Parents and, broadly speaking, relatives and kins. We know the names of some of them, a date written with a pen on the back of a photo, and we go back in time through the fragments of stories that fix moments of their lives. We look for traces of the invisible net that connects them to us, those similarities that relate us to them. We try to understand how we have become what we are through them. Holding old pictures in my hands, feeling their surface imagining to enter their dimension has prompted me to indulge in a respectful processing of the world of photography before colour and of that world of people that lived in it. In the collection we find the same subjects over and over again: the girl, the adult woman, the married couple, the hunters, the motorcyclist. People and objects strictly connected, so as to create the atmosphere of the time. We all have a box of old pictures and when we look at them we try to retrace the history of our origins, of the people who came before us. It is not enough to identify a body, a face. We attempt to investigate their hidden thoughts. Every detail is precious and leads our imagination
September 14, 2019
