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Life is a bitch
Sunday morning. Scorching sun. A work to be done on time. Life is a bitch.
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What (or Who) Are These Hangs For?
Shot under the sharp midday sun, this image was never meant to soothe. The rope nooses hanging beneath the Egidi bridge in Lazio weren’t installed for dramatic effect—at least, I assume not—but the visual reads like a theatre of unease. Their symmetrical placement across the frame, knotted with intention, stirs something more than curiosity. I took the photo from a boat, drifting slowly beneath the bridge’s concrete weight. The water was still, though not glassy—its murky green caught just enough reflection to add texture. Compositionally, the image divides into thirds almost intuitively: the river below, the ropes suspended in the centre, and the man-made bridge above. The eye bounces between…
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The last flower
The concrete is coming. How long will the last flowers stand?
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Footprints
is it an oil painting, or is it for real?
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Love is like a flower
Love is like a flower, Both need care and attention to grow, Both die if not fed, Both don’t last forever.
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Couples
Two couples in a square. One seeks rest, the other, food.
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When the parking’s lost
When the parking is lost, there’s only one solution.
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Just a soccer match…
This is not an upcoming urban riot. Just a soccer match…
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A Master Luthier in his lab…
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An interesting reading
To seat or no to seat?
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Raus
I took this photograph on a quiet street where the stillness of the scene clashed violently with the venom of the message sprayed across the wall. The phrase, written in crude, hurried strokes, is not a remnant from some distant, darker chapter of history but a fresh reminder that intolerance continues to thrive. The frame is stripped of distraction: a textured wall, a single small window with broken panes, and the shadow of a streetlamp reaching across the surface. The composition leans heavily on the tension between emptiness and statement. Placing the graffiti off-centre allows the cracked window to act as a counterweight, both visually and metaphorically—two forms of damage,…
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The three musket(b)eer
Guess who’s Porthos?
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In the backstage
There’s a kind of quiet tension in the way they lean against the wall. No people in sight. No instruments visible. Just the outlines of music, sleeping inside their forms. As a photographer, that’s the kind of silence you try to listen to. The room was dark, lit only from one side. The light caught the curve of one case and slipped off the edge of the other. Texture came forward. Shape. Memory. You could almost hear the faint creak of clasps, the echo of strings long since gone quiet. Sometimes the most expressive shots come when nothing is happening. No performance, no sound—just the pause in between. These cases…
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A party that shall never come
A dress and a bag waiting to be sold. Will the party ever take place?
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The Icecream is ready to be served
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Tables and Chairs, at Night
I was drawn to the repetition in this scene — a narrow path lined with tables and chairs, each set lit by a pool of light from the wall-mounted lamps. The rain had just stopped, and the wet stone reflected the glow, creating a subtle tonal contrast that runs like a silver ribbon through the composition. I chose to frame it at an angle that emphasises the recession into darkness, the line of tables pulling the viewer’s eye deeper into the image. The rhythm is regular but not mechanical; the slight variations in chair placement and the occasional break in symmetry prevent it from feeling sterile. The lamps provide natural…
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A chat on a lake shore
Countless photos like that have been shot. But enjoying a good moment together always deserves to be recorded
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The Mailbox
No News, Good News.
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Fantozzi’s chairs
They look innocent enough — two soft, shapeless seats next to a rattan table, tucked under a wall in some coastal bar. But the title gives it away: Fracchia’s Chairs. And if you know the name, you know exactly what kind of scene this is. Giandomenico Fracchia, as played by Paolo Villaggio in the 1970s, was the tragicomic soul of bureaucratic Italy: servile, stammering, utterly at the mercy of authority. There’s a legendary sketch in which he’s being questioned by his boss — unable to sit still on a chair so round and formless it’s practically a trap. And here it is again, reimagined in polyurethane and branded with Nastro Azzurro. The…
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Fashionable’s shots
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Iron Gate
When craftmanship meets art.
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Big Brother Enhanced
A theme park is engineered to feel frictionless: queues are managed, routes are channelled, behaviour is gently scripted. In this photograph made at Gardaland on Lake Garda that engineering is rendered with an unvarnished literalness. The frame isolates a small assemblage of infrastructure: a CCTV camera, a public-address speaker, and a utilitarian lighting unit, all bolted to a rough stone surface.
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A relic from the (recent) past
less than twenty years have gone, and a telephone boot looks like a relic from the Stone Age.
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Rest on the lake
enjoying some fruit.
