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The Mailbox
No News, Good News.
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Fantozzi’s chairs
They look innocent enough — two soft, shapeless seats next to a rattan table, tucked under a wall in some coastal bar. But the title gives it away: Fracchia’s Chairs. And if you know the name, you know exactly what kind of scene this is. Giandomenico Fracchia, as played by Paolo Villaggio in the 1970s, was the tragicomic soul of bureaucratic Italy: servile, stammering, utterly at the mercy of authority. There’s a legendary sketch in which he’s being questioned by his boss — unable to sit still on a chair so round and formless it’s practically a trap. And here it is again, reimagined in polyurethane and branded with Nastro Azzurro. The…
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Fashionable’s shots
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Iron Gate
When craftmanship meets art.
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Big Brother Enhanced
Shot at Gardaland.
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A relic from the (recent) past
less than twenty years have gone, and a telephone boot looks like a relic from the Stone Age.
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Rest on the lake
enjoying some fruit.
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Waiting for the goal
Why can’t I enjoy my soccer team’s match instead of wasting my time here? Because my wife loves music…
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Segway Chase in Villa Borghese
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Snaps of a Flamenco recital…
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What lasts after a party…
Bacardi, beer, and a strawberry.
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The Hands of a Drummer (Horacio “El Negro” Hernandez)
You don’t photograph a legend. You try not to get in the way. This frame is all rhythm, no fanfare. No face, no spotlight—just hands, sticks, cymbals, and breath held between beats. It’s Horacio “El Negro” Hernández in concert, but not in the way the audience sees him. This is closer. Quieter. The private side of percussion. Shot just beneath the hi-hat, I framed the photo to let the hand speak: fingers curled not in tension, but in dialogue. The skin slightly worn, the grip half-visible—mid-phrase, mid-flow. The cymbals catch the stage light like the faintest of brushstrokes, shimmering but not stealing the scene. You can feel the groove here.…
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Shade of Berlin
… Jeff, Berlin.
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Knocking on lion’s door
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Meeting on the board
Meeting on the board, waiting for the next passenger to arrive.
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Still Together
Still together, like the very first day. I saw them before they saw me — leaning slightly towards each other, their posture neither rigid nor slouched, but comfortably suspended in the shared gravity of the table between them. The wine glasses, half-filled with rosé, spoke of time already spent; the unopened bottle on the side suggested more still to come. From a compositional standpoint, I worked with the geometry of the setting — the square table, the vertical lines of the wall, and the quiet interruption of the stone column — to anchor the frame. The couple sit on opposite sides, yet the line of sight between them is unbroken,…
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The missing guest
Everything is ready to start the party, but a missing place suggest that they still have to wait…
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Waiting for a Future to Tell
Behind the slightly dusty glass of an old tobacco shop window, a box of tarot cards stands upright, holding its ground with a quiet dignity. The label reads taotl, the colours still vivid despite the years: red flames, green leaves, a central emblem that seems both protective and dangerous. Beneath, the name Masenghini anchors it in a very specific history of Italian card-making, a craft now mostly relegated to collectors and the nostalgic. Around it, other objects share the same slow fate: a light-blue school exercise book titled Quaderno, some patterned boxes, a rolled cylinder of bright turquoise paper. Everyday relics, all bathed in the soft, uneven light that only old glass and time…
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Late-afternoon’s snack
…who knows what will be served for dinner?
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The Worst Moment to Fix a Shoe’s Problem
Caught on a descending escalator, mid-bend, mid-thought—this is the photograph of a decision made too late. Everything in this frame leans forward. The vanishing point pulls you down, hard, like gravity with intention. The blur on the metal steps mimics momentum. You can almost feel the hum of machinery and the silent urgency of descent. At the centre of it all: a man hunched over, trying to wrestle control over something small and unruly—perhaps a loose shoelace, perhaps something more symbolic. I didn’t plan this shot. It happened fast. A reflex. Shot handheld, low light, no time to think, just enough to feel. The imperfection—the motion blur, the noise, the…
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An Old-Style ATM
This frame came together in the blink of an eye — or perhaps more accurately, in the blur of one. No carefully plotted composition, no tripod, no second chance. Just a brief exchange at a café counter: a plate extended, a hand offering payment, the warmth of human transaction before contactless cards made it all vanish into invisible transfers. The motion blur here is both the flaw and the essence. Technically speaking, the shutter speed was far too slow for handheld shooting in this kind of lighting, resulting in softness across the entire image. If sharpness were the sole measure of photographic merit, this would be an immediate reject. But…
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No Tablet, No Problem
Airport Gate, Early Evening No screens. No earbuds. No glowing rectangles in sight. Just two people passing time with cards and conversation, waiting for a flight that’s probably delayed. The bench is metallic, cold. The lighting is flat. But between them, something human is happening—casual, quiet, and becoming increasingly rare. I didn’t stage this. I just noticed it. In a terminal where most people were curled into devices, these two were leaning forward, sharing space, actually looking at each other. He speaks, she listens. She gestures, he laughs. Their luggage is there, sure—but this moment isn’t about where they’re going. It’s about the pause before it. The photo isn’t sharp…
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Who is the mannequin?
… not sure.
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The Urban Chase
Not all of the urban chases, involve a couple of Alfa 159 trying to catch an Aston Martin
