Colour
Vivid colour photography showcasing light, detail and atmosphere to capture life’s moments with depth, energy and emotion.
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Audience
In photographing an audience, the temptation is often to go wide — to show the collective body, the sea of faces, the shared focus. Here, I chose the opposite: a tight, side-on profile of three individuals, all absorbed in what unfolds beyond the frame. The decision to compress the moment into this narrow slice has the effect of isolating their concentration, making it almost tangible. The focal point rests squarely on the man in the centre. His expression is unreadable yet engaged, his glasses catching just enough light to reveal his eyes without introducing glare. The woman to his left, partially hidden, offers a second layer of depth, while the…
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Singers
There is a quiet intensity in photographing performers in the middle of their art—particularly when that art requires stillness before the sound. Singers captures two members of a choir mid-performance inside a church, their faces carrying the gravitas of the moment. The solemnity of their expressions suggests that the music here is not mere entertainment but a deeply felt act. From a compositional standpoint, the frame is tightly cropped, focusing our attention squarely on the two central figures. This proximity invites the viewer to study their facial expressions, the texture of their hair, the fine details of their formal attire. The man on the left, with his distinctive mane of…
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Hanging Clothes Waiting to Dry
I made this photograph on a terrace overlooking the valley, where the most ordinary of domestic acts — laundry drying in the sun — becomes unexpectedly theatrical. The line of garments stretches across the frame, their irregular shapes and colours set against the vast blue expanse of the background. The rural landscape below, softened by distance and haze, contrasts with the immediacy of cotton, wool, and synthetic fabric caught in the breeze. From a technical standpoint, the image is driven by colour and contrast. The saturation is high, which intensifies the reds, purples, and greens of the clothing and the terracotta of the terrace. Against the cool, almost painterly tones…
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The Abused Balcony
The irony here was too sharp to ignore. A fascist-era building , clad in travertine and brick, declares in Latin: Ave, dulce vatis flumen — Ave, vetus orbis nomen. “Hail, sweet river of the poet — Hail, ancient name of the world.” Above, the symbols of empire; below, a tangle of satellite dishes, like mechanical flowers craning toward the global signal. The architecture aims for eternity, the technology changes with every billing cycle. I framed this head-on, symmetry unbroken, letting the building’s own monumentality dictate the geometry. The composition rests on that tension — history and broadcast, stone and plastic, rhetoric and reception. The Latin inscription begs for permanence. The…
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Inside a Lost Building
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A Red Floating Crate
This was one of those photographs that almost didn’t happen. I walked past the red pot twice before realising what caught my eye wasn’t just its colour, but its suspension—hanging alone against a heavy, over-textured wall, oddly weightless. It looked like it shouldn’t be there. It looked like it shouldn’t stay. The light was low and indirect, which helped. A stronger contrast would’ve killed the subtlety of the textures. Instead, the stone’s relief held together—old, porous, grimy—but still distinct. The soft light allowed the red to vibrate just enough to isolate it from the grey-brown backdrop without turning it into a gimmick. Framing was tight. I didn’t want to include…
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Wrecked Hull
There’s something oddly compelling about the scars of a boat out of the water. Without the softening shimmer of the sea, the hull stands exposed — every scratch, blister, and patch telling a story of its time afloat. When I came across this one, propped up on its stand, the colours struck me first: the chalky off-white giving way to the battered turquoise, with angry flashes of red oxide bleeding through like old wounds reopening. I framed it tight, keeping the top and bottom of the hull cropped to remove any distraction from the shapes and textures. The horizontal divide of colour became my anchor, with the wooden prop jutting…
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A Relaxed Call
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The Fisherman’s Knots
In an age of automation, efficiency, and scale, this image restores dignity to the gesture of the hand. The photograph captures a fisherman absorbed in the ancient ritual of mending his net—a task as old as seafaring itself. His fingers, calloused and sure, draw thread through mesh with the concentration of a craftsman rather than a labourer. There is no sea in sight, only scaffolding, plastic tape, and the anonymous infrastructure of a modern dock. Yet this contrast only strengthens the narrative: amid industrial noise, a human persists in doing things slowly, correctly, traditionally. The net becomes more than a tool—it is sustenance, memory, continuity. Every knot ties past to…
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Blowin in the Wind
Hopefully, he shouldn’t fall on the ground…
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Countersniping
The lens meets a lens. Framed by rusted beams and peeling walls, the photographer at the centre of the image takes aim with his camera, returning the gaze. The graffiti around him, the fire extinguisher sign, the rough concrete surfaces, all belong to a decayed environment, yet the act of photographing transforms it into theatre. It becomes a duel of sightlines—one click against another. Composition directs attention without ambiguity. The eye is pulled straight to the figure at the back, the camera lens perfectly aligned to confront the viewer. The foreground, with its blurred metal structures, creates a visual crosshair. This layering enforces the theme of surveillance, ambush, and reciprocity.…
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So long and thank you for the fish
Well, this is not exactly the Restaurant at the End of the Universe — but you get the idea. The scene is a working dock, somewhere between the last haul of the day and the quiet moment before the boat heads out again. A fisherman, clad in yellow waterproofs, stands mid-task, surrounded by crates of glistening nets and freshly caught fish. The deck of the boat, the worn concrete, the splashes of green and red from the gear — it’s a palette that speaks of utility rather than design. The composition benefits from the elevated vantage point. Shooting from above flattens the scene into a graphic arrangement of lines, textures,…
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Lost Bottles
I found them by accident, tucked into a shadowy corner of a collapsing shed — still standing, still sealed, thick with dust and memory. The light coming in from a broken window caught the glass just enough to animate the greens and browns. These weren’t just empty bottles; they were forgotten time capsules — unopened, useless, and somehow alive. This image is all texture. The rough chalky surface of the dust, the worn corks, the splinters in the labels. I didn’t clean or move anything. What mattered was fidelity to the scene, not styling it. Every bottle sits where it was found. The composition is tight, cropped to eliminate the…
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Ni
I photographed this wall for its simplicity: two scraps of weathered wood fixed to rough concrete, nothing more. Yet in their placement they formed a minimal composition, two marks on a textured surface that immediately reminded me of the Japanese character for “two” (二). It was not intended, but the resonance was unavoidable once I saw it through the viewfinder. The surface itself does much of the work. The granular, uneven wall contrasts sharply with the grain of the old planks. The top piece, broader and darker, bears the scars of age—splits, nails, faint stains. The lower fragment, smaller and lighter, almost echoes it, as if the two are in…
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Luck is an Attitude
That’s an interesting catch. The Latin word for “luck” is “fortuna” that doesn’t mean “luck”, but “fate”. So I’d rather like to be, as an old aphorism from Appius Claudius Caecus says (“Fabrum esse quemque fortunae suae) the “builder of my own fate”.
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What Lasts of a Saturday Night Party
Another week-end is gone. Ordinary life gets kicking-in back. A cigarette butt, a crumpled flyer announcing a Saturday night out, and the cold geometry of rusted iron bars were all that remained. The contrast between the fleeting promise of fun and the permanence of decay was unavoidable. From a compositional standpoint, the shot relies heavily on framing. The bars of the grate, corroded and heavy with age, create a literal barrier between viewer and subject. They cut across the image in thick lines, forcing the eye downward into the scene. The detritus beneath—the soaked paper, the stub, the fragments of broken glass—becomes both imprisoned and revealed. Depth is enhanced by…
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Italy, Landscape Photography and the Law
Welcome back to the “Law, Order and Photography in Italy” series. The second episode (the first being about Street-Photography) deals with Landscape Photography and, again, provides practical advise for the photographer who travels through Italy shooting its nature. Summary Landscape Photography, at first sight, looks like a piece of cake. No need to hip shoot, no fear of being confronted by an illiterate policeman or angry passerby, no model-release to carry… just you, your camera and your subject: the Nature. But things, as often in Italy, aren’t that simple since rules and regulations extend (literally) up to the top of the mountains. To put it short, there are a few…
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Lost Cigarettes at Piazza Affari
The Milan Stock-Exchange is just closed, another stressful day is gone, so are the cigarettes. The Milan Stock Exchange has just closed. Another day of trading — of numbers, speculation, tension, and relief — is over. The square begins to exhale. The crowds thin, footsteps fade, and the traces of human presence remain in small, almost invisible ways. Here, in a shallow puddle on the cobblestones of Piazza Affari, the day’s residue is quietly recorded: cigarette butts, scraps, and the inverted grandeur of a neoclassical façade. I was drawn to the way the water held both the building’s form and the detritus of the day in a single frame. The reflection, sharp…
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A Fashion Shop in Milan
In a fashion shop is always hard to tell the difference beween a model and a store clerk.
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Let’s get the party started…
Fishing boats have a way of announcing themselves well before they reach the harbour wall. The sound of the engine carries over the water, but it’s the birds that really give them away — a moving cloud of wings and calls, circling, swooping, waiting for the scraps that will inevitably be thrown overboard. This shot catches the “Nuova Zita” in that precise moment of return, driving straight toward me, bow cutting through the water, foam rising in a perfect V. I chose a dead-centre composition, a choice some might consider too rigid, but here it felt essential. The boat’s symmetry — red trim framing the white hull, the vertical mast…
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The Guardian
Not scaring as a Pitbull would, but still deserving to be handled with care… He didn’t move. Not even when I approached with the camera. Not even when I paused to adjust the lens. He just stared—calm, unblinking, sure of his place. This photo was taken outside a closed wooden structure. Maybe a seasonal shack, maybe a beachside store. The railings were weathered, the wood silvered by sun and salt. Everything about the setting felt unfinished, in-between. Except for him. The black cat sat at the centre like he’d been assigned the role. Not hiding, not curious—just there. Positioned perfectly in the geometry of the fence, flanked by empty space…
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A Portrait on the Nasdaq Building
I took this photograph in the year 2000, standing in front of the Nasdaq building and staring at a giant portrait of a man whose name I never learned. The caption read “July 1985” — perhaps the date of his death — and the grainy, blown-up image suggested an older video still. In the upper-left of the portrait, there were shelves lined with what looked like vinyl records. That detail nudged me toward thinking he might have been a musician or someone who worked in the recording industry. But it’s speculation. What I could say with certainty was that his expression stopped me in my tracks. There was a strange…
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So Long, Eos-M
A couple of days ago, while wandering around a street-market, I spotted a small “exhibit” of old Nikon and Hasselblad lenses. I thought it would have been nice to get the two “classic” lenses for the System V, so I traded my Eos-M (and lenses) for a Carl Zeiss lenses: a Distagon 50 and a Sonnar 150. The seller was eager to strike the deal, but I’m not sure who actually got the best bargain…
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Leaving The Actor’s Studio
No, the title is not a misspell. To perform as a true artist, the Actors Studio must actually become an actor’s studio. Shot handheld on a cold night in New York, I framed this outside the famous 44th Street façade of The Actors Studio. What drew me wasn’t the name, but the irony held in the glow above the door. Big, institutional lettering—THE ACTORS STUDIO—brightly lit, looming. Yet below it, a single man stands, barely visible, caught in the diffused downlight from the marquee. It wasn’t staged. He just was there—half-shadowed, alone, waiting. Technically, this is a push to the edge. ISO was high, grain heavy. Shadows crush into black. Highlights…
