My preference in taking pictures is black and white.
When I am in front of a photogram and I have to choose between color or black and white, in most cases I opt for black and white, in fact at the time of shooting I usually “see” the photo to be taken already so, also because of my long association with analog photography.
Black and white seems to me at the same time more synthetic and more ambiguously realistic, it reduces everything to different shades of gray and does not distract from the grammar of the image; it descends from a centuries-old cultural tradition of rendering the image in monochromatic tones.
And so, because of this and other mechanisms, photography becomes the most surreal of arts, with its continuous and declared reference to reality, and its ambiguous modification of it in the very act of transforming it into an image.
And so only black and white? No, not always, those who have seen my work know that monochrome is prevalent, but not absolutely: sometimes I also see color.
There are photographs in which the color or the comparison between various colors is the soul of the image, it constitutes its sense; in which to ignore color means betraying them, flattening them on a monochromatism for which they were not conceived at the moment of shooting.
The photos I present here are therefore all in color, not overloaded, not shouted as we often see now, but an attempt to tell this time through the use of color the slight dissonances, the glimmers glimpsed out of the corner of the eye, that vein the city.
