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Trento, After Dark
There’s a plaque on the wall behind them—honouring soldiers of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, fallen in a war a hundred years gone. But they’re not looking at that. Instead, three boys sit shoulder to shoulder on a wooden bench, huddled around a glowing Apple logo. A little too bright for the square. The light falls on their faces the way a fire once would have. They’re focused, not speaking much. Two watch the screen; one taps at his phone. Nobody’s in a rush. This is Trento at night: limestone façades, uneven cobbles, Mediterranean shrubs in planters, and now Wi-Fi in the air. The square is mostly empty. Just a few benches,…
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What lasts of a springtime hailstorm
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Restaurant or Hellgate?
The only way to tell is to cross the door… good luck!
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Nightlife
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Alone, Together…
Are they friends, or do they just share the table?
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Hanging News
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A Moment Of Rest
Every place is the right place, when it comes the moment for a coffee…
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A Mini At The Garage
In motorsport, the story is often told on the track—in the blur of speed, the roar of engines, the chase of the apex. But there is another narrative, quieter and equally vital, found in the moments before a car is ready to move again. This photograph of an old Mini Cooper captures that in-between state: the stillness of a machine awaiting service. The perspective is deliberate. We see the car from the rear, centred on the whip antenna and the roofline, framed by the muted geometry of the workshop. Reflections curve across the back glass, warping the ceiling lights into soft arcs—a reminder of the interplay between machine and environment.…
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Who wants to live forever?
I found this sign in a narrow alley in southern Italy, somewhere between a forgotten tabaccheria and a shuttered photo lab. The kind of place where time no longer hurries. “Kodak films in vendita qui” it proclaims—still, stubbornly, as if refusing to accept the world has moved on. The once-bold red letters are now softened by decades of sun, rain, and indifference. The plastic casings holding each letter—cracked, leaning, imperfect—speak more truth than any marketing slogan ever could. It’s a ghost sign, still selling hope in an age when its promise has nearly vanished. This isn’t just a relic of analogue photography—it’s a whisper of what we thought would last…
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Trick or Treat?
Trick or Treat. Smell my feet. Give me something good to eat.
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The Spinners
I want to ride my bycicle…
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The Pizza’s Journey
From the oven to the the bench…
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As Time Goes By
Lost in thought, as time goes by…
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Rocco Zifarelli, Jeff Berlin, Beth&Danny Gottlieb, Gabriela Sinagra
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Kime in photography
While I was setting the aperture and the focus zone to shoot from the hip the subjects shifted the position of their heads and I missed the shot. Lesson learned: I decided to take this picture too late. I was aware of the composition a good ten seconds before, but I idled in uncertainty. When I finally resolved myself to shoot, I did everything on a hurry a I missed the shot. I definitely need to develop Kime in photography.
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Red Tears
I’ve always been drawn to the small, almost accidental pieces of abstraction that appear in everyday life. This photograph began as nothing more than a patch of painted wall, but the way the red pigment bled into the pale blue beneath was too evocative to ignore. The streaks felt like gravity-made brushstrokes, each drip tracing its own irregular path — a literal record of time and viscosity — and yet, when taken in as a whole, they resembled something far more visceral. Hence the title. Compositionally, I chose a tight, horizontal crop to emphasise the division of the frame into two bold blocks of colour. The hard upper edge of…
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The Ref
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Do Not Touch
An effective anti-theft device?
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Cornermen
There’s a rhythm to these images — a quiet, almost ritualistic interlude in a sport otherwise defined by its violence. The corners of a boxing ring are not just places of rest; they are theatres of strategy, whispered advice, and sometimes silent reproach. In each frame, the fighter is turned inward — literally and figuratively — toward those who bear no gloves but shoulder equal weight in the outcome. From a photographic standpoint, these are intimate studies taken from the same vantage point, the ropes acting as both boundary and compositional anchor. The repetition of the ring’s geometry — horizontal ropes, vertical corner post — frames each scene with a…
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Upcoming Call
A call is coming. Maybe…
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The Fighter
A tribute to a brave man. Between rounds, the noise shifts. The roar of the crowd blurs into a muffled hum, replaced by the clipped, urgent tones of a voice you trust more than your own instincts—the cornerman. This photograph holds that moment still. The fighter, bare-chested, gloves resting on the ropes, his breathing heavy but measured, absorbs each word. His eyes, narrowed and locked, aren’t simply looking; they are processing, dissecting, committing to memory. Every bead of sweat on his skin is a testament to the round just fought, every vein and muscle carrying the weight of the one to come. The cornerman leans in, body language sharp with…
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Behind The Shaft
Taken from inside one of those old Roman elevators—small, slow, caged in iron. The kind you find tucked into the corner of a 19th-century palazzo, where the wood creaks and everything smells faintly of dust and time. This photo looks outward, through the gate. But in a way, it also looks inward. The gridded metal frame keeps your focus close. The world beyond is blurred just enough to feel distant. Stairs curve down somewhere out of view. The light is natural, soft, diffused. The rest is silence. There’s no action here. No drama. Just the texture of the old ironwork, hand-forged patterns now worn smooth by a hundred years of…
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Rest under a tree
Resting under a tree, on a sunny afternoon, in springtime.
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What Lasts of Last Summer
