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Waiting for (Supreme) Justice
I took this while waiting, quietly, in Rome’s Corte di Cassazione—a place where silence isn’t just expected, it’s structural. Every arch, bench, and cornice feels designed to mute the outside world. What struck me wasn’t the grandeur (although the sculptural work is unapologetically ornate), but the emptiness. For all the architectural posturing, justice here is often a matter of waiting. The benches, scuffed and rigid, are the only human-scale elements in the frame. They sit below a frieze of muscular allegories and baroque pomp, a reminder of the institutional weight bearing down on the people beneath. The image is composed to reflect this—foreground arch framing the frieze, a horizontal band…
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Ashtray
The scene was quiet, almost too still for such a monumental location. From the balcony of the Court of Cassation, Rome’s ornate facade stretched before me, its stonework carved with faces that have watched over decades of political and judicial tides. And yet, in the foreground, resting on a cracked, timeworn surface, sat a simple glass ashtray. The juxtaposition was almost absurd—this object of everyday habit placed against the backdrop of one of Italy’s most imposing institutions. Framing the shot, I wanted to preserve that contrast. The ashtray dominates the foreground, crisp in focus, while the grand entrance behind it softens into blur. This use of shallow depth of field…
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The Watchdogs
High on a crumbling brick wall, two cats hold their ground. One, a tabby, sits upright, eyes locked on the camera with the unwavering stare of an appointed sentinel. The other, black and white, looks away, uninterested in the act of vigilance, its attention claimed by something out of frame. Behind them, the backdrop tells another story: a weathered industrial wall, its whitewash worn thin, the rusted blades of an old ventilation fan frozen in their casing. Wires run haphazardly across the façade, relics of a building that has seen better days. It’s an unlikely setting for such a scene, yet the pairing of living presence and decaying architecture feels…
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The Relentless Lawyer
Standing in Court, no matter what! Some portraits are taken in the studio, with light sculpted and poses rehearsed. Others, like this one, are captured in the quiet fissures of reality—moments where the weight of a life’s work shows itself unprompted. The old lawyer’s face carries the texture of decades in courtrooms, each wrinkle etched by cross-examinations, verdicts, and long nights parsing the fine print of justice. His robe hangs loosely now, a little heavier than before, as though the fabric has absorbed the gravity of the battles fought. The light, cool and unforgiving, falls across his profile, illuminating both the weariness and the fire that coexist in his expression.…
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Settled in the wrong place
There’s a jolt in seeing something so deeply tied to heat and aridity draped in snow. The prickly pear cactus, its fleshy paddles dusted white, looks almost embarrassed – as if caught wearing the wrong clothes for the season. This is a photograph about displacement, but not in a melodramatic sense; rather, it’s a quiet document of the absurdities nature sometimes hands us. From a compositional standpoint, the image benefits from its layered structure. The cactus dominates the foreground on the left, its irregular shapes and textures pulling the viewer in. Mid-ground, a smaller shrub offers a softer counterpoint, while the horizon – faint and blurred – separates the white…
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Just a Bench (or a Sacrificial Altar?)
When I photographed this bench under a fresh layer of snow, I was struck by its dual identity. On the one hand, it is a piece of public furniture, sculpted concrete shaped into undulating curves to invite rest. On the other, in the starkness of winter light and the thin veneer of frost, it becomes something else—an object that could belong to a ritual, its surface reading like a stone altar abandoned to the elements. The faint streaks of rust along the side even suggest traces of something spilled, though of course it is only iron leaching into the weather. From a technical standpoint, I chose to let the bench…
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Where Are Skilifts Supposed to Be?
I took this photograph on a surreal winter morning when the Adriatic coastline had been transformed into something closer to the Alps than a seaside promenade. The skier, moving steadily away from me, became the anchor for the scene — his posture calm, almost resigned, as though he knew full well there would be no skilifts waiting for him ahead. From a compositional standpoint, I wanted the perspective lines to work hard here. The lamp posts, the pavement edges, even the faint ski tracks converge toward the centre, guiding the eye deeper into the image. The figure is positioned just off-centre, allowing the street to breathe while still holding the…
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Happy New Year
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Don’t They Drink Tea, Instead?
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The Choir Master
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Interplay
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Traffic Master
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A Focused (or Sad) Violinist
There are moments in photography when ambiguity becomes its greatest strength. A Focused (or Sad) Violinist captures one of those moments—a fleeting expression caught between concentration and melancholy, leaving the viewer unsure which emotion truly takes precedence. The composition is deliberately layered, with the foreground figure—out of focus—providing a soft frame for the central subject. This technique draws the eye directly to the violinist, whose gaze is fixed slightly to the side, lost either in the music or in a private thought. The choice to work with a shallow depth of field accentuates her presence while allowing the surrounding players to dissolve into a gentle blur, reinforcing the sense of…
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A Pensive Nun
I took this photo during a quiet moment in a Roman church. I wasn’t looking for drama. I wasn’t even looking for a nun. I was watching light — soft, diffused, the kind that reveals more than it conceals. Then she shifted her weight, her arm fell to the bench, and the composition drew itself. The image balances solitude and collective presence. She sits in isolation, yet she’s surrounded. Everyone in that frame is turned inward — praying, grieving, thinking, hiding. It’s an ensemble of introspection, and she anchors it without knowing. I shot this on film. Ilford HP5 pushed to 1600. The grain works with the silence; it has…
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Surreal Judo
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Lost Bag
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Up from the Waterline
As a photographer, I have always been drawn to the power of perspective—how the choice of vantage point can turn a simple set of stairs into a visual narrative. Up from the Waterline achieves precisely this, transforming an ordinary urban ascent into a scene layered with mood, tension, and a touch of mystery. Framed from the bottom of the stairwell, the composition draws the eye upward in a natural, almost subconscious motion. The heavy shadows along the concrete walls create a narrowing funnel of light, directing attention to the top landing where a burst of colour—a pot of flowers—awaits. This sudden contrast between the dark, gritty stone and the warm,…
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Getting In The Zone Before the Shot
I made this image in the seconds before the pistol was raised. No noise, no movement, just controlled breath and interior focus. The athlete’s posture says everything: shoulders relaxed, chin tucked, eyes slightly lowered toward the monitor—not in distraction, but in calibration. He’s not looking at the target; he’s visualising the result before the mechanics begin. The setting is sterile by necessity. A shooting range must eliminate variables. No colour, no texture, no distractions. That flatness worked in my favour—clean background, no depth needed, only presence. I framed it with intention: the shooter on the right third, facing inward, and the monitor on the opposite axis, forming a visual loop…
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Panning the Police
This frame it’s a reaction. A physical jolt to flashing blue, shouting, bodies in motion. I panned the camera instinctively, not to follow a subject, but to share the sensory overload of the moment. The result? A hallucination. A retinal echo of tension. Shot handheld at night, 1/2s exposure, ISO pushed to 3200. The blur is total—no anchor point, no sharp subject. Lines of neon bleed into the dark, and even the static elements—trees, pavement, the van—become fluid. That’s the point. This isn’t about precision; it’s about disruption. I framed with the van off-centre, allowing room for the bodies in blue and those not in uniform. Movement traces direction. We…
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The Modern Preacher
Sometimes, the most telling political images are made not in the glare of press conferences, but from the margins—from the places where presence is tolerated but not invited. This frame was taken from outside a closed-door meeting, the camera positioned behind a security mesh that divides the observer from the observed. Through the diamond pattern, a cluster of suited silhouettes gathers around a glowing screen. At the centre, partially obscured yet unmistakably in command, the party leader leans forward, his expression a mix of resolve and calculation. The geometry of the mesh becomes part of the narrative: an imposed barrier that both conceals and frames. It reminds us that power…
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Three Shadows
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Argument on the Range
I took this photograph during a sports shooting competition, and despite what the title might suggest, there was no animosity in the air—only a civil, animated exchange between two competitors. In the image, the man on the left, in his blue cap, leans forward slightly, speaking with deliberate emphasis, while the man on the right, hands raised, listens intently, possibly offering a counterpoint. Behind them, a third figure stands blurred, clipboard in hand, an observer or official adding quiet context to the scene. From a compositional standpoint, the choice of shallow depth of field works in favour of the narrative. The two men in sharp focus create an intimate focal…
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Different Financial Transactions
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The Sorcerer’s Shop
Walking past the narrow streets that night, I was struck by the oddly theatrical composition this small shop presented. “La Bottega delle Streghe” — The Sorcerer’s Shop — proclaimed the sign above, and there in the doorway hung a single jacket, swaying faintly in the evening air. Through the open door, the frame split into two narratives: the interior, softly lit and cluttered with fabric and objects; and beyond it, the alleyway, dimly illuminated, with a car just visible in the background. The framing here is deliberate — the doorway acts as both literal and visual threshold. The viewer is pulled in, suspended between the world outside and whatever spells…
