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A Grocery Store in Rome
Some photographs emerge not from the pursuit of the exceptional, but from the quiet insistence of the everyday. This frame, captured in Rome, is one of them. I didn’t wait for decisive moments or orchestrate elements. I simply stood in front of this unassuming mini market, with its fluorescent signage blinking “COLD DRINKS” and “APERTO,” and let the banality speak. The storefront is wedged into a stone facade, a brutal contrast softened by the cluttered joy of cheap pleasures: laminated posters of ice creams, fizzy drinks stacked like bricks, and a faded theatre poster wedged between glossy wrappers. You can almost smell the dusty coolness inside — a refuge from…
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Ready For Lunch
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Behind a Shop Window in Oslo
This was one of those scenes that unfolded on its own terms. No decisive moment, no split-second drama—just a man behind glass, cleaning or adjusting or both, surrounded by faceless mannequins and the awkward geometry of retail preparation. I raised the Nikon 35 TI and pressed the shutter before overthinking it. Shot through the shop window, the glass worked both against me and with me. It introduced layers—literal and symbolic. Reflections were minimal but present, just enough to remind us we’re on the outside looking in. The man is inside a constructed world, arranging it, tidying its surfaces for consumption. The mannequins—blank-eyed children—stand frozen, already staged, while he works between…
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Efesto’s New Production Line
Just behind the barbecue master, the heat rose sharply and the smoke thickened into a shifting wall. The man stood at the centre of it, absorbed in the intensity of roasting slices of lambs, his back straight, shoulders tight, arms moving with controlled force. There was no theatrical pose—only concentration. From this angle, the scene feels more like a workshop than a stage.
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Ready for lunch
An osteria table waits, set with blue cloth, inverted glasses, and neatly placed napkins. The chalkboard menu leans forward in the foreground, announcing “Pranzo Veloce” with its modest prices and straightforward promises. Chairs stand empty, the cobbled street quiet, yet the scene already holds the expectation of voices, cutlery, and conversation. Composition divides into two parts: the angled menu board on the left, pulling the eye with text and bold frame, and the table on the right, stable and orderly. The brick wall and wooden door in the background add texture and intimacy, rooting the setting firmly in an Italian street. The balance of objects, slightly off-centre, leaves space for…
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Red Curtains
It caught me as I was leaving a small trattoria, the kind where wine glasses reflect years of conversation and meals stretch long into the evening. The curtain—the protagonist here—isn’t just a physical separator. It’s a thin veil between what’s public and what should remain private. I let the fabric dominate the composition. Its translucent quality distorts the background just enough to suggest, not show. The folds create a rhythm, a vertical cadence against the more chaotic, lived-in blur of the interior. The exposure was tricky. Balancing the warmth of incandescent lighting with the saturation of the red was key—push too far, and the tones bleed; underexpose, and the shadows…
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Santino’s Photo& Video at Broadway
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Conversations, Silences, and Street Life
I took this photo on a market day in a small Italian town—one of those moments where nothing happens, and yet everything is happening. The street café was squeezed between stalls and pedestrian flow, and I noticed how time seemed to pass differently at each table. In the foreground, two women, elegantly aged, sat in full conversation, flanked by shopping bags and sun-faded handbags. Behind them, two men—one turned, one leaning—observed, disengaged but present. A quiet choreography of glances, posture, distance. The scene reads like a layered composition. Foreground, midground, background—each one active, but narratively distinct. I framed the shot from an angle that allowed these strata to settle into…
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Relax At The Rapallo’s Marina
I remember walking past this café terrace at the marina in Rapallo and being drawn to the contrasting energies it contained. In the foreground, a woman in a red dress sits absorbed in her magazine, her body language completely self-contained. Just beyond her, a small group of older men and women are animated in conversation, their faces alive with expression. The scene felt like two parallel worlds inhabiting the same space—private quiet and social exchange—separated only by a few metres of wicker furniture. The colour red became the unifying element. The woman’s dress, the handbag on the sofa beside her, and the clothing of the woman facing away from the…
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The Chess Players’ Summer Nest
There’s a rhythm to afternoons like this. The sun heavy in the air, the shade of the arcade offering just enough relief to keep men rooted to their chairs, eyes fixed on the chequerboard battlefield. The setting is unmistakably local — a small bar spilling its life out onto the pavement, Coca-Cola chairs scarred by years of use, walls patched and peeling. Everything here is part of the game, even the hum of conversation from the tables beyond. What makes the photograph work is its layering. The first plane is the duel: two players hunched, arms folded, eyes locked on the chessboard, their bodies mirroring each other in stubborn concentration.…
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Waiting For A Customer To Come
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Once A God
Poseidon emerges from above the sign like a relic of popular imagination—muscular torso, crown, and trident, his authority now reduced to advertising. Below him, the oversized fish and bold lettering spell out his name with certainty, though the plaster figure betrays wear, paint faded and surfaces weathered. It is not divinity but decoration, a reminder of how myth survives in commerce. Composition stresses perspective: the low angle forces the viewer to look up, as if paying homage, yet the clean blue sky strips the scene of grandeur, leaving only figure and name. The fish’s body stretches across the lower frame as a pedestal, while Poseidon’s arms, frozen mid-gesture, create diagonals…
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Mulberry Street, When Benito II Was Still There…
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The Spanish Sense of Flesh – 2
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Nightlife in Bruxelles
You can smell it before you hear it — the warm hum of beer, laughter, breath crystallising in the cold. This photo, taken in the backstreets of Brussels, isn’t a postcard of nightlife. It’s a sketch. Loose, fast, half in shadow. Which makes it all the more true. Cafés and pubs stack signs on top of each other like citations — Delirium, Floris Bar, Café, Pub, Garden. Every name lit, every door half-open, promising exactly what you need at this hour. But the terrace tables are empty, stacked in rows like punctuation marks between stories. It’s too cold to sit. Too late to be still. The people gather where the…
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The Spanish Sense of Flesh – 1
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Though Choice
It doesn’t take much to make your day happy.
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Square Three
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Poetry Still Survives
Blessed be the city, where somebody can earn his day, by selling poetry.
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A Great Marketing Stunt
Until June 1998 the Italian telephone system didn’t require to dial-in a prefix to place a local call, but this banner still lasts as nothing have changed. A great way to tell people that “we were there before…”
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The Hamlet’s Dilemma
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Red Wine Makes Good Blood…
I made this image at the end of a long lunch — the kind where conversation lingers long after the plates are cleared, and the table becomes less of a place to eat and more a canvas of what just happened. The residue of red wine had bled into the paper surface, leaving behind those familiar circular stains — not accidental, not staged, just there. And I leaned in, glass still in hand, and shot. Technically, this is an exercise in distortion and proximity. I used a wide lens, close focus, and a shallow depth of field. The resulting visual field is warped, but purposefully. You can see the sweep…
