[La Fotografia Moltiplica l’Esistenza: versione in italiano qui]
Last week I tried the nice experience to prepare a stall with my pictures in postcard size, inside a sort of Christmas Market with a lot of artists and artisans. I spent all day behind that little desk, full of small photos and album to scroll. Of course, it’s been a satisfaction to see my pictures bought by a lot of people, it’s been really nice to talk with people, telling them something about my images or the funny stories behind them. I found interesting a question made by a girl that came to my stall during the day: “What do you feel when you think that your photos are in other people’s house?”. A very good question. In that moment I’ve thinked about a lot of different things, but the first one was the utopian idea to multiply my existance. Time goes on and unfortunately I can’t travel everywhere in the world, so my pictures are like “Ambassadors of my Life”: when I think that one of my pictures is hanged in a flat in Boston, Santiago de Chile or Beijing, I think that a little piece of my existence, a branch of my personal tree of life, is now living far from me. Through the eyes of the viewer, that moment of my life, crystallized in a shot that only I can remind as a real moment, now can exist again and again, in an everlasting loop, in a house that I don’t know and I’ll never know. In five seconds, this was the first answer I had in my mind and, maybe, the closest to the truth. As every photographer my obsession is Time and Space: with photography I can stop the moment and through my prints I can have the illusion to expand spaces. That is the miracle I believe in every time someone buys one of my images, in Rome or in the other side of the world.
After this answer I told her that, soon or after, you get used to that idea, the consciousness to have my pictures in other people’s life. Sometimes I get used to it, it’s true, and sadly my first thought is always the less poetic but the more reassuring: the earnings. Other times I think a lot about that fantasy to multiply my life, to fragmentate it to make it live again in another city, far or close. And I abandon myself to a huge peace, thinking that despite all the sacrifices, the ansiety and the worries, the job I’ve chosen for myself is the job that I love. But without other people, all that people that choose to take care of one my pictures, keeping it in their houses, this job it wouldn’t exist for me and, probably, I wouldn’t be really me.
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