Saying that photography does not exist may sound provocative.
In reality, it is an attempt to clarify a long-standing misunderstanding that has accompanied this medium since its origins: the idea that photography is a single, homogeneous territory governed by universal rules.

We live in a time that does not tolerate emptiness. Any unoccupied space is perceived as a lack, any silence as a mistake, any pause as a weakness. In the world of communication — and particularly in the world of photography — absence is often read as disinterest, inactivity, loss of relevance. If you don’t post, you don’t exist. If you don’t show, you are disappearing. If you stop, someone else will overtake you. But is this really true? And above all: does this constant race for attention benefit fine art photography? Does it nurture artistic research, vision, depth?

Black and white photography has always carried a particular weight. It feels serious, timeless, cultured. It evokes history, authorship, intention. Perhaps for this reason, it is often perceived as a shortcut to depth: remove color, add gravitas. And yet, this perception is both true and dangerously misleading.

We live in an age saturated with images. Photography has never been so accessible, so immediate, so omnipresent. Screens accompany us from the moment we wake up to the moment we fall asleep, and images flow continuously through our days: social feeds, advertisements, news, entertainment. In this context, photography is increasingly asked to perform.

In contemporary interior design, visual choices are no longer secondary considerations. Spaces today are conceived as cultural environments—places that communicate identity, sensibility, and intention. Within this landscape, authorial fine art photography has assumed a central role, offering more than visual appeal: it introduces thought, authorship, and narrative into the built environment.

There is a particular illusion that many people are raised with: the idea that the world begins and ends where we are born. A town, a region, a cultural habitus becomes the centre of everything — and somehow the measure of what is valuable. Yet nothing could be more limiting. The truth is brutally simple: the world is far wider, richer, and more diverse than the comfortable little corners we come from.

Color is often treated as a detail—an accessory, an aesthetic choice, a stylistic preference. But within contemporary photography, color has become something far more profound: a silent architect of emotional experience. It shapes the viewer’s perception long before the subject or composition is consciously processed. It structures mood, amplifies intention, and governs how an image is remembered.

There’s an old misconception in the photography world: the idea that talking about other photographers means “giving away visibility” or even helping the competition. It’s a limiting mindset, unable to capture the true nature of art: a continuous dialogue.

There comes a moment in every artist’s life when one must look in the mirror and ask: “Why do I do what I do?”
It’s a simple, yet terrifying question. Because in today’s world, creating is never only a poetic act — it’s also an economic one. Every photograph, every work of art, exists between two extremes: freedom and necessity. Between what comes from within, and what must survive outside.

There are images that remain, and images that disappear the moment after we see them. The difference is almost never the subject itself. It is what sustains it. It is the invisible structure that makes it necessary, inevitable, alive.
When I photograph, I realise that composition comes even before the visible content: it is the secret grammar through which the world takes form — the space where an image stops being “something to look at” and becomes “something that speaks”.

Every time I take a photograph, I remind myself that photography is not a faithful record of reality, but a construction of the eye and the mind. I do not document, I interpret. I do not record, I translate. Yet today, in a world flooded with images, I feel the need to reiterate this principle: photography is not about copying, it is about choosing what to say and what to leave unsaid.

In contemporary photography, empty space is far from absence—it is form, rhythm, and visual breath. Negative space, the area surrounding a subject, often overlooked, has immense narrative and emotional power.

The brain, guided by Gestalt principles, instinctively completes incomplete shapes, seeks harmony between presence and absence, and interprets emptiness as structure. Photographers like Fan Ho and Shoji Ueda have elevated negative space from background to central character, proving that the void can carry meaning, tension, and poetry.

In an era dominated by fleeting digital content, where images appear and disappear at the speed of a swipe, there is something profoundly different about a fine art photography print. A print is not just an image—it is a physical presence, a work of art that inhabits a space and reshapes it with depth, meaning, and emotion.

In the world’s greatest cities, art is not a luxury – it is a language. Walking through New York, from lofts overlooking the Hudson to the galleries of Chelsea, you can feel the hunger for uniqueness, the need to surround yourself with objects that tell a story. In London, between the creative streets of Shoreditch and the refined corners of Notting Hill, walls become canvases where design meets emotion. The same is true in Paris, Berlin, Tokyo: places where exclusivity is not an excess, but a way of expressing identity.

The recent classic car event in Taranto brought back to the streets not only historic vehicles but also enduring symbols of timeless design. The roar of the engines, the sculpted lines, the shining chrome — everything spoke of an era when style and durability outweighed pure function.

Art, like life, is never static. Every image is the outcome of a journey, of an evolving vision, of a perspective that changes with the artist. That journey never stops: it grows, it deepens, it shifts. This constant transformation is the essence of fine art photography.

This past Sunday was one of those occasions. I attended, as a spectator and observer, an interregional Vespa gimkana championship in Puglia and Basilicata. It’s a discipline of skill I didn’t know deeply before, but it surprised me with its contagious energy. The protagonists? The Piaggio Vespa, in different versions and ages, and above all the riders who ride them with passion, facing curves and slalom with a lightness that feels almost playful.

The United Kingdom has always held a unique fascination for me. I’ve visited cities such as Birmingham and Cardiff, but it is London that keeps calling me back, again and again. Each return feels different: the city seems to have something new to reveal, as if it were constantly in dialogue with those who look at it closely.

Some projects are born simply out of the desire to experiment, while others turn into experiences that leave something deeper behind. Last week’s beauty photoshoot with make-up artists Francesca Pia Auteri and Desirèe Scialpi, together with models Carola Donatelli and Chiara Basilico, definitely belongs to the second category.