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Tired or Fascinated?
Not so easy to tell… The question writes itself when you look at the scene. In the centre of the frame, a man stands before a long, textured painting. His arms are crossed, his head tilted slightly forward—posture locked in contemplation. The work before him, with its earthy tones and abstracted form, seems to have pulled him entirely into its orbit. He doesn’t glance away. In the foreground, two seated figures tell a different story. On the left, a woman in a red hoodie sits with a jacket draped across her lap, holding a booklet. Her gaze drifts outward, past the viewer, her expression suggesting the mental pause that comes after…
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Same Space, Different Worlds
Lost in their own business.
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The Changer — Glass Walls, Paper Smiles, and Currency Drained
Shot through the pane of a Paris bureau de change, this image came together almost by accident, although the structure was too rigid to call it candid. I was struck by the transactional melancholy of it all. The young man hunched behind the counter, bathed in the cold glow of LED-lit optimism, was framed perfectly by posters promising “a fabulous customer experience.” The visual irony was impossible to ignore — printed smiles all around, while the only real expression behind the glass was fatigue. Technically, this image is about reflection and layering. The pane acts as both barrier and canvas, catching the street behind me and folding it into the…
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George Braque
The Leica M9 isn’t forgiving, but in return, it doesn’t lie. This frame, taken under subdued museum lighting, is technically demanding—no flash, no stabilisation crutches. The man’s puzzled posture, caught mid-thought, leaning ever so slightly forward, tells its own story of trying to decipher Braque’s textured language. I shot wide open with a 35mm Summicron, relying on the M9’s signature rendering to isolate the subject from the gentle blur of the gallery background. Focus landed precisely on the man’s ear and temple, leaving the rest to dissolve into soft, painterly tones. The cool ambient light plays off the wall and his scarf—an accidental nod to the blue hue in the…
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Portrait of aTocaor
There is no audience in the frame, no dancer to mark the beat, no palmas to answer the rhythm—just the tocaor, alone with his guitar. The photograph is intimate, stripped of spectacle, and in that simplicity lies its strength. Shot in black and white, the image pares down the moment to texture and expression. The grain and contrast evoke the deep tradition of flamenco portraiture, where the absence of colour invites the viewer to listen with their eyes. The focus is on the face—eyes closed, lips resting in concentration—as the player leans toward the neck of the guitar. This is not a performance for the world but an inward conversation,…
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A Sad Afternoon
… waiting for someone to call.
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Portrait of a Lawyer
Not every portrait needs a full frame. Sometimes, it’s what’s just out of focus that tells the most. Shot close—uncomfortably close—this image doesn’t try to flatter. It doesn’t seek symmetry or polish. The man’s on the phone, mid-thought, caught between reaction and restraint. His eyes are sharp, but not fixed. His hand rises instinctively to his face, as if shielding or steadying something unspoken. The photograph is grainy, the depth shallow. One lens, one second, one expression pulled between two worlds: the one he’s hearing and the one he’s trying to shape with his response. You don’t hear the voice on the other end, but you can sense it—by the…
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Skating on the streets of Milan
Late in the evening, Milan had thinned out and the spaces between people became wider. The man in the frame was crossing the street with a deliberate, slightly laboured movement, his body pitched forward as if negotiating both balance and direction. His orange trousers and red jacket stood out sharply against the muted tones of the pavement and the buildings—a small burst of colour in a subdued urban palette. What drew me in was the intersection of stillness and motion. The green pedestrian light glowed steadily above him, indifferent to the slowness of his crossing. Around him, the city carried on in fragments: the illuminated bank window, the muted signage,…
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Out-of-Focus
My fault, but – somehow – I find this picture evocative.
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The Audience (Not a Rock Concert, Indeed)
I made this photo during an outdoor performance to begin. What drew me in wasn’t their anticipation, but their fragmentation. Each group was self-contained, bound by conversation, silence, observation, or fatigue. Shot wide, the frame flattens the scene against the warm, textured backdrop of ancient brickwork. The wall itself becomes part of the composition—silent, immovable, almost performative in its presence. Light was fading, diffuse but uneven. I didn’t push the ISO too hard; I let the image soften in the shadows and hold detail in the mids. Skin tones are desaturated but honest. I made no attempt to brighten it into clarity. This is dusk, and it should feel like…
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Barbarians at the Gates
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A ghostly bystander
How long was he staying there?
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Wave Riders
I took this photograph on the beach beneath the Ponte del Mare in Pescara. The scene is divided between the monumental line of the bridge and the human scale of two kite surfers preparing their gear. The composition works by contrast: the rigid geometry of steel cables and concrete arcs against the fluid, improvised forms of sport and sand.
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Negrita’s Cover Band
They still need to walk a long, long way before getting in sight of the original Negrita. Nevertheless they have a lot of fun…
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Rockabilly
Not stylish, not “clean”, not “intellectual”… but damn fun!!
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Parachute
Didn’t have a wider lens, so I got the most interesting part of the frame…
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Night Serenade
Is there anything more romantic?
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Come on in…
What will you find at the end of the corridor? The frame pulls you inward. The eye enters through the shadowed foreground, past the blurred figure standing half in, half out of the light, and begins its slow walk down the corridor. The walls, cracked and weathered, carry the patina of time. Arched ceilings recede rhythmically, each arch framing the next, each doorway leading you further inside. Along the path, framed photographs lean against the walls, their colours softened by the dim light. They are not hung with formality; they rest casually, like travellers waiting to be claimed. The projector to the right hints at moving images, yet here, everything feels…
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Nico Cilli Band@Chiostro Comunale – Città S.Angelo
A few shots from a reportage I did during a jazz gig.
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Suspicious
What’s wrong, dude?
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Reminiscenses From The Past
Lost in memories, while the world turns.
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The Casual Observer
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While Waiting for the Food
Somewhere coastal, sometime after sundown. The table is set, the drinks half gone, the plates not yet full. It’s the in-between moment—the pause before the meal arrives, when conversation either deepens or disappears. He’s on his phone, thumb scrolling with purpose, eyes locked to the glow. Around him, the restaurant hums: plastic chairs, thatched roof, barefoot kids running between tables, the usual clatter of dishes and casual voices. A holiday place, probably. Warm air, sea salt, and time meant to be slower. What struck me was not the act—because it’s common—but the woman across from him. Half-hidden, partly blurred, yet watching. Not annoyed, not angry. Just watching. The kind of…
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Vinyl Never Dies
