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"Step into the shadows and let your gaze be drawn to the silent conversation unfolding in this photograph. Notice how the silhouette, shrouded in mystery, stands at the threshold of light and darkness, inviting you to ponder the unseen. The mural, a watchful face from another time, peers through the architectural maze, urging you to connect past with present. As you look closer, you'll find that this image is more than a simple capture—it's a dialogue between form, history, and the fleeting moments of our own existence. Allow yourself to linger in this space, where every shadow and light speaks to the depth of the human experience."
www.flickr.com/photos/186748575@N02/albums/72157713187109... This image tells a harsh and raw truth:
the young man is “in the bathroom,” a metaphor for a life still immersed in confusion, difficulties, and the “shit” of the society we live in.
It is a state of transition, of pain, but also of resistance.
The man outside the bathroom, instead, is an elderly person who symbolically is “out of the shit” — he has lived through life, approaching the end, the liberation from earthly suffering.
“In & Out” is the boundary between youth and old age, between chaos and calm, between struggle and surrender.
These shots were transformed and recomposed in 2020, during the lockdown caused by the pandemic of humility.I am republishing these images today as testimonies of a critical moment for humanity, where restrictions deeply impacted our relationships and revealed dynamics of control and manipulation.
The Covid pandemic was used as a pretext to limit freedom and divide people. This image is meant to recall both physical imprisonment and the need for awareness and inner rebellion.
Roll film week
from my series "Where Love Resides"
Bronica sqa, bronica zenzanon s 150mm f/3.5, Ilford Delta 400, developed in Rodinal (1+50 for 12 mins)
Every element seems to lean into that hush—no motion, no noise, just presence. It’s not dramatic, but it lingers. A quiet study in contrast, mood, and restraint. This scene doesn’t shout—it waits for you to listen.
Non ricordava più da quanto tempo fissava l’orizzonte.
Forse un’ora. Forse dieci anni.
Da quando i segnali si erano spenti e le strade avevano smesso di condurre da qualche parte, il tempo aveva smesso di avere un senso.
Alle sue spalle: rovine e silenzi.
Davanti, un mare torvo, senza navi.
Non c’erano più porti, né rotte. Solo la sensazione che qualcosa, là fuori, lo stesse cercando.
O forse lo aveva già trovato.
---------------------------------------
He couldn’t remember how long he’d been staring at the horizon.
An hour, maybe. Or ten years.
Ever since the signals had gone dark and roads had stopped leading anywhere,
time had stopped making sense.
Behind him: ruins and silence.
Ahead, a sullen sea, empty of ships.
There were no more harbors, no more routes.
Only the feeling that something, out there,
was looking for him.
Or maybe it had already found him.
Il mondo scivolava via dietro di lui, un’impronta dopo l’altra.
Il freddo non lo mordeva più: era diventato parte del paesaggio, come il silenzio.
Ad ogni passo, la neve cancellava il precedente, come se anche lei volesse dimenticarlo.
Nessuna direzione. Nessuna promessa. Solo quella traccia sottile davanti a lui.
Incisa da altri piedi, forse.
O forse era stato lui, in un altro tempo, a lasciarla.
Non c’erano più strade.
Solo bianco, come un foglio ancora da scrivere.
E lui non aveva penna. Ma continuava a camminare.
_______________________
The world slipped away behind him, one footprint at a time.
The cold no longer bit — it had become part of the landscape, like silence.
With each step, the snow erased the last, as if it too wished to forget him.
No direction. No promise. Only that faint trace ahead.
Etched by other feet, perhaps.
Or maybe by him, in another time.
There were no more roads.
Only white — like a page still unwritten.
And he had no pen. But he kept walking.
In this captivating monochrome photograph, a silhouetted figure stands poised in shadow, casting a watchful gaze towards the stark white wall. On that wall, the elongated shadow of another figure stretches out, their hand raised in a gesture that suggests a conversation without words. The diagonal beam of light cuts across the scene, dividing darkness and illumination, creating a powerful contrast between the known and the unknown. The photograph invites viewers into a world of quiet contemplation, where light and shadow playfully merge to tell a story of unseen interactions and fleeting moments. Through its minimalist composition, the image captures the essence of urban solitude, where every shadow has a story and every silhouette, a soul.
This portrait was taken on an old staircase inside a house that’s been slowly falling apart over the years.
I liked the quiet light there — soft, dusty, and almost cinematic.
The uncensored series is available here:
In the heart of Taito City, Tokyo, there was a tunnel, a forgotten passageway that had once connected two distant parts of the city. Its walls were adorned with the scars of time, and its arches echoed with the whispers of forgotten memories.
One day, a lone traveler stumbled upon this hidden sanctuary. The darkness enveloped him, and the only sound was the soft drip of water from the ceiling. As he ventured deeper into the tunnel, he felt a sense of unease, a premonition of something unknown.
A cocky young rebel descends the worn stone steps of Sapper’s Bridge, boots echoing against the bones of a city built by ghosts. He doesn’t look back. He is in the spotlight. Beneath him, the bridge bears the scars of centuries—military marches, political reckonings, and the quiet erosion of memory.
But he moves like history’s irrelevant, like the future is already his. There’s no reverence in his stride, only conviction. The past watches, unconvinced.
A street performer takes a break on the grass, adjusting his look in a small mirror—a brief pause before stepping back into the act.
The fool is distracted by the trickster crow. The wise owl keeps her focus. Image Sources: woman from faestock on Deviant Art; mountains-540115 from FrankyFromGermany on Pixabay; owl-4655594 from 13785605 on Pixabay; cut_out_stock_png_104___majestic_crow_by_momotte2stocks_d8g3zth on Deviant Art; cut_out_stock_png_104___majestic_crow_by_momotte2stocks_d8g3zth on Deviant Art; Nucly Elements; Adobe oil painting filter and Topaz oil pain ting I filter
Beneath a lattice of steel and light, shadows stretch across the empty space, tracing the quiet choreography of figures in motion. The stark contrast of black and white transforms the scene into a delicate balance between solitude and urban energy. Every line converges, every shadow whispers, as the architecture itself becomes a silent witness to fleeting moments of reflection and movement. This is where structure meets serenity, and light becomes the storyteller.
I saw this structure on an aimless walk and stopped to wonder.
Not because it was remarkable, but because it resembles life.
Well… at least mine.
A dystopian construct, cold, mechanical, brutal in its design.
A tower not meant to be climbed easily, maybe not at all.
Its first warning is the lock, sealed and distant.
To me, that lock has always been the chaos I came from.
The violence of the Middle East, the protests, the bombs.
The years of watching my world bleed.
It wasn’t just a barrier, it was the thing that kept me in.
Locked into a path. A geography. A profession. A trauma.
Then there are the thorns.
A crown of metal, bureaucratic, sharp, and senseless.
Each point a checkpoint. A passport stamped with suspicion.
A file confiscated. A night visitor pounding on the door.
The years I stayed just sane enough to keep documenting,
just mad enough to know I had to leave.
And I did leave. I climbed.
And for a while, the way was clear.
A straight ladder, rung after rung.
And now I’m close. Close to the top.
A new country, a good job, a quiet life.
It’s good. It really is.
But still I find myself asking:
What comes after the top?
Because we can’t fly.
There’s no platform up here. No wings.
Just air, and the quiet realization
that once you’ve escaped the thing that shaped you,
you’re no longer sure what to do with the freedom.
So we fall. Or we jump.
Or we climb back down.
Or worse, we go in circles.
A never-ending loop of successes and failures.
And that’s what haunts me.
The full circle.
These days, I walk alone, camera in hand.
The same Canon 5D Mark II I once carried into smoke and fire.
Now it’s just me and it, wandering quiet streets, wooded paths, stairwells to nowhere.
I don’t shoot with purpose anymore. I don’t chase headlines or history.
I walk, aimlessly sometimes. It's strapped across my shoulder.
A weight I welcome, the only thing that feels genuine in this new life.
This camera is the only witness I have left.
The last thread connecting who I was to who I’ve become.
It knows where I’ve been, what I’ve seen, what I’ve survived.
It was there when the shouting started.
There when the bullets came.
There when I bled.
And it’s still here now.
A friend in exile.
A ghost that sees me.
A silent companion that reminds me,
Not just of what was, but what should have been.
And in that moment, standing beneath this tower, I raised the lens toward it.
Was I trying to see myself beyond the metal crown?
Or should I have looked down?
Finding the version of me still bleeding at the base?
I didn’t feel like a photographer anymore. I felt like a fraud.
Like I was borrowing a language I used to be fluent in.
That camera once gave me purpose. Now it gives me questions.
I don’t know what I’m trying to capture anymore.
The present? The past? proof that I still exist between them?
But I clicked the shutter anyway.
Because maybe standing in that tension,
between who I was, and who I’ve become,
is the only truth I have left to frame.
I don’t know what comes next.
But I know the tower is real.
And for now, I’m still standing.
Somewhere between the base and the top.
Fragments - 10
A young woman in an orange Volkswagen passes in front of the Le Crepuscule Restaurant in Martel, France. Image Sources: shop_08_by_hermitcrabstock_dc0tyt5 on Deviant Art; fiat-600-3479288 from Emslichter on Pixabay; isolated-2498804_1280 from Emslichter on Pixabay; devn-53ouhY5koKY-unsplash; AdobeStock_134249072; Nucly dust brush;
captured during a late afternoon photowalk in el arenal, this poignant image showcases a man leaning against an atm, his body language conveying a mix of frustration and resignation. the stark black and white contrast emphasizes the shadows and textures, adding depth to the scene. the title, "gimme more ... or something," encapsulates the universal human experience of seeking and needing more, whether it be money, time, or answers. this photograph tells a powerful story of modern life's struggles and the silent battles fought in public spaces.
a fleeting moment through the window. shadows of the present pass by, blurred and faceless, while the statue stands still, timeless and unmoved. a silent witness to all who come and go. between stone and shadow, past and present merge. a quiet reflection on memory and time.
There’s a moment between restraint and release—when you’re not hiding, but holding. This is that moment.
A quiet moment in transit—light catches the worn textures of a scratched window and a heavy coat. The blurred world outside passes by, unseen, as thoughts drift elsewhere in the warmth of the moving carriage.
16x20 Digital Photomontage. Published in "Living the Photo Artistic Life," Issue No. 102, Aug 2023, p. 66. Image Sources: 862_the_shallow_seas_01_by_tigers_stock_db9org7 on Deviant Art; turtle 1866808 from Pexels on Pixabay; jellyfish-5156340 from GDJ on Pixabay; fishes-2817329 from 8926 on Pixabay; Adobe Stock assets; Nucly overlays
This black and white photograph captures the imposing presence of a historic building with its distinct geometric lines and repetitive window patterns. A solitary figure walks along the building’s base, adding a sense of scale and a hint of narrative to the scene. The image evokes a feeling of stillness, highlighting the quiet resilience of architecture as it stands against the backdrop of an ever-changing world.
It is difficult to expose all the fakery in this world when people have a vested interest in maintaining the lie. Image Sources: texture_315_by_sirius_sdz_d60e29r; flame-1789451 by Werbefuzzy68 from Pixabay; sparks_2_by_mariasemelevich_d826onj; stock___bloody_tears____in_my_arms_by_s_t_a_r_gazer_d8gjhyi; Hair from Cindy Grundsten on Deviant Art; GrutBrushes;
Under the soft glow of streetlights in Hanoi’s Old Quarter, a traditional đàn nguyệt player in vibrant red áo dài captivates the night with soulful melodies. Nearby, two women in matching ceremonial dresses stand in silent appreciation, their silhouettes echoing the city’s living heritage. This spontaneous performance blends ancient Vietnamese culture with the pulse of modern urban life—a moment of harmony carved into the bustling nighttime streets.
She rests in an organic bath, untouched by the chaos of modern life. A playful take on society’s pursuit of health, relaxation, and nature in an often artificial world.
Through the forest twilight, she gazes into a tiny vial — inside: memories, secrets, and what has yet to be.
Image Sources: design-854007 from isobelyf on Pixabay; Awake5_JVHPaintedBkgd3; Gradient from Caroline Julia Moore;
The photograph explores the tension between constraint and self-discovery, between isolation and the yearning to engage with the world beyond imposed limits. In a time when truth is often obscured, Breaktruth captures the fragile yet profound moment of revelation—an echo of resilience, desire, and the unstoppable force of human will.
fireflies_for_photoshop_by_stock_ashleyrwatts_dliln9 2 on Deviant Art; Nucly dust brush; nature-3151869 from jplenio on Pixabay; AdobeStock_224610494; deer-6665916 from Mentagi on Pixabay; stock___my_deer_portrait_straight_pose_gothic_by_s_t_a_r_gazer_dcmkzca on Deviant Art; 9017OAWAPAFA Mermaids Papers 08 deom Awake elements; Nucly elements;
Drifting between awareness and a dream, she clings to a fragile link—imperfect, outdated, yet still present—reflecting a suppressed need to stay connected, even as she retreats into her own subconscious realm.
Published in "Living the Photo Artistic Life," Issue No. 109, Mar 2024, p. 67, www.issuu.com. The first patented motor vehicle in 1866 created by Karl Benz. Image Sources: bridge-5621201 from Leonhard_Niederwimmer on Pixabay; isolated-2448349 from Emslichter on Pixabay; two humans generated in Midjourney;