silviaforno.com logo

follow me on instagram @silviaseestories where I publish excerpts from my stories, and anticipate stories that will come.
From the story *Cambodia, melancholic energy*. Cambodia was the journey with the deepest emotional impact. The one that made me question, more than others, my role and my work. Years after, I still carry double feelings about what I’ve seen and experienced.
From the story *Cambodia, melancholic energy*. Cambodia was the journey with the deepest emotional impact. The one that made me question, more than others, my role and my work. Years after, I still carry double feelings about what I’ve seen and experienced.
HOW TO BECOME A BOOK step by step: *Take a lockdown; *Spend most of your time on the balcony at less than 10 degrees in the most polluted city of Italy, so that your skin crumples and can absorb more ink; *Read a lot (on paper, don’t cheat); *Take a giraffe mirror and interpret the signals the universe is sending you.
HOW TO BECOME A BOOK step by step: *Take a lockdown; *Spend most of your time on the balcony at less than 10 degrees in the most polluted city of Italy, so that your skin crumples and can absorb more ink; *Read a lot (on paper, don’t cheat); *Take a giraffe mirror and interpret the signals the universe is sending you.
“when leaves become eyes, the forest sleeps” | short video on Instagram
“when leaves become eyes, the forest sleeps” | short video on Instagram
From the story *up to the roots* an attempt to track back my love for nature in my roots.
From the story *up to the roots* an attempt to track back my love for nature in my roots.
Morning light at Dunis'. Too long ago. I do miss our non-breakfasts together, listening to the press review from three different radios, you asking permission to enter “my” room, me stressed when the sun played his light games exactly when we had to run to the office, the toilet monster complaining of being left home alone.
Morning light at Dunis'. Too long ago. I do miss our non-breakfasts together, listening to the press review from three different radios, you asking permission to enter “my” room, me stressed when the sun played his light games exactly when we had to run to the office, the toilet monster complaining of being left home alone.
Dad and son | From the story *Sénégal, sur la route*
Dad and son | From the story *Sénégal, sur la route*
mind the gap, bridge the gap | from the story *how do birds sleep*
mind the gap, bridge the gap | from the story *how do birds sleep*
Clothesline abound in my archives. I’m instinctively attracted to them anywhere I go, but I hardly share these images sensing a sort of violation of privacy. But what else are clothesline if not a soothing invitation into someone’s humanity? An unintentional and sensorial reminder that, in the end, we are all nothing but human beings? |Venice, September 2020 | Short videos available on Instagram.
Clothesline abound in my archives. I’m instinctively attracted to them anywhere I go, but I hardly share these images sensing a sort of violation of privacy. But what else are clothesline if not a soothing invitation into someone’s humanity? An unintentional and sensorial reminder that, in the end, we are all nothing but human beings? |Venice, September 2020 | Short videos available on Instagram.
The big change was announced by unexpected movements in the forest in the previous days. Rumours that diversity became the source of life, transformation its essence. 1+1 was 3, and cooperation the heartbeat. Or maybe it had always been like that, and we were just distracted by our phones.
The big change was announced by unexpected movements in the forest in the previous days. Rumours that diversity became the source of life, transformation its essence. 1+1 was 3, and cooperation the heartbeat. Or maybe it had always been like that, and we were just distracted by our phones.
Sea hunter-gatherers [short video available on Instagram] | They may not have the crossfit bodies you expect from someone living the wild life, but they’ve seen hundreds of moons on these shores. They used to run after orange-green-yellow fishes few meters from the beach, and chase octopus at night near the reef. Now you can only see gangs of greedy greyish fishes eating cuticles of neglected feet. But the wind, oh the wind. He’s still the spirited child he used to be, careless of human sins.
Sea hunter-gatherers [short video available on Instagram] | They may not have the crossfit bodies you expect from someone living the wild life, but they’ve seen hundreds of moons on these shores. They used to run after orange-green-yellow fishes few meters from the beach, and chase octopus at night near the reef. Now you can only see gangs of greedy greyish fishes eating cuticles of neglected feet. But the wind, oh the wind. He’s still the spirited child he used to be, careless of human sins.
HOW TO REACH MACONDO ~ “Macondo can be reached only by feet and by wind. Some travel guides claim you can reach it by boat too, but those who try are likely to fail. The Bridge where the Sea meets the Lagoon won’t let you in if you come with a heavy luggage and a heavy heart” ~ Excerpt from ‘Macondo: short travel guide with an old phone’(short video available on instagram)
HOW TO REACH MACONDO ~ “Macondo can be reached only by feet and by wind. Some travel guides claim you can reach it by boat too, but those who try are likely to fail. The Bridge where the Sea meets the Lagoon won’t let you in if you come with a heavy luggage and a heavy heart” ~ Excerpt from ‘Macondo: short travel guide with an old phone’(short video available on instagram)
During moody days I used to walk along Regent’s canal to clear my mind, until it reached its sea: the Thames. I grew up in a city drawn in between rivers and canals. Everywhere else I lived I’ve always looked for flowing waters to find answers or to learn to ignore questions. I would spend hours and days walking along rivers, feeling the way they adapt and let go. Rivers cannot go back, they can only transform constantly and never be the same. This is human nature too, but we rather build sluices to feel secure.
During moody days I used to walk along Regent’s canal to clear my mind, until it reached its sea: the Thames. I grew up in a city drawn in between rivers and canals. Everywhere else I lived I’ve always looked for flowing waters to find answers or to learn to ignore questions. I would spend hours and days walking along rivers, feeling the way they adapt and let go. Rivers cannot go back, they can only transform constantly and never be the same. This is human nature too, but we rather build sluices to feel secure.
They had never met, but what they heard about each other during those years was so vivid that it was like they had always been together. The wedding was over, bride groom and guests gone, flowers withering on the floor under the flaming summer sun of Sicily. And they were still there, telling the stories they had waited to tell each other for so long.
They had never met, but what they heard about each other during those years was so vivid that it was like they had always been together. The wedding was over, bride groom and guests gone, flowers withering on the floor under the flaming summer sun of Sicily. And they were still there, telling the stories they had waited to tell each other for so long.
My clothes as a child were mostly yellow. I cannot recall whether it was mine or mom’s decision. They say that when you choose yellow, it’s a sign that you feel beautiful. As a woman my clothes are pretty colourful, but yellow is scant. Yellow suits *outstandingly* beautiful people, a kind of beauty that over time for me it’s harder to find within myself. Still, whenever i see something yellow, my eyes glow. And you, do you feel yellow?
My clothes as a child were mostly yellow. I cannot recall whether it was mine or mom’s decision. They say that when you choose yellow, it’s a sign that you feel beautiful. As a woman my clothes are pretty colourful, but yellow is scant. Yellow suits *outstandingly* beautiful people, a kind of beauty that over time for me it’s harder to find within myself. Still, whenever i see something yellow, my eyes glow. And you, do you feel yellow?
moon eyes.
moon eyes.
As a fire sign, I would spend days staring at water and envying her.
As a fire sign, I would spend days staring at water and envying her.
It rained so much that day that all became one and clouds were salty. Walls at home were damp and soft, and we decided to take a walk on the sea.
It rained so much that day that all became one and clouds were salty. Walls at home were damp and soft, and we decided to take a walk on the sea.
Grandma smelled like parsley. She carried parsley everywhere, on her hands, on her apron, on the arms of her eyeglasses, on her thin fluffy hair.
Grandma smelled like parsley. She carried parsley everywhere, on her hands, on her apron, on the arms of her eyeglasses, on her thin fluffy hair.
On some winter days, the sea became liquid gold. Gianni and Ettore, his little hectic dog, used to go out and look for jewels.
On some winter days, the sea became liquid gold. Gianni and Ettore, his little hectic dog, used to go out and look for jewels.
missing: the warm colours of the south, the smell of rotten fruits pressed at the bottom of wooden carts, the salty tang of the sea mixed with fried plantains at the kiosk
missing: the warm colours of the south, the smell of rotten fruits pressed at the bottom of wooden carts, the salty tang of the sea mixed with fried plantains at the kiosk
I’ve always envied those who fill thick sheets of words and thoughts. When paper ripples, seduced by the rush of a greedy pen. I feel ashamed of my own words on paper, as if their tactile nature made them real. Words on an intangible sheet, instead, are erratic and hazy. I don’t like them, but they mirror my self.
I’ve always envied those who fill thick sheets of words and thoughts. When paper ripples, seduced by the rush of a greedy pen. I feel ashamed of my own words on paper, as if their tactile nature made them real. Words on an intangible sheet, instead, are erratic and hazy. I don’t like them, but they mirror my self.
yesterday I left home for the first time in one week, to buy food. a signed permit in my pockets. in my building’s yard life is changing fast, so fast that I cannot remember where i left it last time. streets smell of flowers and disinfectants. i could hear the bells of a nearby church i’ve never heard.
yesterday I left home for the first time in one week, to buy food. a signed permit in my pockets. in my building’s yard life is changing fast, so fast that I cannot remember where i left it last time. streets smell of flowers and disinfectants. i could hear the bells of a nearby church i’ve never heard.
digging into the archive, what it was and what i want it to be, safe upon this shore and feeling the wind
digging into the archive, what it was and what i want it to be, safe upon this shore and feeling the wind
summer games, frantic clapping, damp flowers. we had it all that day | swiss farm | august 2014
summer games, frantic clapping, damp flowers. we had it all that day | swiss farm | august 2014
sunset at the lake • phone archive
sunset at the lake • phone archive
As we walked around lake Skadar trying to reach the next village, we noticed many little deserted kiosks along the disused road. The season was still low, like lake waters: only few tourists and stray cats were around. This kiosk in particular reminded me of one of the two bars in my grandma’s village. I was definitely the only client at 2pm in August, when I needed to get no-matter-what that fake strawberry ice cream with a pinkish chewing-gum inside. I would expect the same from this rusty fridge. Next time.
As we walked around lake Skadar trying to reach the next village, we noticed many little deserted kiosks along the disused road. The season was still low, like lake waters: only few tourists and stray cats were around. This kiosk in particular reminded me of one of the two bars in my grandma’s village. I was definitely the only client at 2pm in August, when I needed to get no-matter-what that fake strawberry ice cream with a pinkish chewing-gum inside. I would expect the same from this rusty fridge. Next time.
coming back from work in the field after digging canals for a micro-hydroelectric dam. dominican republic.
coming back from work in the field after digging canals for a micro-hydroelectric dam. dominican republic.
morning hunt in the field. dominican republic.
morning hunt in the field. dominican republic.
I have a thing for trees. My folders abound in pictures of trees and windows. I always wonder what it is like to live in front of a certain tree, what light games with wind, what sounds in the mornings and at dusk, the pleasure of reading a book or sipping a cup of tea next to the tree…oh my god I love trees!
I have a thing for trees. My folders abound in pictures of trees and windows. I always wonder what it is like to live in front of a certain tree, what light games with wind, what sounds in the mornings and at dusk, the pleasure of reading a book or sipping a cup of tea next to the tree…oh my god I love trees!
Cortina roja, color de la tarde, magia del color rojo de la tarde. Cuculcán se desviste del amarillo de la mañana con movimientos sacerdotales
Cortina roja, color de la tarde, magia del color rojo de la tarde. Cuculcán se desviste del amarillo de la mañana con movimientos sacerdotales
the perfect match. 
he doesn’t like to be photographed, 
nor direct sun on his eyes. 
she sees pictures everywhere, 
and looks for light anytime.
the perfect match.
he doesn’t like to be photographed,
nor direct sun on his eyes.
she sees pictures everywhere,
and looks for light anytime.
Como se cuenta en las historias que ahora nadie cree - ni las abuelas ni los niños - esta ciudad fue construida sobre ciudades enterradas en el centro de América. Ciudades sonoras como mares abiertos.
Como se cuenta en las historias que ahora nadie cree - ni las abuelas ni los niños - esta ciudad fue construida sobre ciudades enterradas en el centro de América. Ciudades sonoras como mares abiertos.
homesick {a short story, from life}

every time the train crossed the valley, he felt nostalgic of a life he never lived. his memories of the place were so vivid that it couldn’t help but standing by the window evoking those pleasant moments. can we yearn for something that never happened?

from *tiny stories*
homesick {a short story, from life}

every time the train crossed the valley, he felt nostalgic of a life he never lived. his memories of the place were so vivid that it couldn’t help but standing by the window evoking those pleasant moments. can we yearn for something that never happened?

from *tiny stories*
from the forthcoming story /wish I were here/, a visual vagabondage across the European cities where I’ve lived or that I’ve visited several times. A failed rational attempt to identify what I find in these cities that I cannot find in my country: the constant feeling to be at ease in the unknown, in whatever I know I cannot hold forever. The constant search to be somewhere else.
from the forthcoming story /wish I were here/, a visual vagabondage across the European cities where I’ve lived or that I’ve visited several times. A failed rational attempt to identify what I find in these cities that I cannot find in my country: the constant feeling to be at ease in the unknown, in whatever I know I cannot hold forever. The constant search to be somewhere else.
from *up to the roots*

a story I will never tell 
about a wandering soul 
and the intricate relation 
with her roots
from *up to the roots*

a story I will never tell
about a wandering soul
and the intricate relation
with her roots
Eva, my host, was looking puzzled at the map on my phone. Those white convoluted lines on the grey background were confusing her, how could that be her village? Until some pale blue lines made her recognize a small stream, and pleased she said “Of course you can get there! There’s this path, it will take you about one hour walk. There’s also a shorter way in the woods, you have to pass through houses though, so only we locals know…”. In Montenegro people openly welcome you as a traveler, but they still treasure what they really know - as if two parallel worlds coexisted. Places reachable on the map, but inaccessible in their local essence. The overwhelming presence of nature, as to guard what cannot be revealed to everyone.
Eva, my host, was looking puzzled at the map on my phone. Those white convoluted lines on the grey background were confusing her, how could that be her village? Until some pale blue lines made her recognize a small stream, and pleased she said “Of course you can get there! There’s this path, it will take you about one hour walk. There’s also a shorter way in the woods, you have to pass through houses though, so only we locals know…”. In Montenegro people openly welcome you as a traveler, but they still treasure what they really know - as if two parallel worlds coexisted. Places reachable on the map, but inaccessible in their local essence. The overwhelming presence of nature, as to guard what cannot be revealed to everyone.
the village was so quiet that you could hear the heartbeat of the earth. abruzzo.
the village was so quiet that you could hear the heartbeat of the earth. abruzzo.
Recently I watched the delicate and intense documentary *in questo mondo | in this world* by Anna Kauber on Italian shepherd women and the deep connection with the cycles of life and death they help nurture. Anna spent two years travelling across the Alps and the Apennines, learning from the way these women look at the world, their territories and the wellbeing of animals. In Anna’s words “These women found their freedom not in disengagement, but in taking care”. Please look for this documentary, and take care.
Recently I watched the delicate and intense documentary *in questo mondo | in this world* by Anna Kauber on Italian shepherd women and the deep connection with the cycles of life and death they help nurture. Anna spent two years travelling across the Alps and the Apennines, learning from the way these women look at the world, their territories and the wellbeing of animals. In Anna’s words “These women found their freedom not in disengagement, but in taking care”. Please look for this documentary, and take care.
nowhere {a short story of ubiquity} 

when it was summer, she wanted it to be autumn
when it was sunny, she wanted it to rain
when it rained, she wanted it to be sunny
when she was here, she wanted to be there

from *tiny stories*
nowhere {a short story of ubiquity}

when it was summer, she wanted it to be autumn
when it was sunny, she wanted it to rain
when it rained, she wanted it to be sunny
when she was here, she wanted to be there

from *tiny stories*
Cassis, Summer 2019.
Conversation between a fisherman and a vegetarian.
Cassis, Summer 2019.
Conversation between a fisherman and a vegetarian.
climbing the big cow.
climbing the big cow.
the line {a short story of connection} 

“There’s a thin convoluted unique line connecting us all…”. This is how he began telling us stories of rangers, poachers and politicians gathering around a bonfire under the big acacia tree - and giraffes staring at them from behind the bush with their calm alluring eyes.

from *tiny stories*
the line {a short story of connection}

“There’s a thin convoluted unique line connecting us all…”. This is how he began telling us stories of rangers, poachers and politicians gathering around a bonfire under the big acacia tree - and giraffes staring at them from behind the bush with their calm alluring eyes.

from *tiny stories*
forest research centre | from *Indonesia::living with the forest*
forest research centre | from *Indonesia::living with the forest*
When asked about the future they wished for their kids, fathers were inclined to say they’d love their children to move to main towns and become professionals. Mothers, instead, wished their kids had a good education but wouldn’t leave the community - and help improve the way land and forests are taken care of, for the good of all. That’s why - let me add - we call it Mother Nature.

from *Indonesia, living with the forest*
When asked about the future they wished for their kids, fathers were inclined to say they’d love their children to move to main towns and become professionals. Mothers, instead, wished their kids had a good education but wouldn’t leave the community - and help improve the way land and forests are taken care of, for the good of all. That’s why - let me add - we call it Mother Nature.

from *Indonesia, living with the forest*
“Thus I became a madman. And I have found both freedom of loneliness and the safety from being understood, for those who understand us enslave something in us”
“Thus I became a madman. And I have found both freedom of loneliness and the safety from being understood, for those who understand us enslave something in us”
when the sea is too far, go find a lake | from the story *how do birds sleep*
when the sea is too far, go find a lake | from the story *how do birds sleep*
from the archive, 
memories of a summer that will be
from the archive,
memories of a summer that will be
…till the last sip of sunshine”, she swore this is what she heard that evening from the severe melancholy of the muezzin call. She fed the pigeons before the night, and enjoyed a cup of black tea following the steam swinging in the room.

from *bosnian tales*
…till the last sip of sunshine”, she swore this is what she heard that evening from the severe melancholy of the muezzin call. She fed the pigeons before the night, and enjoyed a cup of black tea following the steam swinging in the room.

from *bosnian tales*
Venice for me will always be the crunchy bread we bought in a bakery near Rialto Bridge that my grandma used to heat in the oven before serving lunch. And my grandpa nervously banging into tourists in Calle De La Rugheta as he took us back to the train station in the evening.
Venice for me will always be the crunchy bread we bought in a bakery near Rialto Bridge that my grandma used to heat in the oven before serving lunch. And my grandpa nervously banging into tourists in Calle De La Rugheta as he took us back to the train station in the evening.
i was in Alba to enjoy a glass of wine, when by chance i came across a group of young volunteers cleaning the banks of Tanaro river. i loved so much not only what they were doing, but also how nature was embracing them as they carefully ventured in her tangled arms. it felt like she was telling them *come back home*
i was in Alba to enjoy a glass of wine, when by chance i came across a group of young volunteers cleaning the banks of Tanaro river. i loved so much not only what they were doing, but also how nature was embracing them as they carefully ventured in her tangled arms. it felt like she was telling them *come back home*
21 march is #internationaldayofforests - Needless to say how much I care, how much I cherish them and the communities that help protect them. I wanted to celebrate this day by posting some images from my archive, and in there I got lost among trees and leaves and shades and mosses and fibers and nuts and resins from many corners of the world.
21 march is #internationaldayofforests - Needless to say how much I care, how much I cherish them and the communities that help protect them. I wanted to celebrate this day by posting some images from my archive, and in there I got lost among trees and leaves and shades and mosses and fibers and nuts and resins from many corners of the world.
Rome, September 2014 | I can say I know every single stone of Rome, having stepped on each of them for hundreds of miles. During my first years there, I was fascinated with weddings taking place every day and every hour in the 900 plus churches of the city. Each wedding comes with its invitees, and in Rome social diversity can be impressive - with people travelling even from abroad to get married in the most theatrical city of the world
.
I was showing my friend around, when we came across the wedding of a well off family. No matter how rich you are, some invitees get more bored than others during the ceremony. It’s just that in Rome you can find unique charming corners where to hide.
Rome, September 2014 | I can say I know every single stone of Rome, having stepped on each of them for hundreds of miles. During my first years there, I was fascinated with weddings taking place every day and every hour in the 900 plus churches of the city. Each wedding comes with its invitees, and in Rome social diversity can be impressive - with people travelling even from abroad to get married in the most theatrical city of the world
.
I was showing my friend around, when we came across the wedding of a well off family. No matter how rich you are, some invitees get more bored than others during the ceremony. It’s just that in Rome you can find unique charming corners where to hide.
Berlin, February 2010 | I can easily forget what I’ve just said or done, but I have very vivid and mindful memories of every single shot I took in my life. Some remain more meaningful than others. I was living in London when life asked me to take a flight to Berlin for a goodbye to a special one. They were sunny winter days, and I immediately fell in love with the city. On that afternoon I was wandering, impatiently waiting for the farewell party. To be precise - hey, baby it’s cold outside - I was roaming from one café to the other.
.
As soon as I entered this place, I was blown away by a magic atmosphere. That crispy late afternoon light. The radio playing The XX [since then, the soundtrack of my life in London]. And - does it happen to you as well? - that bonding of music and light, and you enter a sort of transcendental state…That one. I literally had few seconds to craft this image, and I was all in it. I cannot even remember if I ordered coffee afterwards, but certainly I asked “what song is this?”
Berlin, February 2010 | I can easily forget what I’ve just said or done, but I have very vivid and mindful memories of every single shot I took in my life. Some remain more meaningful than others. I was living in London when life asked me to take a flight to Berlin for a goodbye to a special one. They were sunny winter days, and I immediately fell in love with the city. On that afternoon I was wandering, impatiently waiting for the farewell party. To be precise - hey, baby it’s cold outside - I was roaming from one café to the other.
.
As soon as I entered this place, I was blown away by a magic atmosphere. That crispy late afternoon light. The radio playing The XX [since then, the soundtrack of my life in London]. And - does it happen to you as well? - that bonding of music and light, and you enter a sort of transcendental state…That one. I literally had few seconds to craft this image, and I was all in it. I cannot even remember if I ordered coffee afterwards, but certainly I asked “what song is this?”
from *guatemala, el olor de las imagenes*, a personal interpretation of the magic words of Miguel Angel Asturias. Guatemala is one of the chapters of “WorldViews” collating images of my archive coming from some of the travels I do as part of my work in the field of land rights and rural livelihoods. I met this girl in a community practicing agroecology in spite of continuous attacks and threats from mining, agribusiness and other destructive/extractive industries. Guatemala is one of the countries with the highest rates of killings of indigenous leaders, environmental and land rights defenders.
from *guatemala, el olor de las imagenes*, a personal interpretation of the magic words of Miguel Angel Asturias. Guatemala is one of the chapters of “WorldViews” collating images of my archive coming from some of the travels I do as part of my work in the field of land rights and rural livelihoods. I met this girl in a community practicing agroecology in spite of continuous attacks and threats from mining, agribusiness and other destructive/extractive industries. Guatemala is one of the countries with the highest rates of killings of indigenous leaders, environmental and land rights defenders.
I took this picture during my first travel to Senegal in 2012. There were disorders on the streets during pre-election time, and they warned me not to take my camera on the journey. Still, I felt so much the urge to photograph anything surrounding me, so amazed by my first time in sub-saharan Africa! My boss kindly borrowed me his camera, that he was keeping in his bag all the time. It was too much for my basic skills, I had no clue about how to use it. Probably these kids thought they were spending their time with a funny confused innocuous person, and we had quite some fun.
I took this picture during my first travel to Senegal in 2012. There were disorders on the streets during pre-election time, and they warned me not to take my camera on the journey. Still, I felt so much the urge to photograph anything surrounding me, so amazed by my first time in sub-saharan Africa! My boss kindly borrowed me his camera, that he was keeping in his bag all the time. It was too much for my basic skills, I had no clue about how to use it. Probably these kids thought they were spending their time with a funny confused innocuous person, and we had quite some fun.
about us
last night
about us
last night
little italy

little stories
from a beautiful broken country
little italy

little stories
from a beautiful broken country
from the forthcoming story /wish I were here/, a narrative vagabondage across the European cities where I’ve lived or that I’ve visited several times. A failed rational attempt to identify what I find in these cities that I cannot find in my country: the constant feeling to be at ease in the unknown, in whatever I know I cannot hold forever. The constant search to be somewhere else.
from the forthcoming story /wish I were here/, a narrative vagabondage across the European cities where I’ve lived or that I’ve visited several times. A failed rational attempt to identify what I find in these cities that I cannot find in my country: the constant feeling to be at ease in the unknown, in whatever I know I cannot hold forever. The constant search to be somewhere else.
madrugando en el campo | from *caribe, la otra cara*
madrugando en el campo | from *caribe, la otra cara*
“Al pasar cruzo un bosque de helechos mucho más alto que mi persona: se me dejan caer en la cara sesenta lágrimas desde sus verdes ojos fríos, y detrás de mí quedan por mucho tiempo temblando sus abanicos” | Pablo Neruda, Confieso que he vivido.
“Al pasar cruzo un bosque de helechos mucho más alto que mi persona: se me dejan caer en la cara sesenta lágrimas desde sus verdes ojos fríos, y detrás de mí quedan por mucho tiempo temblando sus abanicos” | Pablo Neruda, Confieso que he vivido.
The tree line. From the story *up to the roots*
The tree line. From the story *up to the roots*
The strength of nature is rooted in her acceptance of imperfection and mutability | Home details, learning from plants.
The strength of nature is rooted in her acceptance of imperfection and mutability | Home details, learning from plants.
Nature and her tricks.
Nature and her tricks.
Home became a refuge for beings that were, then were not any more, then were given a chance to become. Among them, there is me. Unclear at which stage tho'.
Home became a refuge for beings that were, then were not any more, then were given a chance to become. Among them, there is me. Unclear at which stage tho'.
I have a thing for elders, sweaters, wooden panels, and carrot cakes.
I have a thing for elders, sweaters, wooden panels, and carrot cakes.
summer on film | part 2 | the mountains
summer on film | part 2 | the mountains
Missing this little one and his playful smile, September 2018. From Worldview "Indonesia, living with the forest".
Missing this little one and his playful smile, September 2018. From Worldview "Indonesia, living with the forest".
¡reclaim your imagination!
¡reclaim your imagination!
Boys play along River Idro before He meets the Sea in Otranto. Shot on phone.
Boys play along River Idro before He meets the Sea in Otranto. Shot on phone.
The entire village was built with the stones his grandfather fished in the river. He spent entire afternoons after school stone-hunting with him.“The best ones are those one meter under water: they’re used to stay close to other stones and find their strength in collaboration. This is why our houses are so stout”. But the river was drying up summer after summer, and the stonehunter in the end could hunt only mammoth stones standing out alone. People started to slowly abandon the village, and live in houses that (they believed) didn’t need the river to exist. They forgot nature and pretended they could live without her, they forgot solidarity and pretended they lived better in locked antiseptic rooms. Those who are not afraid to remember say that during a stormy night the river was feeling alone after months of silence and decided to reach the village to see why nobody was visiting him any more. Houses were deserted and with sadness he decided to take back with him the stones that he lent to villagers. Countless years after it’s said that what is left of the riverbed is nothing but the ruins of the ancient village. Some even swear that that during the summer solstice at sunset you could see water slowly rising from the riverbed, and a young boy with a small net fishing stones.
The entire village was built with the stones his grandfather fished in the river. He spent entire afternoons after school stone-hunting with him.“The best ones are those one meter under water: they’re used to stay close to other stones and find their strength in collaboration. This is why our houses are so stout”. But the river was drying up summer after summer, and the stonehunter in the end could hunt only mammoth stones standing out alone. People started to slowly abandon the village, and live in houses that (they believed) didn’t need the river to exist. They forgot nature and pretended they could live without her, they forgot solidarity and pretended they lived better in locked antiseptic rooms. Those who are not afraid to remember say that during a stormy night the river was feeling alone after months of silence and decided to reach the village to see why nobody was visiting him any more. Houses were deserted and with sadness he decided to take back with him the stones that he lent to villagers. Countless years after it’s said that what is left of the riverbed is nothing but the ruins of the ancient village. Some even swear that that during the summer solstice at sunset you could see water slowly rising from the riverbed, and a young boy with a small net fishing stones.
“How do you tell a Butterfly from a Flower?” she asked. “Flowers don’t fly”, said the Butterflower.
“How do you tell a Butterfly from a Flower?” she asked. “Flowers don’t fly”, said the Butterflower.
sensorial travel archives, crunchy sand soaked with rotting fish.
sensorial travel archives, crunchy sand soaked with rotting fish.
her hands were strong, her eyes had spoken many words. she could comfortably look at the howling sea and feel at peace
her hands were strong, her eyes had spoken many words. she could comfortably look at the howling sea and feel at peace
Some days that I’m all about mountains and trees, some days I’m all about the sea. The truth lies in a house in between.
Some days that I’m all about mountains and trees, some days I’m all about the sea. The truth lies in a house in between.
Over the last years I’ve been discovering the Balkans with my partner, a compromise between my appetite for living anywhere far from myself, and the call to have less impactful travels. I’ve discovered landscapes that resonate with me. The scent of embers, rainy woods, thick flavors and turbulent rivers. That’s why I love travelling so much: you think you’re leaving, but you’re rather coming back.
Over the last years I’ve been discovering the Balkans with my partner, a compromise between my appetite for living anywhere far from myself, and the call to have less impactful travels. I’ve discovered landscapes that resonate with me. The scent of embers, rainy woods, thick flavors and turbulent rivers. That’s why I love travelling so much: you think you’re leaving, but you’re rather coming back.
My neighbours see their grandchildren for the first time after 80 days, only from the balcony. If I lived in a small village, I would probably be the one who knows everything, of everyone, every time. Not sure this is a compliment though…
My neighbours see their grandchildren for the first time after 80 days, only from the balcony. If I lived in a small village, I would probably be the one who knows everything, of everyone, every time. Not sure this is a compliment though…
When I wake up at 6.30 every day, birds are already partying hard. As I try to understand where I am and clumsily switch off the alarm on the night table, I wonder where that effervescence comes from. Do animals waste energies as we humans do? Ruminating, being obsessed, questioning, competing for the inessential. When did we lose touch with natural rhythms? And what for?
When I wake up at 6.30 every day, birds are already partying hard. As I try to understand where I am and clumsily switch off the alarm on the night table, I wonder where that effervescence comes from. Do animals waste energies as we humans do? Ruminating, being obsessed, questioning, competing for the inessential. When did we lose touch with natural rhythms? And what for?
For three days she lived in between two islands, and realized her lifelong dream. On the way back to the mainland, despite the freezing wind whipping her red hair across the face slightly warmed by the winter sun, she sat outside at the back of the ferry. She felt happy, and fragile.
For three days she lived in between two islands, and realized her lifelong dream. On the way back to the mainland, despite the freezing wind whipping her red hair across the face slightly warmed by the winter sun, she sat outside at the back of the ferry. She felt happy, and fragile.
…and so people spent so much time inside, that at last they learned to listen with their own eyes
…and so people spent so much time inside, that at last they learned to listen with their own eyes
There’s a family of frogs living on the other side of the field. They’ve been inviting me for long, but I’ve never accepted.
There’s a family of frogs living on the other side of the field. They’ve been inviting me for long, but I’ve never accepted.
Italy | lockdown day number : a lot | learning to read new signs | probably what strikes me most are the lights that I see from my balcony, I’ve never seen so many: orange is the living room, blue is the bulimic consumption of news, red the streetlight for no cars, white the lamp for people walking their dogs, pink is hugs.
Italy | lockdown day number : a lot | learning to read new signs | probably what strikes me most are the lights that I see from my balcony, I’ve never seen so many: orange is the living room, blue is the bulimic consumption of news, red the streetlight for no cars, white the lamp for people walking their dogs, pink is hugs.
for the first time in my life I’m dealing with the unexpected and uncomfortable feeling of not being allowed to move freely and visit my parents back home, due to restrictions in northern Italy. I find myself looking at birds more often than usual, and walking along the same river that from the mountains of western Italy - where it starts flowing - would take me closer to home on the eastern side where it meets the sea.
for the first time in my life I’m dealing with the unexpected and uncomfortable feeling of not being allowed to move freely and visit my parents back home, due to restrictions in northern Italy. I find myself looking at birds more often than usual, and walking along the same river that from the mountains of western Italy - where it starts flowing - would take me closer to home on the eastern side where it meets the sea.
one of my dreams is to live on the ground floor and have the world at my doorstep. like this man, wearing his slippers for the evening stroll close to his tiny house facing the lagoon.
one of my dreams is to live on the ground floor and have the world at my doorstep. like this man, wearing his slippers for the evening stroll close to his tiny house facing the lagoon.
details of a shadow
details of a shadow
(not so) still life. home.
(not so) still life. home.
works for the construction of a micro-hydroelectric dam. from *caribe, la otra cara*
works for the construction of a micro-hydroelectric dam. from *caribe, la otra cara*
Existe la creencia de que los arboles respiran el aliento de las personas que habitan las ciudades enterradas, y por eso, costumbre legendaria y familiar, a su sombra se aconsejan los que tienen que resolver casos de conciencias.
Existe la creencia de que los arboles respiran el aliento de las personas que habitan las ciudades enterradas, y por eso, costumbre legendaria y familiar, a su sombra se aconsejan los que tienen que resolver casos de conciencias.
Una ilustre dama se inclina ante el esposo, más temido que amado. Su sonrisa entristece al Gran Capitan, quien, sin pérdida de tiempo, le da un beso en los labios y parte para las Islas de la Especiera. En las orillas del lago se perdían, temblando entre la arboleda, la habladera y las luces de los enamorados y los vendedores de pájaros

from *guatemala, el olor de las imágenes*
Una ilustre dama se inclina ante el esposo, más temido que amado. Su sonrisa entristece al Gran Capitan, quien, sin pérdida de tiempo, le da un beso en los labios y parte para las Islas de la Especiera. En las orillas del lago se perdían, temblando entre la arboleda, la habladera y las luces de los enamorados y los vendedores de pájaros

from *guatemala, el olor de las imágenes*
Any time I spot the mountains from Venice, I draw an emotional line connecting the two sides of my roots. Venice herself, in the end, could not exist without those forests.
Any time I spot the mountains from Venice, I draw an emotional line connecting the two sides of my roots. Venice herself, in the end, could not exist without those forests.
damp august afternoon, swiss farm.
damp august afternoon, swiss farm.
home {a short story about feeling whole}

every tiny place, she called home. in summer, she used to pitch a tent in her grandma’s garden and spend days and nights there. when grass was dry and rough and scratched her bare feet. when cicadas sang so loud that she couldn’t do anything but sleeping deeply, until the first breeze caressed the tent under the big pine tree. every tiny place where she could guard her fantasies and books and stories - she called home.

from *tiny stories*
home {a short story about feeling whole}

every tiny place, she called home. in summer, she used to pitch a tent in her grandma’s garden and spend days and nights there. when grass was dry and rough and scratched her bare feet. when cicadas sang so loud that she couldn’t do anything but sleeping deeply, until the first breeze caressed the tent under the big pine tree. every tiny place where she could guard her fantasies and books and stories - she called home.

from *tiny stories*
from *up to the roots*

the very first pictures that I took when I was back home for Christmas while I was living in The Netherlands, where I fell in love with photography. That winter was the first time that I looked at my hometown and my roots through the lens of a camera
from *up to the roots*

the very first pictures that I took when I was back home for Christmas while I was living in The Netherlands, where I fell in love with photography. That winter was the first time that I looked at my hometown and my roots through the lens of a camera
"tú qué crees? Que es necesario salir de la isla para ver la isla, que no nos vemos si no nos salimos de nosotros. Si no salimos de nosotros mismos, quieres decir. No, no es igual"

That Summer I spent few days in a mediterranean island 3 km long. I’ve always thought tiny islands are my place to be: they ask you to be essential, sober and content. To measure your steps and your use of resources. To confront yourself with the immense wonder you’re part of. You breathe salt and your clothes are as rough as dry grass. Your hair is crumpled like the old press cuttings left in some abandoned yard by people who moved to the mainland. The washing line is dust. It is freedom, and boundary

from the story *freedom::the island*
"tú qué crees? Que es necesario salir de la isla para ver la isla, que no nos vemos si no nos salimos de nosotros. Si no salimos de nosotros mismos, quieres decir. No, no es igual"

That Summer I spent few days in a mediterranean island 3 km long. I’ve always thought tiny islands are my place to be: they ask you to be essential, sober and content. To measure your steps and your use of resources. To confront yourself with the immense wonder you’re part of. You breathe salt and your clothes are as rough as dry grass. Your hair is crumpled like the old press cuttings left in some abandoned yard by people who moved to the mainland. The washing line is dust. It is freedom, and boundary

from the story *freedom::the island*
memories of the last days in Torrecuso, southern Italy, with friends from Albania, Kosovo, Jordan, Palestine, Spain, Scotland and Moldova, learning from what visionary and crazy friends in Italy are doing to recover abandoned lands, nurture communities and urban gardens, welcome migrants and refugees, integrate disadvantaged people and bring young energies back to marginalized territories. I’ve met the most generous, energetic and committed people ever.
memories of the last days in Torrecuso, southern Italy, with friends from Albania, Kosovo, Jordan, Palestine, Spain, Scotland and Moldova, learning from what visionary and crazy friends in Italy are doing to recover abandoned lands, nurture communities and urban gardens, welcome migrants and refugees, integrate disadvantaged people and bring young energies back to marginalized territories. I’ve met the most generous, energetic and committed people ever.
afternoon in the beloved park in which I used to recharge my soul. caffarella, rome.
afternoon in the beloved park in which I used to recharge my soul. caffarella, rome.
The Convento de San Pedro Claver is named after the Jesuit priest known as “the Slave of the Slaves” when Cartagena was a slave-trading hub. I spent there one day during a workshop on land rights, breathing mixed feelings of important historical legacies and personal memories of school with nuns. More than by its history, I was however fascinated by the beautiful forested yard. Tall tropical trees were constantly caressed by a warm breeze coming from the nearby sea, and lights and shadows tirelessly chased each other along the severe arcades.
The Convento de San Pedro Claver is named after the Jesuit priest known as “the Slave of the Slaves” when Cartagena was a slave-trading hub. I spent there one day during a workshop on land rights, breathing mixed feelings of important historical legacies and personal memories of school with nuns. More than by its history, I was however fascinated by the beautiful forested yard. Tall tropical trees were constantly caressed by a warm breeze coming from the nearby sea, and lights and shadows tirelessly chased each other along the severe arcades.
Cartagena de Indias, hot and muggy. Especially in the Casco Antiguo and Getsemani, surrounded by 4 km of bulky walls built in the XVII century when the coastal city was considered the largest port of the Americas. At sunset people rest along the walls to enjoy some breeze and meet friends. During August in particular, children and grown ups gather every day to fly kites shaped like green dragons, violet butterflies, blue birds, and yellow bats - unwitting characters of fantastic novels.
Cartagena de Indias, hot and muggy. Especially in the Casco Antiguo and Getsemani, surrounded by 4 km of bulky walls built in the XVII century when the coastal city was considered the largest port of the Americas. At sunset people rest along the walls to enjoy some breeze and meet friends. During August in particular, children and grown ups gather every day to fly kites shaped like green dragons, violet butterflies, blue birds, and yellow bats - unwitting characters of fantastic novels.
Her eyes 
were the colour of wet bark after heavy rains. 
His eyes, instead. 
They could be the colour of deep seas 
or linden leaves, 
whether he was looking inward 
or outward.
Her eyes
were the colour of wet bark after heavy rains.
His eyes, instead.
They could be the colour of deep seas
or linden leaves,
whether he was looking inward
or outward.
the national park hosts a research centre and several students undertake research on local fauna, flora and ecosystem services. Scientific observations, however, are often disturbed by the army, who uses the same deep forest as military training ground.

from *Indonesia, living with the forest*
the national park hosts a research centre and several students undertake research on local fauna, flora and ecosystem services. Scientific observations, however, are often disturbed by the army, who uses the same deep forest as military training ground.

from *Indonesia, living with the forest*
many community members still work in private tea plantations created centuries ago under the Dutch colonisation. Despite the idyllic landscape they seemingly shape, conditions and remunerations are far from romantic. A 30 Kg bag I barely managed to lift is worth 50 cents. Still, sadly, a valuable source of income for historically neglected rural economies.

from *Indonesia, living with the forest*
many community members still work in private tea plantations created centuries ago under the Dutch colonisation. Despite the idyllic landscape they seemingly shape, conditions and remunerations are far from romantic. A 30 Kg bag I barely managed to lift is worth 50 cents. Still, sadly, a valuable source of income for historically neglected rural economies.

from *Indonesia, living with the forest*
I’ll show you the scent of flowers under water, 
she said.
I’ll show you the scent of flowers under water,
she said.
from *bosnian tales* | short stories of spells, women, healing and regeneration
from *bosnian tales* | short stories of spells, women, healing and regeneration

Daily thought {a short story, from my roots} 
And too late i realized i had never taken a picture of you.
Fine art print, rust dust over soft grass.

- from *tiny stories*
Daily thought {a short story, from my roots}
And too late i realized i had never taken a picture of you.
Fine art print, rust dust over soft grass.

- from *tiny stories*
from the story *noor'd::northern lights* a personal portrait of the country where I fell in love with photography

back in 2007 I was living in The Netherlands, studying Rural Livelihoods at the International Institute of Social Studies and debating with fellows from all over the world how to fight hunger and injustice. It was during my endless solitary walks through the quiet, empty, windy and chilly *straat* of Den Haag that I unexpectedly came in touch with another side of my inner story that I had always ignored or kept silent or couldn’t find the means to express. This is how I fell in love with photography, and started challenging the choices I had made up to that moment. I wasn’t strong enough to leave the idea I had created about the person I should become, though. Years later - after pursuing a career walking through the known path I had chosen - I still find myself striving to tell the story I first heard back then
from the story *noor'd::northern lights* a personal portrait of the country where I fell in love with photography

back in 2007 I was living in The Netherlands, studying Rural Livelihoods at the International Institute of Social Studies and debating with fellows from all over the world how to fight hunger and injustice. It was during my endless solitary walks through the quiet, empty, windy and chilly *straat* of Den Haag that I unexpectedly came in touch with another side of my inner story that I had always ignored or kept silent or couldn’t find the means to express. This is how I fell in love with photography, and started challenging the choices I had made up to that moment. I wasn’t strong enough to leave the idea I had created about the person I should become, though. Years later - after pursuing a career walking through the known path I had chosen - I still find myself striving to tell the story I first heard back then
The richest lady on earth, the one who smiles
From *noor'd : northern lights*
The richest lady on earth, the one who smiles
From *noor'd : northern lights*
Berlin, May 2012 | A heavy shower surprised me on that spring afternoon, and I found shelter at the entrance of a building. I was waiting for the rain to vanish when a woman ran under the same roof, swiftly followed by a man. I thought they were together, her scarf matching his suit so well. But it was their first encounter. At least, this is what his shy moves told me as he invited her for a cigarette.
Berlin, May 2012 | A heavy shower surprised me on that spring afternoon, and I found shelter at the entrance of a building. I was waiting for the rain to vanish when a woman ran under the same roof, swiftly followed by a man. I thought they were together, her scarf matching his suit so well. But it was their first encounter. At least, this is what his shy moves told me as he invited her for a cigarette.
from the ongoing project *how do birds sleep* on the inherent search of connection with Nature in our urban lives and her generous soothing presence. all images were taken in urban environments, at the intersection between our attempt to control and own Nature, and her unconditional spirit.
from the ongoing project *how do birds sleep* on the inherent search of connection with Nature in our urban lives and her generous soothing presence. all images were taken in urban environments, at the intersection between our attempt to control and own Nature, and her unconditional spirit.
Y el olor acompañaba a las imágenes. El cielo olía a cielo, el niño a niño, el campo a campo, el carro a heno, el caballo a rosal viejo, el hombre a santo, las pilas a sombras, las sombras a reposo dominical y el reposo del Señor a ropa limpia.
Y el olor acompañaba a las imágenes. El cielo olía a cielo, el niño a niño, el campo a campo, el carro a heno, el caballo a rosal viejo, el hombre a santo, las pilas a sombras, las sombras a reposo dominical y el reposo del Señor a ropa limpia.
ballarò, palermo
ballarò, palermo
i carruggi di Genova
i carruggi di Genova
night view from one of the many hotels in which I've slept in Berlin
night view from one of the many hotels in which I've slept in Berlin
memories of life in London, my Saturday stroll in broadway market (2009-2010)
memories of life in London, my Saturday stroll in broadway market (2009-2010)
Photo trouvée in my archives. Venice, Summer 2008.
Photo trouvée in my archives. Venice, Summer 2008.
Once upon a time, before comfortable clothes to #stayathome became a daily habit, I used to wear every day items from my travels covering as many countries as possible at once: scarves, anklets, skirts, earrings…I felt like carrying with me pieces of my identities that I had renewed and reshaped in all those experiences. Home is like this too, I’ll nest here a bit before taking off again.
Once upon a time, before comfortable clothes to #stayathome became a daily habit, I used to wear every day items from my travels covering as many countries as possible at once: scarves, anklets, skirts, earrings…I felt like carrying with me pieces of my identities that I had renewed and reshaped in all those experiences. Home is like this too, I’ll nest here a bit before taking off again.
Hide and seek in the woods, collage.
Hide and seek in the woods, collage.
And then came autumn, and meanings were reversed, wild fruits became the sun, the earth illuminated the sky, and warm winds blew under the roots | From *Tiny Stories*
And then came autumn, and meanings were reversed, wild fruits became the sun, the earth illuminated the sky, and warm winds blew under the roots | From *Tiny Stories*
where do dreams go when they're over?
where do dreams go when they're over?
photo trouvée in mind, playing with film
photo trouvée in mind, playing with film
A monochrome wardrobe is one of my dreams, but it requires a great deal of clarity and direction. My wardrobe is a rainbow.
A monochrome wardrobe is one of my dreams, but it requires a great deal of clarity and direction. My wardrobe is a rainbow.
walk |wɔːk| a short study on abundance and wholeness - by phone.
walk |wɔːk| a short study on abundance and wholeness - by phone.
Last winter, before we even knew the meaning of the word lockdown, I had started to document home - anticipating what would become a visual trend in the following months. I wanted to build a small archive of the objects I bring with me through all my moves, making me feel at home anywhere, despite (or thanks to?) the compulsive need to change my place every couple of years. They’re mostly seeds, nuts, baskets and bowls I pick up on the street or buy in second-hand shops, or fabrics from my travels. Then we learned that new word, everyone was looking inside, and I gave up. As I always do when I let ideas float like untied balloons.
Last winter, before we even knew the meaning of the word lockdown, I had started to document home - anticipating what would become a visual trend in the following months. I wanted to build a small archive of the objects I bring with me through all my moves, making me feel at home anywhere, despite (or thanks to?) the compulsive need to change my place every couple of years. They’re mostly seeds, nuts, baskets and bowls I pick up on the street or buy in second-hand shops, or fabrics from my travels. Then we learned that new word, everyone was looking inside, and I gave up. As I always do when I let ideas float like untied balloons.
“The undergrowth is populated by silent creatures. You don’t know if they’re coming or leaving. You don’t know if they’re staying or going. You don’t know if they’re right or wrong. The undergrowth is one of the few places where “I know” is less important than “I feel”. Yet, everything makes sense” ↟↟↟ Excerpt from ‘Undergrowth: quick adventures for distracted citizens’
“The undergrowth is populated by silent creatures. You don’t know if they’re coming or leaving. You don’t know if they’re staying or going. You don’t know if they’re right or wrong. The undergrowth is one of the few places where “I know” is less important than “I feel”. Yet, everything makes sense” ↟↟↟ Excerpt from ‘Undergrowth: quick adventures for distracted citizens’
When I got my first digital camera in my hands I was living in The Netherlands. I remember wander round The Hague looking obsessively for statues: my treasured, patient and composed models to understand the basics of photography. As I move my first steps into film photography, nature became my first model. Unlike human artifacts, she doesn’t long for perfection. She’s the way she is. What I’d love to learn with film photography. One day.
When I got my first digital camera in my hands I was living in The Netherlands. I remember wander round The Hague looking obsessively for statues: my treasured, patient and composed models to understand the basics of photography. As I move my first steps into film photography, nature became my first model. Unlike human artifacts, she doesn’t long for perfection. She’s the way she is. What I’d love to learn with film photography. One day.
During quiet summer evenings, it was easier for her to read the spots on the moon than to focus on a book.
During quiet summer evenings, it was easier for her to read the spots on the moon than to focus on a book.
Whenever I travel, I bring back local fairytales and medicinal plants. My cupboard is filled with jars, half full, or with just few brownish dry leaves left asking me for mercy. I’m so attached to them and the memories they bring, that I don’t care if I look like an old witch hoarding yellowed jars of embalmed frogs’ legs. Medicinal plants, the small markets where they’re sold and conversations with the people who offer them, tell much more about a place than any other item.
Whenever I travel, I bring back local fairytales and medicinal plants. My cupboard is filled with jars, half full, or with just few brownish dry leaves left asking me for mercy. I’m so attached to them and the memories they bring, that I don’t care if I look like an old witch hoarding yellowed jars of embalmed frogs’ legs. Medicinal plants, the small markets where they’re sold and conversations with the people who offer them, tell much more about a place than any other item.
Love in the time of Mistral.
Love in the time of Mistral.
Few years after she left, she suddenly remembered her hugs. They were blue, like the cotton dress she used to wear to work in the garden. Never too warm, but immense for sure.
Few years after she left, she suddenly remembered her hugs. They were blue, like the cotton dress she used to wear to work in the garden. Never too warm, but immense for sure.
a rare and old self portrait with the sea.
a rare and old self portrait with the sea.
After a dry winter, it’s been raining endlessly. We’ve pretended to be living in a tropical forest, set-up a bamboo washing line and helped our plants bear the weight of heavy drops.
After a dry winter, it’s been raining endlessly. We’ve pretended to be living in a tropical forest, set-up a bamboo washing line and helped our plants bear the weight of heavy drops.
it looked like the moon was releasing herself from the grip of the vegetation. she had always been free, but she didn’t know
it looked like the moon was releasing herself from the grip of the vegetation. she had always been free, but she didn’t know
Me and Grandma sat in the garden during mild summer evenings after washing dishes, doing nothing. The twisting profile of the mountains was the only shape we could discern in the darkness. The only sound, a hedgehog hunting snails in between pinkish hortensias. Many years later, living a surreal moment in a city alien to me, I surprisingly find myself sitting in the balcony every evening. Doing what I never thought my adult, frantic and self-absorbed mind would allow me to do: superbly nothing.
Me and Grandma sat in the garden during mild summer evenings after washing dishes, doing nothing. The twisting profile of the mountains was the only shape we could discern in the darkness. The only sound, a hedgehog hunting snails in between pinkish hortensias. Many years later, living a surreal moment in a city alien to me, I surprisingly find myself sitting in the balcony every evening. Doing what I never thought my adult, frantic and self-absorbed mind would allow me to do: superbly nothing.
“On est mieux chez soi, au fond de la mer c’est encore plus beau”. From 'La Petite Sirène', second-hand book found in Marseille. Photo taken at Les Almadies, Senegal.
“On est mieux chez soi, au fond de la mer c’est encore plus beau”. From 'La Petite Sirène', second-hand book found in Marseille. Photo taken at Les Almadies, Senegal.
home | həʊm | verb | 1: (of an animal) return by instinct to its territory after leaving it | 2: move or be aimed towards a target destination with great accuracy | example: after the lockdown, I will home my soul in nature.
home | həʊm | verb | 1: (of an animal) return by instinct to its territory after leaving it | 2: move or be aimed towards a target destination with great accuracy | example: after the lockdown, I will home my soul in nature.
“I took a walk in the woods and came out taller than the trees” - Today is the International Day of Forests. There’s growing evidence that the disruption of pristine forests driven by logging, mining, road building, rapid urbanisation and population growth are amplifying the risk for humans to be exposed to infectious diseases. Forests are the eldest beings on Earth, and home to over 80% of terrestrial biodiversity and ecosystem services. Let’s cherish the wealth, health and balance they bring to our fragile human lives.
“I took a walk in the woods and came out taller than the trees” - Today is the International Day of Forests. There’s growing evidence that the disruption of pristine forests driven by logging, mining, road building, rapid urbanisation and population growth are amplifying the risk for humans to be exposed to infectious diseases. Forests are the eldest beings on Earth, and home to over 80% of terrestrial biodiversity and ecosystem services. Let’s cherish the wealth, health and balance they bring to our fragile human lives.
Every late afternoon my neighbour in Rome used to wear her best dress, pearl necklace and earrings that made her deep blue eyes shine even more. She sat on her rusty but elegant chair, waiting for the lady living on the other side of the street to come for a chat in the yard. She reminded me of my grandma waiting for her friends in the village to appear at the red gate that enclosed her long and narrow yard: Elda used to bring tomatoes from her farm, Pina always looked for a Crodino. We welcomed them in the veranda and chatted until mosquitos started to bite insistently: the time to go back inside and start preparing dinner.
Every late afternoon my neighbour in Rome used to wear her best dress, pearl necklace and earrings that made her deep blue eyes shine even more. She sat on her rusty but elegant chair, waiting for the lady living on the other side of the street to come for a chat in the yard. She reminded me of my grandma waiting for her friends in the village to appear at the red gate that enclosed her long and narrow yard: Elda used to bring tomatoes from her farm, Pina always looked for a Crodino. We welcomed them in the veranda and chatted until mosquitos started to bite insistently: the time to go back inside and start preparing dinner.
Dad-Climbing, do you remember? What about rummaging through mom’s vast bag looking for candies, releasing that distinctive smell of leather mixed with mint? Both came with the feeling of having privileged access to something comfortably immense, an ocean to sail safely.
Dad-Climbing, do you remember? What about rummaging through mom’s vast bag looking for candies, releasing that distinctive smell of leather mixed with mint? Both came with the feeling of having privileged access to something comfortably immense, an ocean to sail safely.
as I leaf through my archive, I discover pictures originally discarded because not ‘good enough’. but when is a picture ‘good enough’, and for whom? for ig algorithm (on which I miserably fail)? for consistency with a self-image we’ve crafted? I’m learning to reboot my concept of ‘good enough’, and welcoming images that take me back to the moment that I found them, the smell of the place, the texture of the sky, the sound of my steps reaching them.
as I leaf through my archive, I discover pictures originally discarded because not ‘good enough’. but when is a picture ‘good enough’, and for whom? for ig algorithm (on which I miserably fail)? for consistency with a self-image we’ve crafted? I’m learning to reboot my concept of ‘good enough’, and welcoming images that take me back to the moment that I found them, the smell of the place, the texture of the sky, the sound of my steps reaching them.
man with red balloon, berlin.
quite some years ago.
man with red balloon, berlin.
quite some years ago.
lush forest. indonesia.
lush forest. indonesia.
ember-roasted aubergines in an agro-ecological farm. dominican republic.
ember-roasted aubergines in an agro-ecological farm. dominican republic.
Afternoon along the Miljacka river | When I travel I prefer to rely on public transportation and spend more time in typical “one day is enough” places, according to tourist guides. This is beautifully when the real journey begins.
Afternoon along the Miljacka river | When I travel I prefer to rely on public transportation and spend more time in typical “one day is enough” places, according to tourist guides. This is beautifully when the real journey begins.
I was a child the last time that I took a ‘vaporetto’ in Venice. It was an adventure, more than a need. My grandparents’ house in Rialto could be easily reached by walk from the train station, and the sound of heels stepping on the damp and deserted streets of Venice at night is still one of my fondest memories. Recently I took the ‘vaporetto’ again to travel across the islands of the lagoon: my attention got caught by a young boy fascinated by the chaotic water traffic outside the window and ready to embark on his own adventure.
I was a child the last time that I took a ‘vaporetto’ in Venice. It was an adventure, more than a need. My grandparents’ house in Rialto could be easily reached by walk from the train station, and the sound of heels stepping on the damp and deserted streets of Venice at night is still one of my fondest memories. Recently I took the ‘vaporetto’ again to travel across the islands of the lagoon: my attention got caught by a young boy fascinated by the chaotic water traffic outside the window and ready to embark on his own adventure.
El lago se cubrió de luces. Iban y venían las barcas de los comerciantes. Barcas de vendedores de frutas, de vestidos y calzas, de jadeitas, esmeraldas, perlas, polvo de oro, calamos de pluma llenos de aguas aromáticas, brazaletes de cana blancas. Barcas de vendedores de miel, chile verde y en polvo, sal y copales preciosos.
El lago se cubrió de luces. Iban y venían las barcas de los comerciantes. Barcas de vendedores de frutas, de vestidos y calzas, de jadeitas, esmeraldas, perlas, polvo de oro, calamos de pluma llenos de aguas aromáticas, brazaletes de cana blancas. Barcas de vendedores de miel, chile verde y en polvo, sal y copales preciosos.
trustformation {a short story of control}

she felt like a bird swimming in the river. she didn’t learn how to dive, and trust. but water taught her how to wander and transform and detach. isn’t this diving too? she asked. yes, but only if you don’t wonder why you wander - water said

from *tiny stories*
trustformation {a short story of control}

she felt like a bird swimming in the river. she didn’t learn how to dive, and trust. but water taught her how to wander and transform and detach. isn’t this diving too? she asked. yes, but only if you don’t wonder why you wander - water said

from *tiny stories*
memories from Indonesia : these two beauties were playing under the shadow of a hut in a tea plantation, while their mom was taking a rest from work.
memories from Indonesia : these two beauties were playing under the shadow of a hut in a tea plantation, while their mom was taking a rest from work.
Sunset at home on a sunday afternoon. Home # 15 : over time, I’ve learned how to choose spaces according to the dance of the sun
Sunset at home on a sunday afternoon. Home # 15 : over time, I’ve learned how to choose spaces according to the dance of the sun
My family has a house in the mountains. I used to go there every year, until I was 16 and a travel bug bit me and the world became my home. Those mountains were not exotic enough, what could they teach me after all? 
Only recently I realized that in all my wanderings in the tropics I was looking for tangible traces of those memories. The scent of barks breathing in the sun after heavy showers. The sound of the river I could hear from the wooden balcony as a constant teeming rain. The majestic image of the peaks emerging from the forest mist early in the morning as we prepared cheese sandwiches for our walk. The ritual of cleaning my face with dewdrops in the woods. The feeling of inhaling clouds.

How much of those mountains is in me? How much can we feel at home wherever nature is?
My family has a house in the mountains. I used to go there every year, until I was 16 and a travel bug bit me and the world became my home. Those mountains were not exotic enough, what could they teach me after all?
Only recently I realized that in all my wanderings in the tropics I was looking for tangible traces of those memories. The scent of barks breathing in the sun after heavy showers. The sound of the river I could hear from the wooden balcony as a constant teeming rain. The majestic image of the peaks emerging from the forest mist early in the morning as we prepared cheese sandwiches for our walk. The ritual of cleaning my face with dewdrops in the woods. The feeling of inhaling clouds.

How much of those mountains is in me? How much can we feel at home wherever nature is?
l'isola era una tazza scura,
e profumava a mare
l'isola era una tazza scura,
e profumava a mare
Bajijo, proud waiter at the witches' restaurant. I could hear his heavy footsteps on the rotten logs of the house built on the muddy waters of the Miljacka, hurrying towards me. What a hurry there was, I don't know : in my seven days there I was always the only client. The restaurant had already sunk many times, but it resurfaced clinging to the large cut-off trunk that supported it. Big, damp, wooden fishes were swimming in a large waterless bowl in the middle of the room - "they are for street cats, they love them", he used to repeat excitedly every day as he introduced me always the same menu

from *bosnian tales*
Bajijo, proud waiter at the witches' restaurant. I could hear his heavy footsteps on the rotten logs of the house built on the muddy waters of the Miljacka, hurrying towards me. What a hurry there was, I don't know : in my seven days there I was always the only client. The restaurant had already sunk many times, but it resurfaced clinging to the large cut-off trunk that supported it. Big, damp, wooden fishes were swimming in a large waterless bowl in the middle of the room - "they are for street cats, they love them", he used to repeat excitedly every day as he introduced me always the same menu

from *bosnian tales*
travelling over time across Italy just relying on unreliable public transportation made me discover genuine and simple corners, and meet lovely helpful people (like when we were about to cross the forest at sunset but heard wolves howling, and we ran back to the tiny village to find some sympathetic soul giving us a ride home…)
travelling over time across Italy just relying on unreliable public transportation made me discover genuine and simple corners, and meet lovely helpful people (like when we were about to cross the forest at sunset but heard wolves howling, and we ran back to the tiny village to find some sympathetic soul giving us a ride home…)
winter birds were running 
in hectic circles
around their king
winter birds were running
in hectic circles
around their king
of summer flirts, starry nights and freehand.
of summer flirts, starry nights and freehand.
Dunia. Cartagena, Colombia.
Dunia. Cartagena, Colombia.
bleeding tree | from *Indonesia::living with the forest*
bleeding tree | from *Indonesia::living with the forest*
timeless note about my love for the sea off season
timeless note about my love for the sea off season
Let’s play we live in the countryside. 
Few days in the Gloucestershire. 
The human need to control nature. 
Her gentle rebellion. 
My love for peeking through windows.
Let’s play we live in the countryside.
Few days in the Gloucestershire.
The human need to control nature.
Her gentle rebellion.
My love for peeking through windows.
She used to hang the washing out in the early morning, every day a different colour. A habit she took after her husband died, a way to keep herself busy in that house standing out isolated up on the hill. After that you could see her wearing the black worn clogs leaning on the doorstep, walking down to the river and peering at the waters. “The river eats the mountains up there, it’s all iron - our wealth and our curse” she told me one day that I found her as I walked the dog in the woods “If waters are brownish and murky, it’s raining in the mountains, it will be here soon! I have to run back home and take the washing inside!”. That day waters looked vivid though “Clouds are sleeping in the mountain’s caves, I can rest a bit here with you”. This is how she introduced me the most incredible stories I’ve ever heard about a river.

from *bosnian tales*
She used to hang the washing out in the early morning, every day a different colour. A habit she took after her husband died, a way to keep herself busy in that house standing out isolated up on the hill. After that you could see her wearing the black worn clogs leaning on the doorstep, walking down to the river and peering at the waters. “The river eats the mountains up there, it’s all iron - our wealth and our curse” she told me one day that I found her as I walked the dog in the woods “If waters are brownish and murky, it’s raining in the mountains, it will be here soon! I have to run back home and take the washing inside!”. That day waters looked vivid though “Clouds are sleeping in the mountain’s caves, I can rest a bit here with you”. This is how she introduced me the most incredible stories I’ve ever heard about a river.

from *bosnian tales*

from *freedom, the island*

from *freedom, the island*
It is spring again. 
The earth is like a child 
that knows poems by heart. 

― Rainer Maria Rilke
It is spring again.
The earth is like a child
that knows poems by heart.

― Rainer Maria Rilke
about our fading memories {a short story, about my neighbour} 

During the good season, my neighbour used to take her chair outside and wait for the lady living on the other side of the street greeting her from the window and have a chat. she was always so graceful, ready to welcome the best unexpected guests in her modest home.

fine art print, blue clouds over silver dust.
about our fading memories {a short story, about my neighbour}

During the good season, my neighbour used to take her chair outside and wait for the lady living on the other side of the street greeting her from the window and have a chat. she was always so graceful, ready to welcome the best unexpected guests in her modest home.

fine art print, blue clouds over silver dust.
Cambodia, March 2012 | Cambodia, the journey with the deepest impact on my professional life. The one that made me question, more than others, my role and my work. Years after, I still carry double feelings.
.
Hundreds of kilometers that day, still jet-lagged with my hurting head banging against the body of an old jeep on a dry bumpy road waiting for the monsoon to fill its holes. In the morning we had already met some urban communities displaced by futuristic infrastructure projects. It took me and my painful head a while to understand that the desolated lands we were crossing were luxuriant forests just few years before. Now, hectares and hectares of flat land dotted with tiny oil palm trees.
.
The community welcomed us under the shadow of a wooden hut, temperatures reached 40 plus degrees that day and kids were coming back from school. A land rights activist was showing us photographs documenting the resistance of the community against investors grabbing their land for a sugar-cane plantation (biofuel for european cars), when two siblings joined us curious to hear the stories behind those animated images
Cambodia, March 2012 | Cambodia, the journey with the deepest impact on my professional life. The one that made me question, more than others, my role and my work. Years after, I still carry double feelings.
.
Hundreds of kilometers that day, still jet-lagged with my hurting head banging against the body of an old jeep on a dry bumpy road waiting for the monsoon to fill its holes. In the morning we had already met some urban communities displaced by futuristic infrastructure projects. It took me and my painful head a while to understand that the desolated lands we were crossing were luxuriant forests just few years before. Now, hectares and hectares of flat land dotted with tiny oil palm trees.
.
The community welcomed us under the shadow of a wooden hut, temperatures reached 40 plus degrees that day and kids were coming back from school. A land rights activist was showing us photographs documenting the resistance of the community against investors grabbing their land for a sugar-cane plantation (biofuel for european cars), when two siblings joined us curious to hear the stories behind those animated images
Venice, February 2009 | Every time I go back home, mom and I have the habit to take a long walk in Venice through the less touristic paths. Light was already fading away on that afternoon, and I had put my camera back in the bag - relieving mom from the pain of waiting for me taking pictures at every single step
.
Until my attention was caught by a distinguished old man slightly limping in his right leg, but still determined as he crossed bridges [in Venice you don’t have much choice in the end]. I followed him for a while until he took a rest in a small square, where quite a cinematic image suddenly took shape in front of me as a girl chose the same place to roll her late afternoon cigarette
Venice, February 2009 | Every time I go back home, mom and I have the habit to take a long walk in Venice through the less touristic paths. Light was already fading away on that afternoon, and I had put my camera back in the bag - relieving mom from the pain of waiting for me taking pictures at every single step
.
Until my attention was caught by a distinguished old man slightly limping in his right leg, but still determined as he crossed bridges [in Venice you don’t have much choice in the end]. I followed him for a while until he took a rest in a small square, where quite a cinematic image suddenly took shape in front of me as a girl chose the same place to roll her late afternoon cigarette
Una ilustre dama se inclina ante el esposo, más temido que amado. Su sonrisa entristece al Gran Capitan, quien, sin pérdida de tiempo, le da un beso en los labios y parte para las Islas de la Especiera. En las orillas del lago se perdían, temblando entre la arboleda, la habladera y las luces de los enamorados y los vendedores de pájaros.
Una ilustre dama se inclina ante el esposo, más temido que amado. Su sonrisa entristece al Gran Capitan, quien, sin pérdida de tiempo, le da un beso en los labios y parte para las Islas de la Especiera. En las orillas del lago se perdían, temblando entre la arboleda, la habladera y las luces de los enamorados y los vendedores de pájaros.
disheartened by the growing success of parties who build their strength on the construction of the fear of “the other” and the protection of a supposed “national” identity, I felt the urge to dig into my archives and create a story of WorldViews - collating images coming from some of the travels I do as part of my work in the field of land rights and rural livelihoods. This story wants to be a call to explore, pay attention, listen, question, engage, and [try to] understand.
disheartened by the growing success of parties who build their strength on the construction of the fear of “the other” and the protection of a supposed “national” identity, I felt the urge to dig into my archives and create a story of WorldViews - collating images coming from some of the travels I do as part of my work in the field of land rights and rural livelihoods. This story wants to be a call to explore, pay attention, listen, question, engage, and [try to] understand.
let’s play we’re waves
let’s play we’re birds
let’s play we’re free


les almadies, sénégal
let’s play we’re waves
let’s play we’re birds
let’s play we’re free


les almadies, sénégal

286 images | slideshow

Link
https://www.silviaforno.com/-r10829

Share link on
CLOSE
loading