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Have fun…
This is the mood music should always create… (so long, jazz players)
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Lorenzo negli stadi
Rockol.it – a music-oriented online magazine I work with – published the reportage I did at the Jovanotti’s “Lorenzo negli stadi tour 2013” in Pescara (IT). Here are the other pictures.
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The SoundMaster
You don’t usually see them—not really. They’re always there, but never in the spotlight. Still, without them, there wouldn’t be a show. I was at a concert recently, camera in hand, doing what I normally do—trying to catch something a little off-stage, something that tells the rest of the story. That’s when I spotted him: back to the crowd, eyes on the board, headphones hanging loose around his neck. Focused, steady. Doing the kind of work that only gets noticed when something goes wrong. I framed the shot from behind. The lights of the soundboard, all blinking and glowing, lit up the edges of his shirt—a simple icon of a…
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Three of a Kind
Shot from street level, this image captures an everyday theatre performed quietly on a terrace. Three people — two women and one man — are held together by proximity but separated by gesture, expression, and posture. It’s a fleeting constellation of personalities, caught just before it disperses. I was struck by the triangular tension: the woman on the left, sporting a bicycle helmet and pursed lips, locked in on the man’s casual delivery. He stands as the pivot, mid-sentence, while the third figure leans away, hand on neck, visibly disengaged. The emotional distance between them expands far beyond the physical. Technically, the image relies on a crisp focus and compressed…
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Evolution of a Guitar Player
It’s strange how a decade can pass in the blink of an eye — and yet carry with it the weight of evolution. The last time I met Roberto Di Virgilio, he had a Steinberger in his hands: all sharp edges, carbon fibre, and the aura of the 1980s futurism that guitarists either loved or dismissed outright. Seeing him now, a Les Paul slung across his shoulder, feels almost like a chapter shift in a novel I didn’t realise I was still reading. The photograph was taken in the kind of setting that usually conspires against the photographer: a stage during setup, flat midday light filtered through the structure above,…
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The Calm Newsreader
Piazza del Duomo is never truly still. The stone expanse acts as both stage and thoroughfare, where the pace of life is measured in contrasts. In this pair of images, that tension is laid bare: a young woman, mid-stride, the blur of her step almost audible, shares the same visual field as a man in a red shirt who sits in unhurried contemplation, newspaper in hand. The composition in the first frame benefits from the deliberate use of foreground and background separation. The woman is caught in that decisive moment—foot lifted, eyes focused ahead—while the man remains anchored in his position, reading. The interplay between their postures tells a story…
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The Smoke Teacher
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Red Storm
I took this photo without raising the camera to my eye, resting it against the back of a chair to avoid breaking the rhythm of the scene. The room was full — women mostly, all dressed for the occasion, voices layered like overlapping melodies, echoing off red tablecloths and gold-framed mirrors. At the centre of it, this woman in a storm of colour. Her jumper caught the light — green, crimson, black — like a weather system of yarn. I didn’t need to see her face. Her hand told the story. The composition is crowded, intentionally so. No negative space, no clean lines, just immersion. You’re pulled into the middle…
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The Elders’ Council
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Behind the News
He stands in full sun, blazer buttoned, shirt crisp, mic in hand — delivering his segment with composure. It’s a classic image: the field reporter, live from the square, holding the line between chaos and clarity. But move the lens just a little wider, and the story changes. Because behind the camera, a different truth unfolds. The cameraman, sleeves rolled up, and the tourists slouched in the shade — legs stretched, sandals kicked off, hair tied up in the heat. They’re close enough to hear the words but completely removed from the illusion. And that’s the beauty of it: two realities, divided by a lens, staged in the same space.…
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The Sailor
Hey, there’s no water straight there!
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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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Nightlife
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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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The Referees
Shot in a break between rounds. Two officials—one in the ring, one just outside—pass the scorecard without a word. The exchange is procedural, yet visually precise. One hand extends up, the other down. The gesture anchors the frame. I placed myself at shoulder height, slightly off centre, to keep the ropes intersecting cleanly across the image. The ring’s horizontal lines break the vertical repetition of the gym’s back wall and audience. Geometry does the work—no crop needed. Lighting was mixed. Industrial overheads with a cold cast, ambient spill from the crowd, spot highlights off the shirts. Monochrome strips it back. No distractions. Just action and structure. ISO 1600 to hold…
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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 moment inside a café where a man sits alone at a small round table covered with a floral tablecloth. His posture is relaxed, one leg crossed over the other, as he holds a smartphone in his hand and looks toward the large window beside him. The leather jacket and muted colours of his clothing contrast with the warm wooden chairs and patterned fabrics that furnish the interior.
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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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Mind Your Way!
What did grab his attention?
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Guess who’s happier?
Easy, isn’t it? The title “Guess Who’s Happier” finds its answer before you even look twice. In the foreground, a man in a bold red Hawaiian shirt strides into frame, caught mid-motion, mid-laugh. He wears a grey fedora, sunglasses, and the loose, unselfconscious energy of someone untouched by the stiffness of the scene around him. His shirt blooms with white hibiscus prints, a quiet rebellion against the asphalt and glass of the urban backdrop. Behind him, to the right, a man in a dark suit and tie steps forward with a deliberate, guarded pace. His expression is unreadable, but the body language is tight, restrained—functional. The suit, the posture, the context…
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Too Noisy
A Marching Brass Band rehearsing its performance… maybe too noisy even for daylight time?
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A quiet watchdog or long-time friend who enjoys some rest??
I was walking through a narrow street in Rome when I saw him—stretched across the threshold of a dusty antiques shop like a soft barricade. Head down, ears flat, but not asleep. Not quite. He was watching with the kind of calm that doesn’t need to prove anything. The Leica M9 was set to zone focus, aperture around f/5.6, and I didn’t have time to fuss. I framed, stepped slightly left to catch the reflections in the glass, and took the shot. The light was diffuse—no harsh shadows, just a steady wash of warmth from the tungsten bulbs inside, softened further by the grey sky outside. The exposure held nicely,…
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Life is a bitch
Sunday morning. Scorching sun. A work to be done on time. Life is a bitch.
