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Too Late
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Italian Stardust
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Behind the Glass
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Where Did I Left My Car?
When I framed “Where Did I Left My Car”, I was chasing absence, presence, and the city’s quiet accusation. I recall stepping into a narrow lane, scanning facades, light and shadow, empty spots. I trained the lens not on what was there, but on what was not. The void became subject. I waited until all cars had passed, until the frame was emptied. Then I held the shutter, letting the urban grid, the lines of curb, doorways, and windows become witnesses. The emptiness sits heavy, like a question mark in concrete. I chose a vantage point slightly off-centre. The negative space on one side is meant to feel unbalanced—echoing the unease…
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Money Doesn’t Smell
The main photo depicts a Syrian kid surrending to a photographer, whose camera she thought was a weapon, while the side pictures are automatically displayed by the advertising engine of the online newspaper. There is a contrast between the brutal reality where the kid lives and the luxury aura implied by the two fashion shot that shows how insensitive magazine editors can be. I understand the need to monetize every click or content, but I’m not sure that this is the right way to do it. Why don’t chose, for instance, to advertise a fund raising campaign supporting UNICEF or Doctors Without Borders? And, by the way, I don’t understand…
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Justice Under Construction
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Arrested Behind the Door
Photographing in the criminal court of Rome is a peculiar experience — the air is thick with bureaucracy and human tension, yet most of it plays out behind closed doors. In this frame, the door is both a literal and symbolic barrier: clean, almost featureless, save for the taped sheet of paper outlining the rules of entry. It is stark in its message: access to the waiting room for the arrested is only permitted to lawyers, and only upon proof of formal appointment. Everything else — the people, their stories, their anxiety — remains hidden. From a compositional standpoint, I kept the framing tight and frontal. The geometry of the…
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Room 17 – VIXI
The steel doors of Aula 17 stand closed, expressionless. Matte black, scratched, impassive. Above them, a bureaucratic sign: 7ᵃ Sezione, Edificio B. On the right, a board once meant to list names and hearings is now empty—washed clean by time or intention. Seventeen is an unlucky number in Italy. Rearranged, the Roman numerals XVII form VIXI—”I have lived”, an epitaph. And so, Room 17 becomes more than a courtroom. It becomes a threshold. A place where the living confront endings. The end of freedom. The end of illusions. Sometimes, the end of justice itself. The symmetry of the composition tightens the tension. Every element is locked in place. Nothing moves, and nothing is random.…
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Legal Apartheid
Two elevators, side by side, divided not by function but by status. On the left, a small sign reads Pubblico. On the right, Avvocati. Between them, a strip of blank wall holds the call buttons and a standard notice: Non usare in caso di incendio. The symmetry is perfect, the contrast sharper for it. In the Court of Rome, this arrangement makes practical sense. Lawyers must move quickly between hearings; delays can derail the fragile timetable of justice. Efficiency demands a separate lift. And yet, looking at it here—reduced to a flat, black-and-white composition—the logic fades, and something else emerges. The brushed steel doors are marked with smudges and fingerprints, traces of the…
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YANE – Yet Another Nepal Exhibit
This the poster of Yet Another Nepal Exhibit. It is hard to see the point in going to the other end of the world to take pictures that, as a Google Image Search shows, have already been shot zillions of time. In other words: taking original photos in Nepal is very hard. This teach a simple lesson: going overseas in the belief that the place makes the photo is wrong.
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The Street Photographer Dilemma: Film or Digital
To me Street-Photography is digital. I missed this shot because I wasn’t able to properly focus my full-manual kit, as I would have do with an average digital camera. There is no point in wasting film in an highly fault-rate activity such as Street Photography.
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Milan
There are street scenes that announce themselves loudly, and then there are those that slip into your view almost without you noticing—until the details start to unfold. This was the latter. I was standing at the corner of Via Francesco Sforza when the alignment of people, traffic, and light presented itself in a way that felt quintessentially Milanese. The group waiting at the crossing tells a quiet story of the city: a man lost in his phone, another holding a leather briefcase, a woman dressed sharply but practically, and a cyclist easing forward, impatient to move on. Behind them, the ECOBus—route 73 to San Babila—anchors the scene firmly in the…
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From Camera to Print…
This is what happens when a shot is not taken thinking of its final destination (or when a graphic editor doesn’t consider what the outcome would be once printed): a poor rendition.
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Dress Different
According to the fashion-photography standards this is a perfectly usable shot. To me, that’s simply a missed photo.
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Horizontal
I was walking past this building when I noticed how the afternoon light chiselled into the façade, pulling out volume from what is, in essence, a flat geometric rhythm. The composition demanded no embellishment — the image resolved itself into horizontal bands almost on its own. I didn’t crop for symmetry; I simply took the time to level the camera and wait for the shadows to deepen just enough to add a graphic weight. What you see is pure form. No context, no clutter — just tone, line and light. It’s often said that black and white photography strips away distraction, but in truth, it doesn’t simplify. It sharpens. Here,…
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Rectangles
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The Sharp Shooter
Midday light in snowy terrain is rarely a gift—high contrast, flat textures, blown highlights. Yet it matched the tone of this frame. The intensity of the shooter’s expression, the harsh sunlight, the targets standing in silent defiance—all fed into a sense of clarity and control. He isn’t performing. He’s working, and the cold has no bearing on his focus. The image demanded precision. Exposure had to be managed tightly to avoid losing detail in the whites without choking the blacks of the tactical jacket. I metered for the shadows and pulled slightly in post. The result is contrasty, yes, but not artificially so. The white balance swings cool despite the…
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A Lonely Table
I took this photograph through a glass window — not by oversight, but with full intention. The resulting layers were unpredictable, and that was the point. The sea outside, the perfectly set table inside, and the accidental human form reflected between them, all merged into a single ambiguous frame. At first glance, it’s just another seaside restaurant, waiting for guests. But spend a little time and the structure begins to unravel. The light played into my hands: late afternoon, strong enough to shape the objects on the table, yet soft enough to allow the reflections to register without dominating. The glass acted both as barrier and canvas. What you’re looking…
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A Casual Walk
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The True Ironman
Not in a cave. Not in a suit. No arc reactor. Just grit, weight, and heat. This is a portrait of a welder—not fictional, not cinematic, but real. And yet, standing behind the mask, lit by the fierce white arc of molten metal, it’s hard not to think of Iron Man. Not the one flying through CGI skies, but the original scene: sparks, shadows, invention by necessity. But this isn’t fantasy. This is work. The man in the photo is sculpting structure with his hands, joining steel under blinding light. Every gesture is deliberate. Every spark, a fragment of labour. The mask doesn’t make him a superhero. It protects him—barely—from…
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Stripes of Light and Decay
Shot just after sunset, this image pivots on contrast—between elevation and erosion, movement and stillness, designed flow and neglect. The high-speed overpass above, lit with sodium arcs, forms an uninterrupted stream of engineered repetition. Below, the descending ramp is paved with crooked bricks, softened by moss and time, sloping into a dim alley where parked cars and old plaster tell a slower story. I waited for the last of the ambient light to thin out before releasing the shutter. The idea was to balance the residual blue of the sky with the warmer artificial tones bleeding off the lamps and roadways. Technically, it’s not pristine. There’s a softness in the…
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Out-of-Focus Once Again
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Last Wing Down
On an empty stretch of beach, a solitary sculpture rises against the horizon. It is the shape of a wing, its skeletal frame curved into an abstract S, crowned with a weathered propeller. It whispers of endings: of aircraft grounded forever, of journeys cut short, of stories that no one remained to tell. The black-and-white tones of the image deepen the sense of time suspended. Without colour, the scene feels like a fragment from the past, a memory caught in the salt air. Waves curl and break in the distance, indifferent to the monument on the sand. The tide comes and goes, as it has long before the flight this…
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Run Like Hell, Pinocchio!
The Pinocchio figure appears suspended in an awkward, unresolved gesture. His arms are open, his body twisted, as if caught between obedience and escape. Around him, other small figures barely surface from the darkness, their forms eroded by shadow and grain. The architectural background—arched, dense, almost geological—anchors the scene in a space that feels historical and civic rather than domestic or playful.
