Very often I happen to take a photo and look at it. Thus, without saying and, at times, thinking nothing.

Especially in shots like this. Where the gaze is relaxed, but almost dull. A look that says nothing, but says everything.

A look that leaves the imagination of the observer free.

This is also what I like about photography. The unknown. A good unknown though.

A bit like when you read a book and it is we, only us, who make the image it tells our own.


This photograph was taken in Ireland in 1972, and depicts a girl shooting with the weapon of her boyfriend, who was wounded in a battle against the British army.

The man survived, transported to a safe place, thanks to the sacrifice of his girlfriend who faced the English soldiers until she was killed.

When the British battalion commander discovered he had been fighting a woman, he ordered his soldiers not to touch her body and allowed the Irish to bury it. They are said to have heard the English commander exclaim: "The queen does not care about us as this woman cared about her man and her land".

The photo was chosen as a symbol for Women's Day in Ireland, alongside the phrase: "Don't be afraid to bond with a strong woman. The day may come when she will be your only army."


I think the best compliment a girl can get is “you are smart”. In a world where people are pushed not to think with the brain anymore and where the most important thing is the physical aspect, finding someone who knows how to use the brain is wonderful and believe me, rare beauties like these there are few and above all few people are able to appreciate them. They are all good at opening their legs, but not all are able to use their brains.
Beauty is volatile: today you may like one thing, tomorrow you will see something else and you can fall in love with it, and so on. Beauty will get out of hand sooner or later, but your “inner being” no, it will accompany you until death, for better or for worse. Not having faith in the physical appearance because it is worse than having faith in others.
The way we dress (clothing, accessories, make-up) is an extension of our inner world. Tastes are momentary, they reflect moods. It would be appropriate to follow instinct rather than fashion, to show not only our outward appearance but also a piece of soul. It would be important not to conform to common uses. The body is the canvas, we often don’t choose it (if we want to be healthy). One thing is certain: the work we create, decorating and re-decorating ourselves, is unique and harmonious, a fusion of shapes and colors, perfect in its entirety. Deforming our body, against nature, smears the work because it reflects the inner malaise. It is not the detail that has a certain effect. It is the completeness of the body, with its movements, with its clothes, with its colors and with its shapes, to create a “figure”. We are art, and we are artists. Not everyone knows how to appreciate a high quality work; not for this we must stop being creative, not for this we must surrender to create what the applicant wants. A high quality work is a work made with the soul, which ignores the tastes of the beholder. What we decide to show engages with the momentary tastes of the viewer: he who abandons himself to wanting to interpret what he sees coherently with his world, synchronizes with our soul. Here is the spark, the love at first sight between artist and observer. Those who dwell on the details and look for them as if we were a shopping list, have no artistic spirit, have succumbed to the induction of advertising needs. Let’s remember the importance of art, and the beauty of being artists.
Love is not falling in love with a nice butt or a perfect body. Love is not going around and bragging about having a ‘perfect girlfriend’ or a ‘sexy boyfriend. Love is not stopping at appearances. Love is going beyond: love is digging deep to find the soul, looking beyond what we are on the outside, not stopping at the size of the bra, or jeans. Love is finding what is inside our body, which is only the shell of our essence.
All my life I have been surrounded by people who were wrong, embarrassed, hurt others, were unfair, and were always forgiven, while I have always been silent and those few times that I dared to say something wrong I was condemned . From here I started thinking about all the privileges that being beautiful, being thin brings, because in my life it has always been like this. Beauty gives the opportunity to be yourself, not to be rejected, to be appreciated. I almost killed myself because I wanted so much to be like them, to finally be able to speak, to open up, to be loved. I just wanted to be beautiful. It may seem superficial, but to me it wasn’t, and it’s not. Try to live your whole life surrounded by people who use you, who never want to see you for who you are beyond appearances, to be surrounded by people who behave horribly but who are forgiven for a simple reason. It is too difficult to believe that the world is not like this. And it’s unfair, it’s unfair to know that you have so much to give and can’t do it, it’s unfair to be rejected so many times that you end up thinking you don’t deserve anything. The world is unfair, and the saddest thing is that I feel I can’t do anything about it.
The ‘physical’ factor is perhaps one of the first criteria of perfection that they impose on us right from the start. Wherever you look, you find yourself small and frail little bodies as an emblem of beauty and superiority. But how did we get to this superficial homologation where everything that is not perfectly linear is ugly? Until a few years ago, perfect beauty was identified through the curves of a body. The more you were abundant, the more you liked it. Now if you can’t wear skinny jeans you don’t even get considered, as if you weren’t a real person. Without feelings, as if the offenses did not affect you in the least. As if you don’t have to fight this odyssey enough on your own. All this superficiality that people inculcate in your mind does not go away and stays with you. And you carry it inside, and you have to live with that sense of bitterness and rejection.


I love to photograph, I love to immortalize every moment of our life on a camera display, to then print it and attach it everywhere.
Do you know why I love photography? Because it allows me to capture that fleeting moment, that moment that I will never get back, except in my memories. I hate time. That’s why I love photos; because, in a way, it’s like I can stop it.
Photographing is a co-creating, a co-becoming. It is like breaking down, merging with the other person and then eventually regaining one’s own identity. Only afterwards it is no longer the same thing. I took a photograph of every moment and of every passing person in my life. I photographed for fear of forgetting. I photographed, instead of looking, of memorizing. And now I find myself with a thousand photos, and no memories.
For those who want to recover everything that passes before their eyes, the only way to act consistently is to take at least one photo per minute, from when they open their eyes in the morning to when they go to sleep. Only in this way will the rolls of exposed film constitute a faithful diary of our days, without anything being excluded. If I started to photograph myself, I would go all the way down this road, at the cost of losing my reason. Instead, you still claim to exercise a choice. But which? A choice in an idyllic, apologetic sense, of consolation, of peace with nature, the nation and relatives. It is not just a photographic choice, yours; it is a choice of life, which leads you to exclude dramatic contrasts, the knots of contradictions, the great tensions of will, passion, aversion. So you think you are saving yourselves from madness, but you fall into mediocrity, into stupidity.
I took pictures. I photographed instead of talking. I photographed so as not to forget. Not to stop looking. I love to photograph. I love having material memories, and I think we should all photograph our memories, and always carry them with us.

Taking pictures is holding your breath when all our faculties of perception converge in front of the fleeting reality: in that instant, capturing the image turns out to be a great physical and intellectual pleasure. To photograph is to put the head, the eye and the heart on the same line of sight. For me, photography is a way of understanding that does not differ from other forms of visual expression. It is a cry, a liberation. It is not a question of affirming one’s originality; it is a way of life.
A photograph: who knows what fascinates us in these colored or black and white pieces of paper. Every time we look at them, we get excited, always. I photograph, because it makes me feel better, so I have the whole world at my fingertips, I never lose anything. Not because I’m afraid of forgetting, I’m not that many years old yet. People who say ‘photographer so I don’t forget things’, I just don’t understand them. What are you stupid? Maybe you need a doctor more than a camera. I photograph because it’s not the close-ups that are important, but the details. Just yesterday I was looking at the photos taken a few years ago and I noticed details that I had never noticed before. How beautiful. A photograph never ceases to amaze us. Photographer to photograph, which seems idiotic as a thing. Have they ever asked you why you breathe? Why do you love? There isn’t a real answer, because there is, you need it. Here, I need to photograph. Not compulsively. I don’t have to prove anything to anyone. It’s not like if you shoot every day you’re a better photographer than someone who shoots twice a month. Maybe for two weeks, two months, the machines remain in the drawer collecting dust, because I can’t, I don’t want to, and what do I know. Then, one beautiful morning, I see details, colors, people that drive me crazy, so I absolutely have to photograph them. There is nothing more beautiful and stimulating than taking pictures of complete strangers. Photography is worth much more, for the fugitiveness of the moment. Notice: maybe this girl is passing through that street, because yesterday she lost her connection to Milan, so she decided to take a stroll along via Montenapoleone, maybe she’s going to look for those strawberries dipped in chocolate that she likes so much and you you are there, by chance. Your lives in that moment cross, without a word, without a real look, just a flash. Here, this shot is yours forever, you will observe it millions of times thinking: ‘It goes as it came out good! I love it’. This happened to me with just a few clicks, and the real emotion is imagining the life of these people, what they will be doing right now, in what part of the world they may be. Often, we wish we could find them, to give them what belongs to them. Because, ‘I insist, you must have it, it’s too beautiful, you look gorgeous in this shot’. And obviously the chances of meeting these subjects are practically close to zero, this is the crucial point for photographers. We fall in love with things seen only once. And we carry them with us forever.

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