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Sic Transit Gloria Mundi
Some photographs do not simply depict a scene; they whisper about the inevitability of time. This image — a weathered wall plastered with torn layers of posters — is a meditation on memory and impermanence. At its heart is the fragmented portrait of a man, likely once an emblem of style or aspiration, now fading beneath the relentless work of sun, rain, and neglect. Around him cluster obituaries, each a stark, matter-of-fact record of a life lived and now concluded. Together, they form a quiet but profound juxtaposition: the glamour of an image meant to sell an idea, and the final notices marking real human departures. Compositionally, the frame is…
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The Unintended March
Strangers walk at the same pace
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PizzaPizza
I want a pizza!
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The dilemma
Should I Buy It?
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Humannequin
This frame was one of those taken on instinct—no tripod, no second thoughts, just a camera pointed through a pane of glass and a question forming even before I pressed the shutter: which one is the mannequin? The scene unfolds in a boutique window and interior where light, reflection, and posture blur the lines between display and presence. The mannequin on the right is dressed in earth tones, her boots absurdly plush, almost cartoonish. She’s poised with deliberate stillness, sculpted as expected. But it’s the figure just beyond her, partially obscured, that catches the eye. Upright, still, backlit—almost mimicking her. You could pass by and assume they’re both props, frozen…
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Mind Your Business…
Paths that shall never cross.
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Busy
Busy, taking her time…
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Action shot
With a little help of the Fortune, even a non-sport camera proves to be good for (relatively) fast moving subjects.
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Modern Times
A man walks through a square as ever did, and ever will. In the meantime, the world changes.
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Beach in black
There is a certain stubbornness in going to the shore at night with a camera and expecting to bring something back other than disappointment. The sea, under moonlight, doesn’t offer you light so much as it withholds it, forcing you to work with the barest scraps. This image was taken under those conditions — no artificial illumination, only the moon high above, its reflection tearing a path across the water. I composed with the reflection as the spine of the frame, letting it run vertically to draw the viewer’s eye from the immediate foreground into the distant horizon. The exposure was a balancing act: enough to reveal the texture of…
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ChitChat in a sunny day
I saw the two of them before I saw the light. They were already locked in conversation — not animated, but steady, the kind that only happens between people who’ve known each other for years. One leans back, hands in pockets, the other gesturing mid-sentence. Nothing theatrical, no drama. Just the architecture of ordinary talk. What made me lift the camera wasn’t them alone — it was the composition the shadows drew around them. The tree, out of frame, cast itself perfectly on the metal shutter behind. Two vertical lines from the trunk, branches spreading just above the heads. A stage set by sunlight. Geometry by accident. Technically, the exposure…
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Purple Haze
Early on a winter morning a purple haze…
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Out for a ride…
The light was brittle—thin, like the quiet that hangs in the streets after a long, noisy night. New Year’s celebrations had just emptied out, leaving behind a silence filled with expectation and leftover firecracker smoke. I didn’t plan this frame; I was out walking off the heaviness of the night before, camera slung under my coat, when I caught this rider coasting through the city’s near-emptiness. What struck me was the sheer casualness of it. No drama, no destination, just movement. The world still had the sleep in its eyes. The bike and rider sliced through the morning like punctuation—bare, direct. Technically, the exposure leaned toward the soft end. Shadows…
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Silent Among Many Voices
This photograph was taken inside a crowded bar, late afternoon, just as daylight began surrendering to the low amber of early evening. It was a warm space, socially speaking—laughter, conversation, the usual clatter of espresso cups and cutlery—but this particular moment stood out for its subtle, emotional dissonance. In the foreground, a young man leans against the table, eyes lowered, expression withdrawn. He’s physically close to others, yet mentally and emotionally absent from the shared space. That’s the tension I was drawn to: proximity without connection. The glass chair’s curvature frames him in a way that feels almost isolating, like a barrier—not physical, but psychological. From a compositional standpoint, I…
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Late
Late. Again. As ever…
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Yet Another Dawn
Yet Another Dawn Picture. There is a snobbish attitude among “real-photographer” (those tough guys that know all about cameras, lenses, optics, chemistry, physics, hardware, software, journalism, fine-art, landscape, portrait and, finally, Leica – and that barely shot a frame or two once at year) that photo like this one shouldn’t be taken at all. If you need an exposure of a dawn – I’ve read on a website whose link I’ve lost – you’d better go to Google image. I disagree for two reasons: first: shooting is a personal need. If somebody feels like exposing a dawn, a sunset or whatever banal… well that’s matter to him and is none…
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Disagreement
When dogs (like that) start yelling at you with no apparent reason, becoming a bum starts being an option…
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Waiting for the match…
The scene is ordinary, but that’s precisely why I stopped. A teenager in full Givova kit, perched on a cold cement bench in a bare piazza, killing time before football training. A gym bag tagged “Città di Giulianova 1924” anchors the narrative—it tells us this isn’t just a kid hanging out. This is ritual, anticipation, part of the social choreography that surrounds grassroots sport in small Italian towns. Technically, it’s a straightforward frame, handheld and slightly imperfect—edges soft, shadows flat—but that rawness works here. The light is diffused under an overcast sky, producing a muted palette with little contrast. I let the saturation lean just enough to retain the plastic…
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The Argument
A fierce debate in a sunny winter day.
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Different Paths
Street photography has always fascinated me for its ability to compress fleeting moments into enduring visual narratives. In this image, taken on what appears to be a damp, overcast day, the photographer captures two figures heading in opposite directions — a man in the foreground walking towards the camera, his orange cap vivid against the muted palette, and a woman in the distance holding a bright orange umbrella. The composition cleverly plays on symmetry and divergence. While the subjects are positioned on opposite sides of the frame, they are visually connected through the repetition of colour — the cap and the umbrella forming two points of chromatic emphasis that immediately…
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Footprints in the Snow
Footprints in the snow. A lonely path toward a journey in the mountains. I took this shot during a solitary walk across an off-season ski slope, where the infrastructure rests in suspended animation. The snow was untouched but for a single trail—mine—cutting through the soft silence. What drew me to stop and lift the camera wasn’t the cold or the scale of the landscape, but the purity of the composition: a line, a light source, and an expanse. Technically, the exposure required some compromise. Shooting directly into the sun flattens the highlights, but I wasn’t after tonal perfection. I wanted the viewer’s eye to follow the footprints without distraction, and…
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A solitary journey
A man just comes back from a solitary journey into the snow. He’s already missing the peace of the mountains.
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The Waiting
A light rain covers a lonely car. A women, inside, is waiting for somebody that might never come.
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My first shot (with purpose)
This is the very first shot I took with the conscious intention of “taking a photo.” No technical skill, no reading of manuals—just a camera, a chair abandoned in a field, and the instinct to frame it. I remember being fascinated by the contrast: the artificial shape of the chair dropped into a plot of neglected green, hemmed by broken walls. No narrative, just a question mark. I had no clue what I was doing. Exposure? Focus? Aperture? The camera was almost fully automatic, and I didn’t even think about composition rules. But the instinct to isolate the subject and centralise the frame kicked in, and so did a vague…
