One of the things that fascinates me the most is going around my city and photographing objects: creating still lives.
Still life, often considered boring, immobile, in reality, if you have the eyes to see, hides within itself endless stories to tell.
A glance barely veiled with irony, an even slightly mocking eye can extract from the undifferentiated heap of images that surround us the misplaced detail, the one that transforms a motionless, insignificant image into a story worth listening to, into an atmosphere that refers to something else.
If one thinks about it, this is one of the main tasks of photography, at least as I see it: to read and extract an image from reality and filter it with one’s mind to transform it into something else, without completely losing the link with the origin. As I have already said elsewhere: the most surreal of arts.
Hence, slightly misplaced still lives, which gracefully and lightly try to render some incoercible anomaly.
