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The Doorman
Night work has its own silence, even when it’s loud. I made this frame just before the crowd arrived — a kind of photographic inhale before the push and pull of a Saturday night began. The doorman stands alone, his posture almost statuesque, braced against the neon wash of the venue’s lighting. The composition leans heavily on verticality. I intentionally let the figure anchor the centre, framed between structural elements and artificial glow. It’s an image of solitude and readiness, not action — and that contrast is what I wanted to preserve. The light is tough: mixed colour temperatures, harsh reflections, and flat backgrounds. But I didn’t correct it. It…
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The Silent Dialog
Sometimes, two subjects share a conversation without exchanging a word. In this case, the dialogue exists between man and stone — between the jogger, resting mid-route, and the towering marble column in front of him. The stillness of the sculpture contrasts with his barely contained energy, as though the pause is only temporary before motion resumes. The composition is anchored by geometry. The bollards form a rhythm across the foreground, pulling the eye toward the seated figure. The column rises almost dead-centre in the frame, lending a sense of vertical authority, while the urban backdrop — palms, apartments, the waiting truck — situates the scene in the ordinary present, far…
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Sleep Wins
I found them in that fragile hour when night hasn’t fully given up and the day hasn’t quite claimed the streets. Two bodies slumped against a shuttered shopfront, graffiti curling behind them like a silent narrator. They weren’t staged, of course — this was simply where exhaustion decided to settle. With the Canon EOS-M paired to the EF-M 18–55, I had the flexibility to frame them in a way that gave space for the scene to breathe. The late light worked in my favour, sliding in at an angle that brought warmth to their skin tones while pulling texture from the cold metal behind them. The graffiti, soft enough not…
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A Puff of Smoke
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Bycicle Ride
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Afternoon’s Mumbling
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Pillars Of The Beach
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The Nightmare
Last night, at what should have been an intimate tango exhibition, I was reminded how delicate the relationship between photographer, performer, and audience really is. It’s a balance of presence and discretion — a dance of our own, if you will — and when one party missteps, the whole atmosphere can falter. The image I took here is less about the aesthetics of tango than about an interruption to its magic. In the foreground stands a photographer, camera raised, entirely absorbed in his task. The moon glows softly above him, the darkness swallowing most of the scene, but it’s clear enough to see the intent concentration on his face. Off…
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Staring At The Infinite
Shot on a quiet coastline, this image started as a spontaneous exercise in balance and distance—two figures set against the immeasurable vastness of the sea. The horizon offered a natural axis, both dividing and uniting the sky and the water, while the couple, placed slightly off-centre, became the emotional anchor. I chose a moderate focal length to avoid exaggerating depth or flattening perspective. The intent was to render the vastness not as spectacle, but as presence—imposing yet still intimate. The sea is not in fury, nor calm; it simply is, stretching without end behind them. That’s the metaphor I was after. Compositionally, I leaned on symmetry without being rigid. The…
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When The Passion Is Gone (thank to a sneaky photographer)
The close-up delivers a feeling of hot passion, as often tangueros do. But a wider view, including that sneaky photographer, kills the mood.
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High Heels Ghost
I took this on a Saturday night, tripod low, exposure long. The street was busy but silent—one of those moments when you hear the city breathe between footsteps and engines. She passed quickly, dressed for somewhere else, but the shutter stayed open just long enough to erase her features and leave only motion. She became a spectre. Legs firm, heels sharp, but the torso blurred into translucence. It wasn’t planned. I wanted to catch life, but what emerged was absence—graceful, flickering, unresolved. That duality between presence and erasure fascinated me. Compositionally, it’s a static stage: parked cars, rough bark, municipal geometry. The frame’s symmetry anchors the chaos of the motion…
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Saturday Night’s Ice Cream
This image was taken late one summer evening, in that quiet stretch after dinner but before the streets empty out. The man in the frame is devouring his ice cream like it’s the first proper moment he’s had to himself all day—elbows on knees, back curved forward, eyes fixed on the cone like it holds more than just pistachio and stracciatella. Technically speaking, the photograph is far from pristine. Handheld in low light with a slow shutter and high ISO, the noise creeps in and sharpness suffers. But I don’t mind that. Precision wasn’t the priority here. What I wanted was to capture a trace of stillness in motion, a…
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When We Were Kids
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Avid Readers
Anything, Anywhere…
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Gotcha!
It was the contrast that caught my eye. A man stands knee-deep in the Adriatic shallows, focused, precise, moving a small blue net through the water like he’s brushing dust off glass. He’s working under the shadow of a trabocco—a towering wooden fishing machine, all cables and beams, designed to drop massive nets and haul in fish by the hundreds. The kind of structure that speaks of industry, tradition, scale. But here he is. Alone. Shirtless. Waist-deep. Fishing by hand. The second frame pulls back. You see it all—the full span of the trabocco, its arms stretched wide like a maritime cathedral. And at the base, dwarfed by design, the same man…
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Is This Smoke?
It seems so.
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Who Said That Music Is Relaxing?
Performance photography often leans on grand gestures—flying hair, dramatic spotlight, or an ecstatic soloist. I went in the opposite direction here, waiting for a moment of exhaustion rather than exaltation. The guitarist’s slumped posture, arm draped over his face, dissolves the illusion of effortless expression. It’s not stage fright or defeat—just the inescapable weight of presence. Shot from the stalls with a moderate telephoto, I aimed to compress the performer and his instrument, emphasising their closeness. The guitar, held tightly even in rest, becomes an extension of the body rather than a separate tool. The body language is loud, even if the room was likely hushed. I chose not to…
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Easy Parking
He wasn’t in a hurry. The light was sharp, late afternoon, cutting across the concrete pillar like a blade, and he took his time adjusting the bags on the handlebar. A pair of shorts, sandals, striped shirt — nothing out of place, nothing performative. A man and his bicycle in a pocket of shadow beneath an overpass, with the river just behind. I didn’t move, didn’t call out. Just raised the camera and took the frame. This is a photo built on tension between geometry and decay. The straight line of the railing, the vertical force of the pillar, the rhythm of the bridge in the background — all intersect…
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Uncertainity
Photographs taken in urban dockside environments often carry a layered narrative—of industry meeting leisure, of movement paused, of a city’s arteries stretching both above and below the waterline. This image, with its juxtaposition of a small, worn boat in the foreground and the sweeping, multi-tiered bridges beyond, encapsulates that tension between the static and the dynamic. From a compositional perspective, the wooden railing in the foreground frames the lower half of the image, anchoring the scene and guiding the viewer’s gaze towards the boats. The man standing by the rail, casual in stance and attire, adds a human scale that balances the massive concrete structures above. His positioning—turned slightly away…
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Smile!
Smile! It’s contagious!
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Early Morning Shaving on The Beach
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Is The Sky Falling On Their Heads?
The photograph wasn’t planned. It was simply observed — a pocket of time, mid-afternoon, Abruzzo heat bearing down, the kind that slows everything to a stubborn crawl. I stood facing this kiosk-bar, the kind you find near campsites and old swimming pools, and pressed the shutter as the two men crossed paths. It wasn’t about them, specifically. It was about the echo — the posture, the bellies, the slightly arched backs, the shared suspicion of something overhead. The title is a nod, of course — Uderzo and Goscinny’s Asterix stories, and that primal fear of the sky falling on our heads. These men could have walked straight off a panel…
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A few shots from a Paco de Lucia live performance
A few shots from a Live Report I did for Rockol.it, an online music magazine
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An Evening Chat
The heat is unbearable in the evening of summer, but it doesn’t stop people from enjoying the outdoor nightlife.
