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Bycicle Ride
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Afternoon’s Mumbling
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Garbage Collection
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Pillars Of The Beach
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The Lifeguard’s Tools
This image was taken on a humid Adriatic morning, before the sun had made its way through the marine haze. The beach is empty, save for the standard equipment of Italian stabilimenti: a stack of white plastic loungers, a faded parasol, and a time-worn pedalò parked like a stranded vessel waiting for a purpose it hasn’t had in years. The scene centres on a lifeguard, though not in the dramatic or muscular sense the word often evokes. He stands waist-deep in the still sea, just off a sign that likely warns swimmers of a drop-off or prohibited zone. His posture is unremarkable—calm, passive, perhaps resigned. And yet, that mundanity is…
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The Nightmare
Last night, at what should have been an intimate tango exhibition, I was reminded how delicate the relationship between photographer, performer, and audience really is. It’s a balance of presence and discretion — a dance of our own, if you will — and when one party missteps, the whole atmosphere can falter. The image I took here is less about the aesthetics of tango than about an interruption to its magic. In the foreground stands a photographer, camera raised, entirely absorbed in his task. The moon glows softly above him, the darkness swallowing most of the scene, but it’s clear enough to see the intent concentration on his face. Off…
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Staring At The Infinite
Shot on a quiet coastline, this image started as a spontaneous exercise in balance and distance—two figures set against the immeasurable vastness of the sea. The horizon offered a natural axis, both dividing and uniting the sky and the water, while the couple, placed slightly off-centre, became the emotional anchor. I chose a moderate focal length to avoid exaggerating depth or flattening perspective. The intent was to render the vastness not as spectacle, but as presence—imposing yet still intimate. The sea is not in fury, nor calm; it simply is, stretching without end behind them. That’s the metaphor I was after. Compositionally, I leaned on symmetry without being rigid. The…
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When The Passion Is Gone (thank to a sneaky photographer)
The close-up delivers a feeling of hot passion, as often tangueros do. But a wider view, including that sneaky photographer, kills the mood.
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High Heels Ghost
I took this on a Saturday night, tripod low, exposure long. The street was busy but silent—one of those moments when you hear the city breathe between footsteps and engines. She passed quickly, dressed for somewhere else, but the shutter stayed open just long enough to erase her features and leave only motion. She became a spectre. Legs firm, heels sharp, but the torso blurred into translucence. It wasn’t planned. I wanted to catch life, but what emerged was absence—graceful, flickering, unresolved. That duality between presence and erasure fascinated me. Compositionally, it’s a static stage: parked cars, rough bark, municipal geometry. The frame’s symmetry anchors the chaos of the motion…
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Saturday Night’s Ice Cream
This image was taken late one summer evening, in that quiet stretch after dinner but before the streets empty out. The man in the frame is devouring his ice cream like it’s the first proper moment he’s had to himself all day—elbows on knees, back curved forward, eyes fixed on the cone like it holds more than just pistachio and stracciatella. Technically speaking, the photograph is far from pristine. Handheld in low light with a slow shutter and high ISO, the noise creeps in and sharpness suffers. But I don’t mind that. Precision wasn’t the priority here. What I wanted was to capture a trace of stillness in motion, a…
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When We Were Kids
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Avid Readers
Anything, Anywhere…
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Gotcha!
It was the contrast that caught my eye. A man stands knee-deep in the Adriatic shallows, focused, precise, moving a small blue net through the water like he’s brushing dust off glass. He’s working under the shadow of a trabocco—a towering wooden fishing machine, all cables and beams, designed to drop massive nets and haul in fish by the hundreds. The kind of structure that speaks of industry, tradition, scale. But here he is. Alone. Shirtless. Waist-deep. Fishing by hand. The second frame pulls back. You see it all—the full span of the trabocco, its arms stretched wide like a maritime cathedral. And at the base, dwarfed by design, the same man…
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Is This Smoke?
It seems so.
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Who Said That Music Is Relaxing?
Performance photography often leans on grand gestures—flying hair, dramatic spotlight, or an ecstatic soloist. I went in the opposite direction here, waiting for a moment of exhaustion rather than exaltation. The guitarist’s slumped posture, arm draped over his face, dissolves the illusion of effortless expression. It’s not stage fright or defeat—just the inescapable weight of presence. Shot from the stalls with a moderate telephoto, I aimed to compress the performer and his instrument, emphasising their closeness. The guitar, held tightly even in rest, becomes an extension of the body rather than a separate tool. The body language is loud, even if the room was likely hushed. I chose not to…
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The Sentinel
Though guys never rest.
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Easy Parking
He wasn’t in a hurry. The light was sharp, late afternoon, cutting across the concrete pillar like a blade, and he took his time adjusting the bags on the handlebar. A pair of shorts, sandals, striped shirt — nothing out of place, nothing performative. A man and his bicycle in a pocket of shadow beneath an overpass, with the river just behind. I didn’t move, didn’t call out. Just raised the camera and took the frame. This is a photo built on tension between geometry and decay. The straight line of the railing, the vertical force of the pillar, the rhythm of the bridge in the background — all intersect…
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Uncertainity
Photographs taken in urban dockside environments often carry a layered narrative—of industry meeting leisure, of movement paused, of a city’s arteries stretching both above and below the waterline. This image, with its juxtaposition of a small, worn boat in the foreground and the sweeping, multi-tiered bridges beyond, encapsulates that tension between the static and the dynamic. From a compositional perspective, the wooden railing in the foreground frames the lower half of the image, anchoring the scene and guiding the viewer’s gaze towards the boats. The man standing by the rail, casual in stance and attire, adds a human scale that balances the massive concrete structures above. His positioning—turned slightly away…
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A Sad Harley-Davidson
Forced to stay still, caged behind a glass, while the world turns.
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EOS-M. Tips and Results For Street-Photography
In the quest for an acceptable use of my Canon EOS-M I think I’ve finally found a way to exploit my M-mount lenses after the poor experience with the LCD focus. The last two exposures posted, this and this, have been shot with a Carl Zeiss T* Biogon 35/2,8 through zone-focusing, while the picture of this post has been manually focused using the EOS-M’s 5x magnification feature. In both cases the results are more than acceptable, giving a new life to this severely limited camera. All I can say is that is true what seasoned photographers use to say about the cameras: as soon as you get acquainted with your…
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The Sprint Before the Ride
I caught this frame in a fleeting, almost comic moment: a man mid-stride, pushing his bike rather than riding it, as if caught in the space between two intentions. It’s not quite cycling, not quite running — a transitional gesture that tells a story of motion, effort, and perhaps urgency. The shot was taken low and close, which immediately exaggerates the presence of the subject and the bicycle. That choice, whether conscious or instinctive, works well here; it places the viewer almost on the ground, in the thick of the action, where the geometry of the paving stones converges towards the vanishing point in the distance. Technically, it’s not a…
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Smile!
Smile! It’s contagious!
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Early Morning Shaving on The Beach
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Aficionados
Shot at an hour when most are just negotiating their first coffee, this photograph captures what, for these men, seems like the golden hour of routine. The scene is lit by a low, uncompromising sun that slices across the facade with sharp clarity—rendering the textures of worn plaster, metal shutters, and red plastic chairs with the honesty of an observational sketch. I was drawn to this configuration because it needed no orchestration. It was already a tableau: three men, frontally exposed, anchored by Peroni-branded chairs, embodying a choreography of idleness. The fourth, half-turned with one leg outstretched and a cap shielding his gaze, punctuates the composition with a visual counter-rhythm.…
