Since I was a child, I have loved to observe people and things. I used to watch other children running, playing, expressing themselves. Somehow, I didn't feel part of them, but I liked to capture their essence through my eyes. I grew up, but with the same look, distant and at the same time curious. The eye with which I observe the enchanted world has though changed: my faithful camera.
Unlike my father, who would stage it, I like to capture the beauty that springs from moments of genuine happiness, watching life flow truthfully behind my lens.
I find making portraits very difficult. Although I deeply admire staged photography, I prefer making portraits that actually talk about the person in the picture, which requires digging into people's minds to create an intimate relationship, no matter how short in time.
When you try to get to know someone deeply, you learn to love them for what they are and want everyone to discover their uniqueness. I like to seize a glimpse of the essence of people through their eyes, creating connections that, however fleeting, are authentic expressions of an inner life never enough explored. The camera can capture these human moments of truth, but it also creates a distance and embarrassment that is difficult to bridge. A meaningful challenge that I rarely take.
In self-portraits, you are in the double position of the observer and observed. You wonder how to present yourself, how to dress, what posture to choose if it is better to smile, to put on make-up, but there is no one to look at you, no one to give you directions, and you also have to think about the light, the framing, the best way to show parts of yourself, both physical as well as emotional and psychological, and perhaps to conceal other parts. It is why it takes a whole afternoon to come out with a single decent one every time. All this is of little importance because making self-portraits is a need that starts from within. Nobody cares whether it's good for a front cover, it just is what it is. You. Or, in this case, me.