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So what?
There is a certain energy in candid street photography that cannot be replicated in a controlled setting, and So What?captures it in full stride. This frame offers a slice of urban life in the late afternoon, when the sun hangs low and the streets teem with a mix of idle chatter, cigarette breaks, and casual posturing. The photograph hinges on the central figure—a tall man in sunglasses, cigarette poised mid-gesture—whose slight tilt of the head and half-smirk seem to issue the titular challenge. To his left, another man, hand to face and gaze averted, projects an entirely different mood: contemplative, perhaps guarded. The third figure, seen only from behind, forms…
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A young Iron Maiden fan
He might never have seen them, but who cares? Metal is immortal…
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A stupid quarrell
This photo raised strong criticism in the mainstream media. A soldier deployed in an operational theater (war, in other words) wears a balaclava with the image of his all-day companion: the death. Apart the fact that the image is a skull and not the Death (whose iconography is fairly more articulated and complex) the question is: why should this photo matters? All the combatants, of all times, of all places in the world know best the value of inducing fear into the enemies’ minds by way of “icons” (armors, masks) and sounds (shouts, drums.) And, in parallel, every soldier must find his own way to handle the unbearable fear of…
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Forgotten bike
in a forgotten house.
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Hard Spam
Sometimes spam doesn’t hide in your inbox. It glows in a pharmacy window. Shot on a quiet evening walk, this storefront display in Rome—or somewhere very much like it—caught my attention with the subtlety of a neon bullhorn. A perfectly literal interpretation of hard advertising: Viagra, Levitra, Cialis. Bold red font, urgent discounts, official decree cited. Street-level pharma meets street-level comedy. The scene is absurdly human. Framed by a closed shutter and a lonely Gaviscon box, the paper sign is taped like a last-minute school notice, but the message is anything but shy. There’s no algorithm, no clickbait. Just unapologetic, front-facing capital letters offering a prescription-strength punchline. It’s spam—but analogue. No filters,…
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An update on the poor Canon EOS-M autofocus
It seems that by setting the autofocus mode on FlexiZoneAF centered the performance of the camera improves slightly. Still far from being usable for street-photography, though.
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A true friend
They enjoy their time together, as true friends ever should… No leash. No command. Just a gesture—and absolute trust. In this intimate frame, the lens captures a silent language spoken only between companions of a certain kind. The man’s hand rises gently, fingers curled, holding nothing yet holding everything that matters: attention, affection, history. The dog, massive and solemn, gazes upward with reverence—not out of obedience, but because it wants to. This is not a portrait of a pet and its owner. It is a document of friendship forged over countless days walked together, of shared silences and mutual understanding. The bond, invisible to the eye yet utterly present, transcends words. Loyalty…
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Canon EOS-M. Useless for Street-Photography
A friend of mine handed over a Canon EOS M with the 22 (35mm equiv.) lens so I thought to give it a try during a street-photography session in Rome. To put it short, the EOS M is a useless camera. I don’t enter into a tech-talk since there are already many on the internet, just focusing on the practical side. Though, for general purposes, the EOS M isn’t worse than other competitors, the autofocus – as clearly stated by many reviewer – is deadly slow, making impossible to shoot from the hip and the touch screen often messes up the settings while “palming” the camera. Furthermore, there is no…
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Don’t Forget!
It’s the moment between words that makes this picture. You can almost hear the shop owner’s voice, half command, half reminder, as the young man in the doorway glances back. The raised hand, the turned head, the slight lean forward — everything about his body language says, “You’ve got this, but don’t mess it up.” The frame itself is tight, almost conspiratorial. We’re standing just behind another figure — smart jacket, cigarette in hand — as if we’ve stumbled into a private exchange. That foreground figure acts as an anchor and a barrier at the same time: we’re part of the scene, yet removed from it, observing through a filter…
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The Long Way Up
I’ve always been drawn to stairways — not for their architectural elegance, but for what they suggest about human effort. This photograph, taken in a steep Italian hill town, is less about the stones and more about the person halfway up, leaning forward into the climb, each step a small battle against gravity and fatigue. From a compositional standpoint, I deliberately placed the vanishing point at the top of the stairs, where the light spills in from the open street beyond. The walls on either side act as vertical guides, forcing the viewer’s eye along the incline toward the lone figure. The choice of black and white wasn’t an afterthought;…
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Dreaming of a Lancia Delta Martini…
… while driving a Nissan.
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A Bitter Sweet
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The Power of Music
The story is all in the child’s eyes
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Supporter or Photographer?
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Seeking Directions
is a complex task, not only on the streets.
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A kiss in the shade
while the love is for real
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The Bored Bassman
Jazz stages have a way of amplifying not just the music, but the moods of those who inhabit them. This frame, taken mid-performance, says less about the notes being played and more about the space between them. The singer is in her moment, eyes closed, wrapped in the phrasing of a lyric. The bassist, by contrast, rests his chin on his hand — a gesture that could be concentration, fatigue, or simply waiting for his cue. From a compositional point of view, it’s an image split in tone and focus. The spotlighting was harsh, and while it gave the singer’s red dress and skin a luminous presence, it also pushed…
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An inconvenient way to spend time.
Waking up at dawn, layering up like a World Cup slalom contender, waiting your turn at the ski-lift, gliding up to 1,800 metres… and then, instead of carving lines on powder, seeking out the perfect sunny corner to unfold a deckchair and read a magazine. De gustibus, indeed. I took this photograph partly amused, partly curious. The two figures, bundled in ski gear, are frozen in a still life of leisure that feels completely at odds with their surroundings. It’s an unspoken reminder that the mountains aren’t only for the adrenaline-seekers — they’re also for those who see them as a backdrop for a slower kind of pleasure. Technically, the…
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Overexposed?
The scene was candid — two figures, winter jackets zipped to the chin, one holding a small camera at arm’s length, the other patiently posing. The patchwork of snow and rocky ground under a hard midday sun gave me a chance to play with tonal contrast, though it came with its own technical hazards. Snow in bright light loves to trick meters, and the risk here was losing detail in both the highlights and the shadowed areas of the coats. I exposed with the snow in mind, letting the darker parts fall slightly under, trusting that I could lift them later without ruining texture. The clouds, stretched across the frame…
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Rest in peace
after half a day of ski.
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The perfect ski outfit
… which one is best?
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Waiting for the Justice to Arrive
In this hallway of the Tribunale Penale di Roma, time seems suspended. Lawyers sit or stand, briefcases at their feet, bundles of files in hand. Some engage in hushed conversation, others review notes with ritualistic precision. A woman in red draws the eye—a rare burst of colour in an otherwise subdued palette of solemnity. The title, Waiting for the Justice to Arrive, operates on two planes. On the surface, it is procedural. The court has not yet opened its doors; the judge is late, the hearing is postponed. These legal professionals must simply wait—idle, static, alert. Justice, here, is both person and principle: the judge must enter the courtroom for proceedings…
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Chitchat under the rain
every moment is the right one, to enjoy a friendly conversation.
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Under the Yellow Umbrella
It had just stopped raining—just enough to make the pavement shine, but not enough to fold away the umbrellas. I took this photo in passing. No setup, no waiting. Just a quiet moment shared by two people walking slowly, pushing a shopping trolley and carrying a red bag, both tucked under a loud yellow Bardahl-branded umbrella. The kind of umbrella you don’t buy, but are given somewhere and end up using forever. There’s nothing dramatic here. No grand gesture. Just two people—maybe a couple, maybe not—navigating a wet day together. The colours caught me: the dull browns, the muted jackets, that flash of red, and of course the umbrella. It…
