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Waiting for the Shinkansen – 1
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All Mobiles But One Book
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Genta Fukue live@Sakura Terrace – Kyoto
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Does It Worth It?
In the fluorescent glare of the stage, one man poses, his body chiselled by obsession, sweat, and sacrifice. Another stands in the shadows, hands in pockets, his back turned to us, yet his inner turmoil silently projected into the void between himself and the competitor. This is not just a bodybuilding contest. This is the theatre of doubt. The photo captures the unspeakable moment where fatigue collides with purpose. The observer, branded with the logo of a nutrition sponsor, is no stranger to pain — his posture, physique and stillness tell us he, too, has been through the crucible. But now, watching someone else perform, there’s hesitation. A mental calculation…
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Sala degli Onori @ Triennale di Milano
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Path of Life
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Urgent Call
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Leica Shop @ Strada Maggiore
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Full Moon
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Mistress Of Puppets
I titled this one Mistress of Puppets. A nod, of course, to the Metallica anthem where the master pulls the strings, controls the fate of others—merciless, mechanical, in charge. But in this frame, the dynamic is flipped. The puppet isn’t controlled. She’s in control. Shot through a shop window, the mannequin doesn’t stand, she sits—curled into herself in an oddly introspective pose. Not a gesture of command, but of knowing. Dressed in soft florals, faceless but not neutral. The glass between us acts like a screen, a membrane, a boundary between worlds—hers synthetic, silent, and oddly powerful; ours fast, distracted, and easily led. Because really, who’s manipulating whom? She doesn’t speak.…
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A Cello Player
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Intelligence Contest
A pane of glass separates two worlds. On one side, the hyper-stylised gaze of a model — digital, sculpted, aloof. His stare pierces outward from an ad inside a hair salon, promising precision, control, curated masculinity at €21. Behind the glossy veneer, real people go about their routines, dwarfed by the giant printed face that symbolises a synthetic ideal. On the other side, a cluster of balloons—soft, round, unformed—calls out with its own clumsy presence. Unintended perhaps, but visually evocative, the column of latex orbs resembles a puppet or caricature. In their simplicity, they reflect something the model cannot: humanity, imperfection, absurdity. The composition turns into theatre. A confrontation of…
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Play It Again, Sam!
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The Quest for Belgian Chocolate…
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Outdoor Aperitif
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Street Of New York… possibly
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Spectrum
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The Temple of Justice
From an elevated perspective, the grand staircase of the Italian Court of Cassation descends in perfect symmetry. Framed by neoclassical columns and lit by reverent lamplight, this space does not merely lead—it ascends, conceptually, toward the divine. The title, The Temple of Justice, is not metaphorical hyperbole, but a statement of function and form. This is not a courthouse. It is a sanctuary. Justice, as the image suggests, is not a secular procedure. It is a liturgy. It unfolds with rituals, vestments, invocation of higher powers, and the solemnity of faith. The robes, the benches, the altars of the law—these mimic the language of churches. And the Court of Cassation, the…
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Kite Surfing, Again
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Settled in the wrong place
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Just a Bench (or a Sacrificial Altar?)
