Maybe because our presence on the earth is made of a sound, a frequency, a bunch of vibrations that each one of us, who can, need to give back to the world, with the best of their capacities. A photographer is the eye of who doesn’t travel, of who can’t see, of who isn’t aware and lives to tell stories of the blind in the second century, what they never saw, or what they weren’t aware of, gifting the people with the other side of the moon, the side which is only for the believers. Anyhow, photography will always be dammed, because it won’t consent anyone to record the sound of a melody, a voice and the shape of a smile: the first thing that you lose when a person leaves. This limit needs to be overcome only by having the fortune or the capacity of taking the moment, making immortal who is about to go away, or who just passed by you only for a moment. Only then, the pictures, once took, will be part of your body, they will get lost in the labirints of your brain, of your mind and of your memory. Only in this way, photography will make you immortal, avoiding your mind to think about time, your age, making it become a voice against silence: Tiziano painted paintings, which are beautiful, at the age of eighty. Even Renoir, Rodin, Picasso made their best paintings in their old ages. When we wake up, we think : Today could be my last day alive, and we look at the pictures we took in the past traveling through our young mind, but never the less, we go out in the world and take new pictures, looking through town to find new moments to remember tomorrow, with all the books we read, the people we loved, with excess, with elegance, the sweetness of a child.

Photography is this and even more

(translation by Nina Caruso©)