Street portraits
Polite portraits, painted in a low voice, someway whispered. This is the idea.
They pretend to not make noise, they do not want to shout, neither they want any attention if not really deserved.
No need to emphasise or highlight, no will to reshape and push contrasts and color gradations. Leave them all out of the image, free the subject from the burden to be an attraction for the eyes, the image from the duty of being captivating, make the borders thinner and transparent, open the space and be part of the temporary equilibrium of an encounter while walking along the usual paths in an ordinary day.
All these portraits do not have any environmental information or just a tiny one. You cannot infer the subject from the clothes or the situation or whatever. A plain portrait, free of any additional attribute. A one to one with the observer. Few words to give an hint as it happens in an occasional encounter of some minutes. This is the common denominator. Not just a portrait of someone who looks curious or interesting. On the contrary, a portrait when, after a casual encounter and some not forced talk, it happens that the individual is someway interesting to my eyes for what he/she is, for the story that comes with that person.
Do not expect any formal perfection and do not search for a common equilibrium or style. Each of these portraits was born in that very moment, with that kind of light and environment, without any staged composition. Just 2 or 3 snaps during the conversation
They pretend to not make noise, they do not want to shout, neither they want any attention if not really deserved.
No need to emphasise or highlight, no will to reshape and push contrasts and color gradations. Leave them all out of the image, free the subject from the burden to be an attraction for the eyes, the image from the duty of being captivating, make the borders thinner and transparent, open the space and be part of the temporary equilibrium of an encounter while walking along the usual paths in an ordinary day.
All these portraits do not have any environmental information or just a tiny one. You cannot infer the subject from the clothes or the situation or whatever. A plain portrait, free of any additional attribute. A one to one with the observer. Few words to give an hint as it happens in an occasional encounter of some minutes. This is the common denominator. Not just a portrait of someone who looks curious or interesting. On the contrary, a portrait when, after a casual encounter and some not forced talk, it happens that the individual is someway interesting to my eyes for what he/she is, for the story that comes with that person.
Do not expect any formal perfection and do not search for a common equilibrium or style. Each of these portraits was born in that very moment, with that kind of light and environment, without any staged composition. Just 2 or 3 snaps during the conversation
An Italian girl
"You speak a very good Italian" I told her, pleased by the mastery the girl had in speaking a foreign language. She had been busy talking and answering to some hosts in the room and I couldn't help but hear the discussion. Perfect grammar and almost no accent at all. Less common than you might think, and therefore more appreciable.
"Thank you!" she replayed smiling. "The fact is..I am Italian!"
Which come as some surprise, indeed. But that was my mistake. I simply assumed by default she had to be a stranger, with maybe a good knowledge of the culture and language, but still a foreigner, not fully soaked by our own culture and therefore language nuances. Bounds to the country and the traditions, the imagination and the myths that together build up the immaterial and deep background of a community. This defines a belonging.
So that morning, a cold and lazy autumn morning, with the city still trapped in the reminiscences of the night, I was taking my usual stroll among the streets of the old city. Heading to the downtown, with a slow pace and no hurry, I passed upon the stair and roamed on the empty streets as I was used to.
Cozy places, elegant architecture, new and ancient walls mixed together. The signs of time everywhere. Themselves a language, telling stories about the places and the people. Yet, nothing interesting to my eyes too used to them. And so the grey facades of the old buildings were just ordinary views, so as the shops still closed, the cafè on the corner, and the stairs winding to the top.
It was only few meters after the entrance of the old palace that I realised there was something going on inside.
An exhibition, sort of.
Colourful banners, pictures, food products. I went back and entered the room, curious. Few people inside, a girl talking. I listen to her carefully, while taking some pictures around.
"You speak a very good Italian" I told her. And so here we are. The Italian girl, attending courses at the university, busy with this work right now and others when possible. The strength of her youth and the belonging to a country, the rooth that make her a part of the future of this place.
We exchanged a few words, then I took my way.
Color version in the blog section here
"Thank you!" she replayed smiling. "The fact is..I am Italian!"
Which come as some surprise, indeed. But that was my mistake. I simply assumed by default she had to be a stranger, with maybe a good knowledge of the culture and language, but still a foreigner, not fully soaked by our own culture and therefore language nuances. Bounds to the country and the traditions, the imagination and the myths that together build up the immaterial and deep background of a community. This defines a belonging.
So that morning, a cold and lazy autumn morning, with the city still trapped in the reminiscences of the night, I was taking my usual stroll among the streets of the old city. Heading to the downtown, with a slow pace and no hurry, I passed upon the stair and roamed on the empty streets as I was used to.
Cozy places, elegant architecture, new and ancient walls mixed together. The signs of time everywhere. Themselves a language, telling stories about the places and the people. Yet, nothing interesting to my eyes too used to them. And so the grey facades of the old buildings were just ordinary views, so as the shops still closed, the cafè on the corner, and the stairs winding to the top.
It was only few meters after the entrance of the old palace that I realised there was something going on inside.
An exhibition, sort of.
Colourful banners, pictures, food products. I went back and entered the room, curious. Few people inside, a girl talking. I listen to her carefully, while taking some pictures around.
"You speak a very good Italian" I told her. And so here we are. The Italian girl, attending courses at the university, busy with this work right now and others when possible. The strength of her youth and the belonging to a country, the rooth that make her a part of the future of this place.
We exchanged a few words, then I took my way.
Color version in the blog section here
The friar
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From a cloister in the North.
Sometimes, a trip south to pay a visit to the Basilica. A tradition to repeat each time, year after year. Few days were enough, each time. He was alone, gazing at the valley below. Few people around despite the pleasent weather. Not sure why we kept chatting, maybe just the fact that we both were in front of such a beautiful scenery and we both were clearly interested and captivated by that clean and linear beauty. The world as seen by a man of religion in a normal day, out of any religious celebration or place. Insteady, a cup of coffe sitting on a table outdoor. Borders become less evident in these intermediate and neutral lands and it is definetly much simpler to understand and to talk, no matter what you have to say or believe. |
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The street musician
German, travelling Europe, playing classic music with some jump into the rock world.
Amazing experience to listen to him in the main square.
Amazing experience to listen to him in the main square.
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People around was pleased and enchanted. The old town main square vibrated under those classic notes, and I could swear it had a very special and never seen beauty.
He stopped to rest for a while and I took the occasion to ask for something off-topic. "Would you mind playing anything from the Jethro Tull repertoire?" I asked not sure about the answer. "Any preference?" he replayed smiling. "You choose, please". |
South America
She was spending an holiday in Rome, and took the occasion to travel around with a friend. A degree deserves an holiday and this was a deserved one.
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I casually met her in the main square. We both were taking pictures of the place. Kept chatting a wee bit. About her country and this one apparently so different and fascinating and so difficult to understand as well. The morning was still young and light generous to me.
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The pilgrim
From East Europe, in Italy as a pilgrim, taking help and support from the locals, a small community in his country to take care of old people.
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An imperfect Italian but good enough to understand each other and explain. He loved the town and, when possible, he payed a visit there, always alone.
Each time he roamed from city to city. Rome was the important one, for religious reasons, but it was not the only one. Polite and shy, he was used to walk and when possible he enjoyed to talk to the people explaining why he was there and what his commitment towards the small community he run in his country. He had many friends over there, and they gave him all the support he needed for the limited time he spent there. We shared some food on the street and a bottle of water. |
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The family
It was a lazy morning in an hot summer. The old city was still quiet and the streets almost empty. The day had just begun and the rush hours still very far. No reason to hurry up, no reason to change that slow pace. Better to enjoy it, better to keep that very pace and speed.
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Quite different from the other few couples around, the young family stood still in front of the entrance of the cafè.
A map in their hands, the boy and girl were searching something on the map and talking together. The child was quiet in the harms of the girl. I couldn't help noticing them while walking along the street. As soon as I was close to them, our eyes met and both hinted a smile. From Portugal, visiting Italy, the first time in the city. They need some basic help about places and streets, which was very simple to do. We spent some minutes together, just talking about their travel and Portugal. And then life in Portugal and the child. A nice time, indeed. I sent them this picture weeks later, so to be sure they would have been at home again. |