"[Wabi-sabi] nurtures all that is authentic by acknowledging three simple realities: nothing lasts, nothing is finished, and nothing is perfect." A way of living that focuses on finding beauty within the imperfections of life and accepting peacefully the natural cycle of growth and decay.
Visualizzazione dei post da Agosto, 2021
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In these days a story came to my mind, indeed a period. A fragment of it is the one in which my parents, who worked desperately from dawn to late evening, often left me with a lady who is in a small house next door. I was back from school and I was there, until they came to pick me up ... those were the years when you searched inspirations ... I remember that the daughter used to watch music shows and I was crazy about Spandau Ballet, Pink Floyd, Tears for Fears and Duran Duran; the first outings were to the village music shop, to buy tapes… music has always been an important part of my life. In that house there were stray cats that narrate ... once the cat gave birth in the basement while we were watching everything. This too is engraved in my mind. I remember my friends playing volleyball in the courtyard where I lived, and I watched them through the roller shutter… or from behind the curtain. Sometimes the family asked me why I didn't join them, but I replied that I didn't
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Back at the beginning, when I was in my twenties and I had a regular job while I was starting to get into photography, I was hardly interacting with other photographers. Internet was at the very beginning and even if I tried to join some local photographers association I mostly did it totally alone. It was hard to combine my working hours with the association opening hours, so I ended up forgetting about it and keep doing all day solitary walks around my city, Milan. Occasional conversation with people I was starting to write with on the first websites that were starting to appear as an exception in this lonely act. I used to park my car somewhere near Loreto and walk alone in different roads, getting lost and end up on the Navigli Area, or Central Station...the place had few or no importance. Getting lost was, being alone, seeing through my viewfinder and trying to understand something more about me and about what was happening. 15 Years lapsed in this way and so many things happened