Before the arrival of 21 December and the entrance of winter with all its cold power, I wanted to collect some images, taken a little here and a little there, to try to recount some of the atmospheres of this in-between time between summer and winter, which is now almost at an end.
Nothing organic, just a few impressions because autumn, like all intermediate times, or rather more than all, is allergic to unambiguous definitions, it is varied: if on the one hand on certain days it can be the mournful prelude to that period of sleep, certainly cyclical, but which in all cultures makes men’s minds dwell with disquiet on the definitive one, on the other hand it seems to prolong indefinitely the sweetness of certain moments and the melancholic beauty of colours and certain sunsets.
Even in black and white, because for me it is a question of light rather than colour, of a gently ambiguous and indecisive light that, like Janus, looks and illuminates opposite directions.
