There is no scale in this photograph and that is the point.

Nothing in the frame tells you whether you are looking at something the size of a room or the size of your hand. No floor, no sky, no person, no plant. Strip those out of a slot canyon image and it stops being a picture of a place and becomes a picture of a shape, which is why so much slot canyon work ends up hanging in rooms where nobody could tell you what it is of.

I have mixed feelings about that, and I photograph it both ways. There is something slightly dishonest about an image that hides what it is. There is also no arguing with the forms: the curves in this wall are genuinely beautiful, they were made by a process nobody designed, and photographing them straight is not a trick.

The soft pinks here come from a fully shaded section under a partly open ceiling, the most forgiving light the canyon offers. The contrast is low, the colour gradients are smooth, and the wall's shape does all the work. It is the easiest of the eleven to look at for a long time, which is a reasonable thing to want from something on a wall.