PASSIONS



This work was started with the aim of collecting the emotions of the past three years. It involves the locations and the stories, all deeply connected with my life, that have become, in different ways, the finest expressions of my inner soul.

Joys and pains, traces of life, memories and reflections: they are all combining in these shots.

The result is an overview of the ever changing complexity of reality we are living in, of the colours, which make it always appear different.

Our substantial inability to find out its essence, the real nature of things; basically our great power and richness: subjectivity.



Highlights:



A long way to go



A long way to go: a metaphor for life and death. Almost shapeless at the beginning of the journey, the individual is taking his first steps, walking through the unknown.

As an icon of the whole humanity, the little woman is facing the world: the difficulties and fears of life, as well as the expectations and great hopes for something positive happening in the future. She will hesitate, change her direction and pace; she will even stop, occasionally. Sooner or later, her path will lead her to meet other ones, similar or different. She will decide in a moment if that may be the fusion of two worlds, or just a fleeting glimpse.

Then slowly her life, her journey, as everybody’s one, will take its course and come to a natural end. That will mean the certain defeat of her humanity. There, at the very bottom, she will face certainty of death.



The Journey



That is stillness vs movement. A new journey begins and from the train window, as in an old black and white television, all the images of the outside world run away, now slowly now more quickly. But the traveller is always there, staring out the window, still. The monotonous repetition of the shots makes it almost unbearable for us to stay there and wait.

Finally the journey comes to an end, the train has just reached its destination and the heart of the traveller will find his peace.





Chilled shots



Marks in the snow. How can I stop the time fading a love? Reminders of your existence seem to live, like those reddish leaves lying on the frozen ground. More astonishing still, they seem to express their most beautiful heritage. But what is love?



In the desert with the desert





But what do we mean by desert? To many people, merely a boring place (a damn wadi after the other). To me, a desert has never meant a "vacuum" but rather a "full" space. Far from being monotonous, a dull and regular pattern which seems as if it will never change, what makes a desert is an unexpected variety, something very different from what you had planned or imagined. The desert is full of stories.

That will be my shameless profession of love for a place on our Earth representing mainly a region of the mind, the material shape of an impossible and beautiful dream I’d be very willing to abandon to. The only place where you can breathe deeply, your emotions fully expanding. Time dissolves in miles of empty sands and everything becomes possible.

There I was given a world, full of beauty, unlimited strength and great tenderness, without conditions or limitations. There I could stay staring with a kind of fascination at deep shadows and sudden flashes of light.

This is the world I’ll never cease to love deeply. A world I’ll never forget, no matter what. It is a part of me now, and I’ll always feel those emotions, day after day, night after night.



Altitudes



Emphasis on a close intimacy with matter: how can be that the cause of an overwhelming oppression? This question I tried to answer when shooting the pictures of those steep sides. My relationship with the mountain has always been individual and personal, violent and even primordial I would say.



Outcomes



Suggestions evoking today the traces of a past humanity. Two examples, far different. Though both sharing a similar feeling of deep sadness for a lost freedom. Mombello and Alcatraz



Snow in Prague



Suspended atmospheres. A heavy past, buried in snow, still living in the present of a city which may not forget