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Negrita’s Cover Band
They still need to walk a long, long way before getting in sight of the original Negrita. Nevertheless they have a lot of fun…
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Stairway to nothing
It was the kind of place you don’t really notice. A narrow passage, cracked walls, peeling paint, dim light. The kind of corridor you pass through without stopping. Unless you’re carrying a camera—and a little curiosity. I called this frame Stairway to Nothing when I first saw it on the screen. The name came unprompted. It just fit. The stairs are real, but lead to… what, exactly? A dead-end, a blank wall, maybe a half-forgotten door. You get the sense there was once purpose here—function, traffic, even a rhythm. Now it’s just remnants. A railing to hold on to, steps still intact, pots of green fighting back against the concrete. This wasn’t…
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In a yellowtone…
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A true cricket?
Trust me, this is a real photo.
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Rockabilly
Not stylish, not “clean”, not “intellectual”… but damn fun!!
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Parachute
Didn’t have a wider lens, so I got the most interesting part of the frame…
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L’estate sta finendo…
L’estate sta finendo (the Summer is going to end) sang and old tune by The Righeira. It might have been a carefree Italo Disco anthem, but here its title feels almost literal. In this image, the end of summer is measured not in falling leaves, but in the silent rows of yellow sunbeds—upright, slightly askew, ready to be cleaned and stored. The repetition of form is the photograph’s backbone. Eleven chairs (or nearly so—one is cropped out on each side) form a neat yet imperfect line, their bright fabric glowing against the more muted tones of the stone and the soft grey-blue sky. The high-key yellow works almost like an…
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Night Serenade
Is there anything more romantic?
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Come on in…
What will you find at the end of the corridor? The frame pulls you inward. The eye enters through the shadowed foreground, past the blurred figure standing half in, half out of the light, and begins its slow walk down the corridor. The walls, cracked and weathered, carry the patina of time. Arched ceilings recede rhythmically, each arch framing the next, each doorway leading you further inside. Along the path, framed photographs lean against the walls, their colours softened by the dim light. They are not hung with formality; they rest casually, like travellers waiting to be claimed. The projector to the right hints at moving images, yet here, everything feels…
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Seeking Directions – Where Do I Go From Here?
The cyclist wasn’t posing. He’d stopped to make a call, mid-ride, still straddling the saddle with the indecision of someone caught between stages. I didn’t ask. I just raised the camera and took the frame as it unfolded. The gas station in the background plays its part—logo sharp, prices legible, a quiet indicator of place and time. The contrast between high-performance cycling gear and the mundane infrastructure of the city gives the image its friction. It’s not a sports photo. It’s about movement interrupted. Shot handheld in late afternoon with fading light, the exposure was tricky. Highlights bounced off his helmet and the glossy panels of nearby cars. I dialled…
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Nico Cilli Band@Chiostro Comunale – Città S.Angelo
A few shots from a reportage I did during a jazz gig.
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Suspicious
What’s wrong, dude?
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Reminiscenses From The Past
Lost in memories, while the world turns.
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Lightblade
I took this shot late in the evening, drawn by the improbable geometry cast by a wall sconce in an otherwise nondescript alley. The light didn’t just illuminate—it carved. A fan of brilliance stretching vertically in both directions, like a double-edged blade suspended in air. No tricks. No editing. Just a camera, a wall, and the physics of reflection doing the work. The symmetry is what compelled me. It’s never perfect, but in this frame it came close enough to earn the name Lightblade. The triangular base descending downward balances a more complex, diffused spray upward, where the beam fragments slightly—revealing the uneven surface of the wall and subtle flaws…
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The Casual Observer
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Peeping the Misery
A rough opening in a white wall becomes the frame. The edges are jagged, still bearing the scars of whatever blow created them. Through it, the eye is led into another world—a dusty, abandoned space where sunlight slices across the ground. On the floor lies a tangle of debris: fragments of cloth, splinters, and what seems to be a torn banner, its once-bright colours now dulled. The text on it is broken, unreadable, a language interrupted. In the background, shapes blur into shadow—remnants of furniture, perhaps, or the skeletal remains of another wall. This photograph is about looking in without stepping in. The viewer is held at a distance, forced…
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While Waiting for the Food
Somewhere coastal, sometime after sundown. The table is set, the drinks half gone, the plates not yet full. It’s the in-between moment—the pause before the meal arrives, when conversation either deepens or disappears. He’s on his phone, thumb scrolling with purpose, eyes locked to the glow. Around him, the restaurant hums: plastic chairs, thatched roof, barefoot kids running between tables, the usual clatter of dishes and casual voices. A holiday place, probably. Warm air, sea salt, and time meant to be slower. What struck me was not the act—because it’s common—but the woman across from him. Half-hidden, partly blurred, yet watching. Not annoyed, not angry. Just watching. The kind of…
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Vinyl Never Dies
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The Doorman
Night work has its own silence, even when it’s loud. I made this frame just before the crowd arrived — a kind of photographic inhale before the push and pull of a Saturday night began. The doorman stands alone, his posture almost statuesque, braced against the neon wash of the venue’s lighting. The composition leans heavily on verticality. I intentionally let the figure anchor the centre, framed between structural elements and artificial glow. It’s an image of solitude and readiness, not action — and that contrast is what I wanted to preserve. The light is tough: mixed colour temperatures, harsh reflections, and flat backgrounds. But I didn’t correct it. It…
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The Silent Dialog
Sometimes, two subjects share a conversation without exchanging a word. In this case, the dialogue exists between man and stone — between the jogger, resting mid-route, and the towering marble column in front of him. The stillness of the sculpture contrasts with his barely contained energy, as though the pause is only temporary before motion resumes. The composition is anchored by geometry. The bollards form a rhythm across the foreground, pulling the eye toward the seated figure. The column rises almost dead-centre in the frame, lending a sense of vertical authority, while the urban backdrop — palms, apartments, the waiting truck — situates the scene in the ordinary present, far…
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Sleep Wins
I found them in that fragile hour when night hasn’t fully given up and the day hasn’t quite claimed the streets. Two bodies slumped against a shuttered shopfront, graffiti curling behind them like a silent narrator. They weren’t staged, of course — this was simply where exhaustion decided to settle. With the Canon EOS-M paired to the EF-M 18–55, I had the flexibility to frame them in a way that gave space for the scene to breathe. The late light worked in my favour, sliding in at an angle that brought warmth to their skin tones while pulling texture from the cold metal behind them. The graffiti, soft enough not…
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A Puff of Smoke
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Bycicle Ride
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Afternoon’s Mumbling
