After becoming infatuated with several of the photographic works on your blog, I naturally became curious to know just a bit about how you see your instinct to create. You have written quite simply:
La fotografia è una passione, un modo di vedere le cose, il mondo. Ciò che pubblico è sempre da me scattato con il mio iPhone 5 ed elaborato attraverso varie applicazioni, direttamente sull’iphone. Per tale motivo è possibile riscontrare imprecisioni.
Un grazie a chi passa da qui (per caso o per scelta), a chi attraversa le mie fotografie…
You write quite well — both here and elsewhere on your blog — but no words can compete with the exquisite language of your art photography. It is in your art that you betray yourself, i.e. reveal glimpses of your many layers of personality and expression … and perhaps also hints of significant changes that you have experienced and reflected upon in your lifetime. While many of your photographs give the illusion of “having arrived!” it is all illusion – certainly even for you. I suspect that – for you – the journey itself is rather the goal and destination, and that successive photographs are all connected in some way(s). Perhaps all are even more or less related manifestations of the same instincts.
Likewise, I notice your balance of “the classical and the proper” with sometimes almost hallucinatory expressions, achieved both by photo processing and your own instinctive artist-hunter talents. A photographer on the hunt is most often a predator that operates alone, but artists are rarely “lonely” … The worlds artists see, interpret and expose are all much too alive in their darkness, light, color and dynamics for us to be lonely while we photograph, paint or sculpt. But to project and convey the sentiment of loneliness to our viewers – ahhh, that is art, poetry and philosophy – all in one. That being said, your photographs are anything but dismal. Sometimes they convey beauty that can easily be connected with joy, but at other times the beauty is seemingly indifferent to labels, emotions or meaning. You have an interesting way of engaging the viewer – of inviting him/her to co-create experiences and art together with you. Whether, or not, those created experiences actually happened is perhaps irrelevant and unimportant. In my mind, you provide the beauty, and let the viewer decide if he/she will get stung – or not. In my mind, you are not driven by the need for approval but by an inner force within you, and thus you defy both classification and all responsibility beyond standing behind your own work.
This talent of yours — for suggesting beauty in the mundane which is perhaps often beyond comprehension – is a drug on par with a psychedelic pill. I will attempt to describe my own “journey” through ten letters where I react to several of your photographs.
(NB. All photographs copyright Sandro, and from his blog)
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Letters to an Italian photographer — Letter number one.
I have my own name for this work: Déjà vu.
It represents and recalls that brief moment of eternal recognition: memories of places, sounds, flavors and smells experienced before, and yet — on a superficial level — still for the very first time. How many times have I blindly hurried past buildings like this, without offering a second thought to what was really there before me? But this time, while hop-skip-jumping through the streets and dreams of your blog I stumbled over this photo and was thrown into an alternative consciousness. You reached down, gave me your hand and pulled me to my feet. I had quickly turned my head to thank you when I saw what you wanted to show me … in an instant; out of the corner of my eye.
It was a warp in the time-space continuum … a slight tear in the dimensional perspective, where the angles pulled apart just enough to reveal a crevice through which we could pass. To begin with, there were flashbacks of historical events and non-events, priests, artisans, horses, noblemen, and Botticelli damsels being pursued by satyrs etc. After some seconds the circus of ghosts disappeared, leaving us alone with the architectural shell … which was itself a breathing organism which morphed continuously — both in color and image.
I stood there beside you, in amazement. With each pulse, the structure’s lungs forced out a new kaleidoscopic reality … not unlike Mount Vesuvius, in full glory. As the tower reached higher and higher, threatening to overtake the heavens, the windows begged to be used as steps for climbing … screaming joyously each time we took foothold onto a new window sill. And the tower eventually became a monolith, before turning into a huge phallus sprouting tree limbs and branches, and finally becoming a fairytale beanstalk — swaying high above the ground.
And there we sat … you and I, Sandro. I wept tears of joyful astonishment and remembrance, as I embraced myself with my own arms and rocked back and forth. And you were lost in your own reality: taking photos of the ground below us, while smoking a cigarette.
Letters to an Italian photographer — Letter number two:
Viva la rivoluzione!
Your photo moved me greatly. To see the stadium filled to the brim with thousands of naked factory-made wine glasses, standing side by side, shoulder to shoulder, clinking and singing in protest against the country’s new austerity measures was invigorating. Most were orderly and remained in their assigned seats, but some in the bleachers stood on their heads to emphasize the undignified nature of emptiness. The wine shortage means that many, if not most, of these glasses will be long-term unemployed and many will never leave the factory. They are not alone in their protest. There are reports of several glasses in private homes and institutions allowing themselves to be filled with milk or orange juice before violently hurling themselves into fireplaces in shows of martyrdom and solidarity.
Here there is no humor, wisdom or solace to be gotten from flippant remarks about glasses being half-full or half-empty. These wine glasses are empty, and quite unhappy about it I might add. I say: ” Fill these proud glasses with wine, and ‘Viva la rivoluzione!’ “
All satire aside, this is a lovely photograph both in terms of composition and visual effects. The wine red background is very effective, and your interplay between light and glass is simply breathtaking. You have given an otherwise rather mundane still-life an air of elegance, dignity and class.
Letters to an Italian photographer — Letter number three:
Nighttime storms are exhilarating, especially as they first approach. It usually begins with wind murmurs and whispers, a pervasive pre-ejaculatory dew-moisture ritually-anointed by the rex sacrorum Janus, and finally the roar of thunder in the distance and a magnificent series of lightning bolts — both designed by Jupiter to expose all living and non-living entities as powerless subjects under his celestial dominion. The thunder is — of course — all pomp, but the lightning is the playful photographer-god’s attempt to leave a flash imprint while using his enormous camera obscura to document the fear engendered. Unfortunately, Jupiter either does not always have very good aim or vision, or he simply does not care if the lightning brings destruction. He has, after all, thundered several warnings admonishing all to get the hell out of the way. Those who do not heed are certainly either fools or daredevils. (Sigh) I love his photography exhibitions and Wagnerian drama, but I personally prefer to watch the show from inside my room … at a safe distance.
Kudos! My dear Sandro, in these two photos you have captured the spirit of the photographic flash of Jupiter … in all its electrifying glory, as well as the quiet comfort of the room with the view – yes, a veritable safehouse from which to follow the approaching storm as the mist slowly envelops all sensibility.
Letters to an Italian photographer — Letter number four:
There is a profound spiritual quality to these two photographs: both of overpowering refracting Light emerging from Darkness, and simultaneously reflecting Divine essence. One suggests a primordial universe while the other attests perhaps to the classical traditions of prayer and of man-made refinement, often achieved after human struggle or invention. Is it at all possible to understand the nature of Light without a background of doubt, uncertainty, and Darkness? You, Sandro, have answered that question …
Truly, all entities represent both Light and Darkness, and both are prerequisites for existence and spiritual maturity.
Gloria in excélsis Deo!
Alleluia … Alleluia …
Although our backs are broken,
and our wings are tattered;
our hearts and souls
will forever sing your praises.
There is only one God,
but the ways to You are many.
Alleluia … Alleluia …
Alleluia … Alleluia …
Letters to an Italian photographer — Letter number five:
“quod est inferius est sicut quod est superius, et quod est superius est sicut quod est inferius!”
Certainly, as above so below.
Lying on my back, looking into the sky — which is really the Arctic Sea or the Antarctic Sea, hovering above the endless flotilla of iceberg islands, rushing from nowhere to no man’s land, making me dizzy, wondering if I am moving, hoping the clouds will turn upside down and take me for a rodeo ride across the sky-prairie, feeling lazy, the iPhone is heavy, my arms are tired, I am falling asleep, falling into the down-feathered pillows above me, downside up, too much wine … too many clouds stampeding.
Letters to an Italian photographer — Letter number six:
Art photography enables us to be “social voyeurs” without being judged, and also to peek at and surveil the spaces, lives and private moments of others, without necessarily feeling the need to make a value judgment about what we think we see. However, not making a value judgment does not have to mean that we do not make up stories and imaginings about the persons or events our eyes encounter. When we pass by a window without drawn curtains or blinds, the reflex to glance through the glass and into the room is automatic, and irresistible. Like when sitting on a bus, train or the metro, examining our fellow passengers becomes part of our transportation experience … it is the “in-flight movie” included in our ticket.
We are all quite interested in interesting people, and their secrets. In most dwellings the room least likely to have drawn curtains is usually the kitchen. And yet, kitchens are perhaps the rooms that house most secret conversations, that best expose eating and social habits, and that also best reflect personal organization, hygiene and the level of happiness with oneself and the household in general. It is therefore not strange that dinner guests readily volunteer to help out in the kitchen … transporting food, dishes and drinks, opening cabinets and drawers, examining the contents of the refrigerator etc. It is perhaps even more entertaining and revealing than spending enough time in the host’s bathroom so that one can investigate the perfumes, medicine cabinet, hair products and try out the bathroom scales.
The rest of the house is usually a blur (if we are not alone then we must focus on the other people in the room and suffice with a general comment like: “Your place looks great!”; or because the rooms are off limits socially, i.e. bedrooms or offices).
These two photos are great illustrations of the above. Sometimes things seem much clearer from a distance, and when we are all alone.
N’est-ce pas ?!!
Letters to an Italian photographer — Letter number seven:
There is something magical about ruins at twilight, or under a full moon. At those times, shadows cast off backlighting and remind us that the energy forms and history archived within the structures are still very much alive — despite their now-altered physical forms. This manifestation of life beyond death gives a mystical dimension to our perception and experience, and allows us to temporarily transform ourselves into personalities that are no longer bound by time, space or physical reality. Sometimes the best context in which to discover who we really are and what we are in the process of becoming is perhaps retrospective:
over the decades,
endings muted into beginnings
like swirls of blue-grey smoke
creeping toward alabaster palaces
in primordial consciousness.
there, in the garden of creativity,
the ashes of one zillion charred
impulses rained heavily upon
furrows of expectations,
cultivating dreams with experience.
Letters to an Italian photographer — Letter number eight:
What a fabulous creation! Portals are doorways to eternity, and windows into our own spirituality and psychology. You have achieved the effect of a charcoal drawing, giving an organic and healing quality to the image as well as facilitating an introspective experience within the viewer of this photograph. Most important is the impression that these hallowed closed doors can be easily opened by those who yearn to forge the keys of self-knowledge, and who have the courage to discover and embrace the mysteries behind the doors.
Letters to an Italian photographer — Letter number nine:
In this photograph you give the illusion of geometric abstraction, allowing non-objective practice to supersede the function and presentation of objects. The objects (possibly the undersides of two overhanging rooftops) are joined together with the cloudless blue sky background to form a geometric design which is actually non-objective. Together with manipulated textures and shadows the end effect is suggestive of the ideas behind the works of Wassily Kandinsky, and perhaps other abstractionists such as Kasimir Malevich and Piet Mondrian, as well as “hard-edge” painters of today.
While geometric abstraction is not uncommon as a genre in modern photography, your approach with this particular work is refreshing in its originality and welcoming effect upon the viewer.
Letters to an Italian photographer — Letter number ten:
I would like to see more of your portrait photography. Here you have presented a fascinating self-portrait exposing one half of your face peering out of the darkness, with a smoke-cloud as your only stage prop or “clothing” to adorn an otherwise naked countenance. The eye swallows the gaze of the viewer, almost as if to dare or challenge him/her to attempt to penetrate the inner home of “Sandro, the photographer”. However, the viewer must not confuse the expression with emotion or deep contemplation. The nakedness is — perhaps — due to the fact that the photographer is no longer behind his camera, which is an integral part of his being. By looking into his eye the viewer is actually looking into the lens of a camera. And Sandro is both taking your picture and recording the event … each and every time you look at his self-portrait. In addition, the shadows, skin tones and softness give this portrait the look of a detail from a painting by an Old Master.
Well done, Sandro!
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