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Harley-Davidson: Chrome And Presence
I shot this in a garage, mid-morning, using natural light filtered through a high side window. The intention was not documentation but compression—pulling a Harley-Davidson’s surface tension into a single diagonal, letting the chrome dominate the field without drowning in reflection. I placed the lens close, short telephoto range, aperture wide enough to throw the background car into softness without losing the suggestion of shape. The Porsche headlights were a deliberate inclusion. They echo the round mirrors and instrument cluster. Mechanically different machines, visually rhymed. The tank occupies the lower third, its curve breaking the flow of lines from lever to throttle. Shadow and reflection cross it diagonally, giving volume…
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Italian Boxing Amateur Championship 2018. The Reportage
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A Dislodged Portal
You could almost believe it leads somewhere else. This underpass, lit by flickering overhead fluorescents, scrawled with fading graffiti and ghosts of giant figures, feels like more than just a tunnel beneath a road. The perspective pulls you in—too straight, too narrow, too symmetrical. It’s like a set from a film, a visual trick, or the first frame of a story that never quite explains itself. I waited until someone walked through. One silhouette, small against the scale of concrete and steel. And in that moment, something shifted. The far end of the corridor—dim and red-lit, where bike lights blink behind glass—looked like a portal. A threshold. The kind of…
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Lockpicking Tools
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Superpila still rides…
This frame came together almost by accident. I was rummaging through a heap of obsolete electronics, mostly as a curiosity, and found myself fixated by the material fatigue of an old battery unit—branded “Superpila”—held together by deteriorating fabric tape. Time had clearly done its job: oxidation, dust, flaked paint. Yet, paradoxically, the components still looked like they could spark into life. That tension—between decay and function—is what led me to raise the camera. The shot leans heavily on texture and chaos. Compositionally, it’s tight and cramped, bordering on claustrophobic, and that’s deliberate. I wanted the viewer to feel immersed, maybe even overwhelmed, as though peering into something that’s no longer…
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The Coach
In the corner of the ring, where no cameras reach and the noise momentarily fades, something deeper than training unfolds. This image doesn’t speak of punches thrown or points scored. It captures that fleeting minute between rounds—the space where a fighter breathes, bleeds, and breaks, while a coach rebuilds with nothing more than words, water, and presence. The boxer’s face tells of the cost: a swollen lip, a grimace barely masking pain, but also something else—determination still flickering beneath the bruises. The coach leans in, not shouting, not berating. This is not strategy; it is communion. The fight, at this point, is as much against doubt as it is against…
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Davide Grotta – Live
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Stop
In the squared circle, adrenaline and instinct often outrun reason. A fighter, eyes blazing, may push past his body’s warning signs, driven by pride, by the will to win, or simply by the refusal to yield. It is in these moments that the referee’s role shifts from arbiter of the rules to guardian of life itself. This image captures that exact intersection—one man still in the heat of battle, the other standing between him and the risk of irreversible harm. The referee’s gloved hands rest firmly yet not aggressively, an unspoken command to stop. His gaze is steady, his body language unshaken, projecting both authority and concern. In boxing, bravery…
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Marianna D’ama – Live
The stage is barely the size of a rug. The audience—two dozen at most—sits within arm’s reach. There is no spotlight to hide behind, no sound engineer to balance the mix, no roaring crowd to dissolve into. Just a voice, an instrument, and the intimacy of shared air. In this photograph, the singer leans into the microphone with the same intensity one might expect in front of thousands. Her eyes are half-closed, her body wrapped around the rhythm, maracas held like extensions of her heartbeat. The grain of the black and white frame amplifies the sense of proximity—every shadow a whisper, every highlight a breath. House concerts are unforgiving in…
