A Missed Pricetag?

This frame was taken in the heart of a southern Italian city where IKEA briefly turned the central square into a showroom of absurd proportions. A towering yellow Klippan sofa and a monolithic orange bookcase stood awkwardly monumental, surrounded by the iconography of price tags and corporate identity. At first glance, the scene could pass as whimsical urban installation. But the more I looked through the viewfinder, the more it began to speak a different language — one of quiet irony.

The man in uniform, arms crossed, positioned centre-right, is what holds this image together. His stillness is incongruent with the playful intent of the installation. He isn’t enjoying the furniture or engaging with the spectacle; he’s guarding it. Watching over a giant plasticised abstraction of domestic life — one that has lost all utility by virtue of its scale and context.

Technically, the shot was made late in the day, just before the Mediterranean sun dipped behind the buildings. The light was low and warm, throwing long shadows but without flattening the colours. The camera’s metering had to be nudged toward the shadows, as the dynamic range between the bright sky and the shaded square was considerable. I exposed for the mid-tones, letting the highlights blow slightly to avoid losing the depth in the shadows cast by the installation.

Compositionally, the photo leans heavily on geometry: the rigid grid of the bookcase, the bold zigzag tile pattern, the rectangular apartment blocks stacked in the background. Even the man’s stance mirrors the linearity of the set. The eye is drawn to the signage, prices, logos — and then to the subtle tension between the commercial staging and the human presence.

This wasn’t a critique or an endorsement — just an observation of how absurdly consumer culture can insert itself into the civic space, oversized and out of place.