A Stop in Reggio Emilia

I was on the Freccia Rossa, heading north, not looking to make a photograph — but then the train slowed. It always does here. Reggio Emilia AV, Calatrava’s cathedral of transit. Seen from inside a carriage, the station transforms into a cinematic abstraction: rhythm, shadow, tension. You’re not meant to get this view. You can’t stand still inside it, only pass through.

This frame came with no time to compose. I raised the camera, guessed exposure, shot through a tinted window, and trusted instinct. The image that resulted is harsh, grainy, flawed — and I kept it that way. A perfect rendition would have dulled it. What mattered was the structure — those vast verticals, bowing and flexing like the ribs of a whale. A masterclass in tension held in glass and steel.

The composition is dictated by the architecture. The eye travels from top to bottom — from the suspended ceiling to the lines of the track — yet the diagonals break the rhythm just enough to fracture the symmetry. Foreground fencing, midground rails, background girders: all locked in a linear conversation.

Technically, this is an imperfect photograph. Motion blur edges in at the lower register. The window’s grime softens the contrast. But the exposure — harsh, high-key — works. It flattens the scene, turns the structure into drawing. Grain is present and deliberate; it lends the scene a documentary tactility that smooth pixels wouldn’t convey.

Photography sometimes rewards being in the right place, but only if you’re paying attention. This station, seen fleetingly through the carriage window, offered no invitation. Just geometry, passing by. And that was enough.