterpiece.”

Now, I’m not here to blow my own trumpet (mostly because I can’t afford a brass section), but I am going to take a moment to reflect on something quietly important:

We’re not always the best judges of our own work.

We get too close. We remember the context instead of seeing the image. We fixate on what’s missing instead of noticing what’s working.

So here’s my takeaway—and maybe yours too, if you’re in the business of creating anything:

Put the damn thing out there.

Even the ones you’re unsure about.

Especially those.

Sometimes, the frame you nearly deleted is the one that earns a badge.