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Toxic Waste in Open Air
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Barbarians At the Beach
Early in the morning, before the usual hum of the seafront returned, the marks left behind during the night were still untouched. The beach, normally a place defined by wind, tide, and human leisure, had been overwritten by the heavy, mechanical tracks of off-road vehicles. What should be a natural surface shaped by the sea had become a blueprint of careless intrusion. The lines in the sand tell their own story. They are not the soft curves left by a bicycle or the faint imprints of footsteps. These are deep, forceful grooves—parallel, looping, intersecting—carved by weight and speed. They cut through the beach in patterns that have nothing to do…
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Dark Cloud Over San Pietro
The tension wasn’t subtle. I framed this on a humid Roman afternoon, the kind where the air sticks and light flattens the facades. At the vanishing point: San Pietro, serene and untouchable, a facade that’s absorbed centuries of ceremony and conflict. But in the foreground—armoured steel, automatic rifles, and red-striped barricades—modern anxieties assert themselves. This is what occupation looks like when dressed as precaution. The symmetry of the shot exaggerates the contrast. The axis from the dome to the vehicle is mathematically clean, unnerving in its balance. You can’t not look down the middle, and once your eyes reach the Iveco Lince, you realise you’re not a tourist anymore. You’re…
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Fixing the ship
