Blog & Stories

These are their stories, this is also my story.

The story which enrolls in front of my camera, the story all can see. There are also stories which lay in the background and are not perceivable only looking at the pictures. Stories which its own matter is made of real words and real persons. These are the stories which I will forever behold in my own heart.

In my perception these stories are indistinguishable one from the other, neither exists without the other. Matching them together coherently is a challenging game.

All of us are part of these stories. From the subjects who glimpse at each other and peek at me and me smiling in complicity at them. Their feelings, my feelings, all captured in the same instant.

Possible?

Is it possible to tell a story when we do not fully know it? One of the few things I am aware of is that I can listen and when a soul is sensitive and receptive these stories enroll themselves allowing them to be shared.

There is not a correct or better way to listen to these stories. It prevails the zest of being part of them.

In my pictures there are stories which its own matter is memory and anticipation of further stories yet to be unfolded which someone will have the favorable fate to tell.

As a child listening to an elder telling stories lost in time while its own imagination floats aimlessly to fabricate further more stories.

We all are memories, stories, the main characters of these stories and I do not want to stop telling them.

These stories withhold the commitment to generate further stories and I have the privilege to witness such moments, to be on the scene of so much happiness displayed and often I ask to myself how come I am so fortunate and I truly love to share each single of these portrayed memories.

Thank you all of you who allowed me to tell your stories and memories, I have put a little piece of myself in each of your stories, I hope you don’t mind.

In the land of Pinocchio
"Centuries ago there lived-- "A king!" my little readers will say immediately. No, children, you are mistaken. Once upon a time there was a piece of wood. It was not an expensive piece of wood. Far from it. Just a common block of firewood, one of those thick, solid logs that are put on the fire in winter to make cold rooms cozy and warm". I decided to start this post with the very first words of the Adventure of Pinocchio written by Carlo Collodi not very far from the venue where this wedding was celebrated. I chose Pinocchio because the little protagonist of this wedding fairy tale is a young boy who reminded me in a way the famous mar ...
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The story of a LoveStory
Prato is my hometown. Here I lived my childhood and my youth. I had a strange relationship with this city, I often fought against the rush to get away from here and my thoughts lived tightly between these streets and in a provincial reality full of contradictions that I never bothered to fully understand. Prato means fabrics, many pieces of cloth have always been there in this city and when we were children we played among the noise of looms that still our grandparents held in the domestic warehouses. I then left Prato years ago, I was disappointed and I was angry, maybe like many other young women of my age. But in Prato I came back years ...
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Where the blue planes fly
One day a small blue airplane meets another small airplane as it flies high into the sky. They start to do a little bit of road together, next to each other till they discover that it is much nicer to fly in company. So after a while flying together they realize not only that it's really fun but they will never ever want to fly alone again. They decide that they will always fly like this one next to the other and so they walk further and further away. These is the story of two little airplanes... ppp I asked the girls why there were so many paper planes drawn everywhere and they replied that since they met this is what they most love ...
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Romance in the rain
It rained so much that day. It's a day of summer and the rain can be scary sometimes. Today it doesn't want to stop, the hills are surrounded by a thin whitish mist and the wind brings down drops so thick that they it's impossible to see few meters away. It rains too much, if it does not stop we could not even leave the door. They are a few meters to walk but the rain is really too strong. Luckily we still have some time to prepare ourselves, we still have the time to hope for the rain to stop. We smile, we are accustomed to these storms, usually do not last, the sun will come out and everything will run smoothly. We say it but we have no ...
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Heaven can wait
This is a story of dreamers I have seen quite few weddings since I started this work and so you would think I am quite used to them and I am used to certain emotions, but indead and I need to be honest I must admit that that sometimes I am still that little girl in the corner looking up the couple dreaming castels on the clouds and thinking good things are still possible in life if you only believe. And I am so lucky to be that little girl, despite my age. This really explain why I still cry sometimes at weddings and why I shared a tear this time even during the editing process. The lite motif for this day was "love always win". I reall ...
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Feel that Jazz in Florence
Feel that Jazz in Florence with Louise ad Jeseph Think to be in Florence, my city, in a very hot summer day. Put a little touch of Fitzgerald mood, well my favourite writer. Add a group of friends who just want to have fun and suddenly you can hear it, all that jazz. It's all around and you want to dance though is really hot you can not help but feel the rhythm and the music that goes down the hills. Lights turn on and it looks magic. Wine flows and air gets hotter but you keep dancing and the night seems to never end. This is real fun, is pure joy. That's what I love to do. It's the rhythm around me. It's not just about a photogra ...
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