It has been more than fifty years since I began traveling across the world — and the seven seas — for work or for pleasure, always with a Leica M camera close at hand. The camera has never been an accessory; it has been a constant companion, a way of observing, remembering, and making sense of the places and people I encountered along the way.
I started keeping this kind of journal some time ago, not as a diary in the traditional sense, but as a space where images and words could meet. This is not a publication driven by schedules or algorithms. At times I disappear for long stretches; then, inevitably, I return with semi-regular updates. Publishing, for me, is a mirror of my state of mind and emotions. It follows my rhythm, not the other way around. You have to take it exactly as it comes.
Every photograph you see here is mine. They are fragments of a life spent moving, looking, and waiting for moments to reveal themselves — often quietly, sometimes unexpectedly. This blog is not about destinations, but about presence. About what remains when the journey slows down and the shutter finally clicks.
In queste occasioni, non riesco a inquadrarmi storicamente. Non sono, ne carne, ne pesce.
Sono il figlio della generazione post bellica, post ripresa, post boom, post referendum monarchia Vs. repubblica. Mentre sono sicuramente un “fiero” membro del periodo: crisi del cazzo che non finisce mai, mani pulite…. sciacquate nel fango, integrazione, questa chimera, ecc.
Ricordo però i racconti di chi c’era, di mio padre poco più che bambino e di mio nonno inseguito dagli SS, di Rolly che faceva uscire i cingoli dei carri armati con un bastone, di Nedo, sopravvissuto ad Auschwitz, brandelli di memoria, che forse andranno persi. I miei figli non sapranno mai quanto la guerra è stata vicina a loro.