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Chasing the Runner
When I framed this shot, I wasn’t only interested in the runner. His focused stride, his athletic attire, the purposeful set of his shoulders — these elements alone could have made for a conventional sports photograph. But what drew my attention was the peripheral narrative: to his left, almost in the shadows of his determined pace, a boy on a skateboard followed along, as if sharing the same lane of motion, but on an entirely different journey. The scene unfolded on a palm-lined promenade, cars and cyclists adding a sense of layered urban activity. The runner is sharp and dominant in the frame, his bright white outfit popping against the…
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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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Street Compass Rose
There’s something both poetic and ironic about finding a compass rose embedded in the tarmac — a relic of navigation sitting just a few metres from a working fishing port, in an age where most people rely on satellites to find the nearest café. I came across this one early in the morning, when the sun was low and the light had that burnished quality that makes asphalt glisten. The framing here was deliberate: I chose to crouch low, letting the compass rose dominate the foreground, while the fishing boats in the distance anchor the background in place. This low perspective exaggerates the texture of the cracked road surface, contrasting…
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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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Stairway to nothing
It was the kind of place you don’t really notice. A narrow passage, cracked walls, peeling paint, dim light. The kind of corridor you pass through without stopping. Unless you’re carrying a camera—and a little curiosity. I called this frame Stairway to Nothing when I first saw it on the screen. The name came unprompted. It just fit. The stairs are real, but lead to… what, exactly? A dead-end, a blank wall, maybe a half-forgotten door. You get the sense there was once purpose here—function, traffic, even a rhythm. Now it’s just remnants. A railing to hold on to, steps still intact, pots of green fighting back against the concrete. This wasn’t…
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In a yellowtone…
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A true cricket?
Trust me, this is a real photo.
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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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L’estate sta finendo…
L’estate sta finendo (the Summer is going to end) sang and old tune by The Righeira. It might have been a carefree Italo Disco anthem, but here its title feels almost literal. In this image, the end of summer is measured not in falling leaves, but in the silent rows of yellow sunbeds—upright, slightly askew, ready to be cleaned and stored. The repetition of form is the photograph’s backbone. Eleven chairs (or nearly so—one is cropped out on each side) form a neat yet imperfect line, their bright fabric glowing against the more muted tones of the stone and the soft grey-blue sky. The high-key yellow works almost like an…
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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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Seeking Directions – Where Do I Go From Here?
The cyclist wasn’t posing. He’d stopped to make a call, mid-ride, still straddling the saddle with the indecision of someone caught between stages. I didn’t ask. I just raised the camera and took the frame as it unfolded. The gas station in the background plays its part—logo sharp, prices legible, a quiet indicator of place and time. The contrast between high-performance cycling gear and the mundane infrastructure of the city gives the image its friction. It’s not a sports photo. It’s about movement interrupted. Shot handheld in late afternoon with fading light, the exposure was tricky. Highlights bounced off his helmet and the glossy panels of nearby cars. I dialled…
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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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Reminiscenses From The Past
Lost in memories, while the world turns.
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The Casual Observer
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Peeping the Misery
A rough opening in a white wall becomes the frame. The edges are jagged, still bearing the scars of whatever blow created them. Through it, the eye is led into another world—a dusty, abandoned space where sunlight slices across the ground. On the floor lies a tangle of debris: fragments of cloth, splinters, and what seems to be a torn banner, its once-bright colours now dulled. The text on it is broken, unreadable, a language interrupted. In the background, shapes blur into shadow—remnants of furniture, perhaps, or the skeletal remains of another wall. This photograph is about looking in without stepping in. The viewer is held at a distance, forced…
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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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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…
