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Americana Skating – Italian National Championship 2019
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Wasted Shot Because iPhone 7 Poor Low-Light Handling
There’s a certain frustration in watching a scene unfold that you know deserves better than the tool in your hands can give it. This was one of those moments. The Adige was shrouded in mist, the bridge arches glowing faintly from warm streetlights, the water reflecting pinpricks of gold — a scene so atmospheric it almost photographed itself. Almost. The iPhone 7 Plus, for all its merit in good daylight, simply doesn’t hold up when the light falls away. The sensor struggles, the noise reduction turns painterly, and dynamic range collapses into a murky smear. What was meant to be a layered play of mist, water, and stone turned into…
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The First Picture of the Year
The year opens with a frame caught mid-step — a street scene suspended between the casual and the cinematic. The woman in the leopard-print coat commands the foreground, her figure sharply rendered against the soft haze of the street beyond. Her presence is decisive, yet she faces away, offering no expression, only movement. The background melts into a gentle blur, two figures walking arm in arm becoming silhouettes of intimacy. The shallow depth of field works well here: the compression between crisp foreground and ghosted distance draws the viewer through the frame, making the eye travel naturally from the coat’s texture to the vanishing point of the street. Technically, the…
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Harley-Davidson: Chrome And Presence
I shot this in a garage, mid-morning, using natural light filtered through a high side window. The intention was not documentation but compression—pulling a Harley-Davidson’s surface tension into a single diagonal, letting the chrome dominate the field without drowning in reflection. I placed the lens close, short telephoto range, aperture wide enough to throw the background car into softness without losing the suggestion of shape. The Porsche headlights were a deliberate inclusion. They echo the round mirrors and instrument cluster. Mechanically different machines, visually rhymed. The tank occupies the lower third, its curve breaking the flow of lines from lever to throttle. Shadow and reflection cross it diagonally, giving volume…
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Italian Boxing Amateur Championship 2018. The Reportage
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A Dislodged Portal
You could almost believe it leads somewhere else. This underpass, lit by flickering overhead fluorescents, scrawled with fading graffiti and ghosts of giant figures, feels like more than just a tunnel beneath a road. The perspective pulls you in—too straight, too narrow, too symmetrical. It’s like a set from a film, a visual trick, or the first frame of a story that never quite explains itself. I waited until someone walked through. One silhouette, small against the scale of concrete and steel. And in that moment, something shifted. The far end of the corridor—dim and red-lit, where bike lights blink behind glass—looked like a portal. A threshold. The kind of…
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Lockpicking Tools
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Superpila still rides…
This frame came together almost by accident. I was rummaging through a heap of obsolete electronics, mostly as a curiosity, and found myself fixated by the material fatigue of an old battery unit—branded “Superpila”—held together by deteriorating fabric tape. Time had clearly done its job: oxidation, dust, flaked paint. Yet, paradoxically, the components still looked like they could spark into life. That tension—between decay and function—is what led me to raise the camera. The shot leans heavily on texture and chaos. Compositionally, it’s tight and cramped, bordering on claustrophobic, and that’s deliberate. I wanted the viewer to feel immersed, maybe even overwhelmed, as though peering into something that’s no longer…
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The Coach
In the corner of the ring, where no cameras reach and the noise momentarily fades, something deeper than training unfolds. This image doesn’t speak of punches thrown or points scored. It captures that fleeting minute between rounds—the space where a fighter breathes, bleeds, and breaks, while a coach rebuilds with nothing more than words, water, and presence. The boxer’s face tells of the cost: a swollen lip, a grimace barely masking pain, but also something else—determination still flickering beneath the bruises. The coach leans in, not shouting, not berating. This is not strategy; it is communion. The fight, at this point, is as much against doubt as it is against…
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Davide Grotta – Live
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Stop
In the squared circle, adrenaline and instinct often outrun reason. A fighter, eyes blazing, may push past his body’s warning signs, driven by pride, by the will to win, or simply by the refusal to yield. It is in these moments that the referee’s role shifts from arbiter of the rules to guardian of life itself. This image captures that exact intersection—one man still in the heat of battle, the other standing between him and the risk of irreversible harm. The referee’s gloved hands rest firmly yet not aggressively, an unspoken command to stop. His gaze is steady, his body language unshaken, projecting both authority and concern. In boxing, bravery…
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Marianna D’ama – Live
The stage is barely the size of a rug. The audience—two dozen at most—sits within arm’s reach. There is no spotlight to hide behind, no sound engineer to balance the mix, no roaring crowd to dissolve into. Just a voice, an instrument, and the intimacy of shared air. In this photograph, the singer leans into the microphone with the same intensity one might expect in front of thousands. Her eyes are half-closed, her body wrapped around the rhythm, maracas held like extensions of her heartbeat. The grain of the black and white frame amplifies the sense of proximity—every shadow a whisper, every highlight a breath. House concerts are unforgiving in…
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School of Mathematics@Sapienza University of Rome
I composed this shot knowing it would live or die by its symmetry. The rationality of the architecture demanded nothing less. Sapienza’s School of Mathematics sits like a theorem etched in stone—precise, functional, stripped of excess. Guido Castelnuovo’s name anchors the frame, a reminder that mathematics is not only numbers, but legacy. The format is tight, frontal, and unforgiving. Every vertical and horizontal line had to be clean. A small tilt would’ve betrayed the sense of order. I waited for the man to step into the doorway—not to animate the structure, but to punctuate it. His relaxed stance, paper in hand, slightly breaks the formalism of the façade. A human…
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Skating on the Riviera
This frame came together through rhythm — both in subject and structure. The skater, carving her way through a line of multi-coloured cones, offers a moment of precision and quiet control in the middle of a sunlit promenade. I positioned myself just slightly off-centre to exploit the vanishing line of the cones, letting them anchor the frame from foreground to middle distance. It’s a straightforward visual device, but effective here. They segment the space, and their bright primaries stand in good contrast to the muted pavement. The exposure leans slightly to the high side, but that was deliberate — midday light, especially by the coast, can wash out a frame…
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Nature gets its space back…
I was drawn to the silent battle playing out on this façade. The building, once proud in its classical symmetry, has yielded to time and decay. Nature, opportunistic and patient, is reclaiming space—creeping across brick and stone, entwining itself with Corinthian capitals and shattered sills. This isn’t ruin porn; it’s a quiet negotiation between permanence and ephemerality. I shot straight on, flattening perspective to emphasise the structure’s geometry. Vertical lines matter here—the columns, the window frames, the pattern of the vines—all reinforcing the sense of a former order. Exposure was metered to protect detail in the shadows, especially behind the broken windows, while still holding colour in the overgrown foliage.…
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A (Soon) Lost Banner
This is a photograph of a sign that has clearly outlived its prime. The red background has faded and chipped, the white letters worn thin, yet the word Calzolaio — shoemaker — still points the way. The arrow to the left seems almost stubborn, insisting on a direction in a world where such trades have all but vanished from daily city life. Technically, the image is straightforward, relying on the flatness of the sign against the textured wall. The weathered surface of the plaster contrasts with the bold geometry of the lettering, while the saturated but deteriorated paint creates a visual tension between past vitality and present decay. The exposure…
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(Not so) Intelligent Design
A white hand dryer, sleek and sterile, is mounted firmly on a tiled wall. Below it dangles a single electric cable, ending uselessly in an unplugged RJ connector. There is no socket in sight. No conduit, no power. Just absence. The image is clean, quiet—and absurd. The title, Intelligent Design, delivers a sharp, dry irony. It borrows from the vocabulary of creationist theology to highlight a mundane failure of basic planning. What was meant to be functional is, quite literally, disconnected. In this unassuming scene, the promise of utility is contradicted by execution. The dryer, meant to dry hands, is impotent. The infrastructure, meant to enable function, is missing. Photographically, the…
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An Athlete@Stadio Marmi, Rome
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Weight Training @ Rome’s Stadio Olimpico
I shot this in harsh midday light, the kind most photographers dread. But the mosaic didn’t care. Its story is laid in stone — or more precisely, tesserae — and midday is when shadows become honest. The ancient-modern figure caught mid-lift, exaggerated anatomy and all, stood out like a silhouette against cracked mortar, telling a tale of strength far older than gym culture. The composition was dictated by the subject’s posture — hunched, determined — anchoring the frame and leading the eye to the barbell below. I shot from slightly above, keeping the symmetry broken just enough to feel real. The top of the frame includes fragments of the inscription…
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Caught In The Act… Almost
One of the unspoken truths of street photography is that the act itself is a balancing game between invisibility and intrusion. You work quietly, melting into the scene, but sometimes the veil slips. This frame captures that instant—when the subject’s eyes meet yours and the candid moment becomes a negotiation. I was mid-frame when the man on the right turned, fixing me with a look that could be read as curiosity or suspicion. The keys in his hand, his stance, and the faint tightening of his jaw all freeze into a moment that could unfold in multiple ways. The man in the background remains unaware, his more relaxed posture offering…
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Posing at Milan’s Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II
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Full Moon
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Leaving
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