my first name is silvia, my seventh name is ricchezza. the names in-between are too many.

 

my surname means seashell in latin, so my name would sound like "seashell of the wood" to an ancient roman.

 

i'm the woman who hides her restless inner life behind the most boring active life in the history of mankind. it's not a disguise, it's just a lifestyle. i prefer the essence over the appearence, the ethics over the aestethics, i just can't find a good reason to let my thoughts leave my brain. they're mine, just mine, the world outside is too dirty for them. i was meant to be a silent beholder.

 

photography is the way i remember to be a human being, because human beings sometimes communicate with strangers, too.

i communicate with my photographical subjects, even though they're mostly "inanimate", because i think that everything in this universe has got a soul, a divine soul.

then i communicate throught my photos with you. they are the best way to know me.

 

photography is my means to bring back to life the dead things that have been surrounding me since my father's death. most of my photos belong to a past dimension and are meant to tell a silent story, the one of my family, staged in my land.

the story is silent because i've met my ancestors only through the mouth of my daddy, who can't speak anymore, or through the objects that belonged to them. if you see a flower in my gallery, it must come from our garden, la pomardera.

 

photography is to me a substitute for literature, because i write novels only in my head.

  

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current obsessions

 

on film: harold and maude

musical: the smiths

in colour: hans memling

on paper: gustav meyrink- the golem

  

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io sono quell’unica pioggia d’estate

che bagna le terre da tempo assetate.

conservo il mio cuore lontano dal sole,

racconto tramonti, disegno parole,

ma resto distesa a sognare le stelle,

con gli occhi serrati mi sembran più belle.

io sono una grigia folata di vento,

nascondo la gioia, incorono il tormento.

i fianchi da donna, lo sguardo un po’ truce,

ho visto nel ventre del mondo una luce;

raccolgo ricordi, rimpianti, rancori,

decoro il mio mondo con piccoli fiori.

io ascolto, da sola, il respiro del cielo,

ho tutti i miei sogni coperti da un velo.