This image came out of a walk I almost didn’t take. The light was beginning to fall into that uncertain hour, not quite golden but leaning into it, with a softness that flatters without deceiving. I was drawn to the trabocco — that wooden skeleton of fishing history jutting into the Adriatic like a forgotten broadcast antenna. Technically, the image lives and breathes in its lines. Everything points outward — cables, poles, railings — a quiet explosion of geometry pushing against the calmness of the sea. The house, slightly off-centre, serves as a visual anchor, balancing the thrust of the lines while allowing the scene to feel alive, not over-symmetrical.…

I shot this one late in the day, when the light had softened just enough to graze the worn textures without flattening them. The fatigue in the title isn’t poetic—these clothes, half-limp, half-hardened with salt and use, are the remnants of someone’s labour, someone likely still out at sea. I didn’t stage anything. These were just there, draped across makeshift wooden trestles, drying under the weight of their own exhaustion. What makes this image work technically, for me, is the tension between stillness and implication. Nothing moves in the frame, yet everything speaks of motion just ceased—pulling ropes, lifting crates, hours on a rolling deck. The shallow depth of field,…