Taking time to look

What do you think of self-portraiture in the self-timer mode in photography?
Well, the first thing that comes to mind when I hear a picture’s been shot that way is “vanity”; anyone having recourse to such a technique is out to show himself at his appealing best. Mind you, that’s understandable because we all implicitly reject the image we have of ourselves. Not being able to show ourselves to others the way we’d like to, we snap our own picture when we’re all alone to portray ourselves in the way we’d like to be seen.

In a wider sense, though, I think it’s an extension of our capacity to speak of ourselves.

Would you say the self-timer mode of photography as a way for looking upon one’s work self-critically has helped you grow professionally?
It’s been a mainstay of my professional commitment and practice. In my work I’m always on the lookout for whatever goes on around me, but at the same time I never loose sight of what goes on inside. I’ve never taken a picture that’s not deeply rooted within me. There’s a common thread running all through my photos, regardless of when they were shot. It’s sort of a feeling of uneasiness that wells up from within when I turn my gaze inwards and honestly and squarely look at myself. After all, taking pictures really all boils down to self-representation.

How is it that even with this technique your work is an excellent example of what can be achieved by working alone?
Perhaps what attracted me to the job was precisely the possibility it affords of working alone. It takes a lot of time to find the images I want that are more often than not locked up in my mind to begin with. Any job entailing creativity I believe requires being able to work alone. I always work alone, with only one camera, a lens, and light equipment, precisely so as to be able to manage it all on my own.

Photography calls for a lot of hard looking, but also thinking. “Solitude” is a real scary word nowadays. We’re always fretting and fidgeting to cram every free moment we have with things to do. Italian national television has a slogan that says it all: “everything of anything and more”. I think leaving some of those moments empty could do us a lot of good.

All your works seem to be shot in the selftimer mode, shedding light on the present by finding the traces of the past. Is there any deliberate method in your work?
There are three fundamental stages in the self-timer mode of taking pictures, that is to say, in doing the sort of thing that permits one to speak of oneself. To begin with, one has to set out with a clear idea stemming from an urge for self-expression. Next, the idea must be viable. Finally – and this is most important – one has to learn to look at the result critically, getting rid of whatever’s redundant, unessential to the idea’s realisation.

When I look into the viewfinder I’m overwhelmed by the details I see and want to strike out of the picture. I strive for a shot that will allow me to get as few a signs into the picture as possible. My ultimate aspiration is to one day be able to get emotions across with a picture that’s a blank.

An essential element is having a historical memory. How important is the past in your work?
Memory, that is, the act of casting one’s gaze back and looking into the past, is essential to my work. One of my most famous projects was “Mediterranean”. It’s a collection of photos taken during an archaeology-inspired journey. But it wasn’t digs or ruins I was after, and in fact there are no such photos in the collection. No, I meant it to be a personal journey in time; what I was after were places and faces. It was an opportunity for me to once again take a look at the prevailing subject matter of all my work, and namely man and human emotions, from a special angle. The locations and the portraits of Classical antique statuary I shot were loaded with steeped-in emotions, heaped up over time that I simply sought to bring out. After all, the common thread running through history is the same as that running through my work: human emotions.

There’s a very significant expression I’d like you to comment on: “taking time to look”.
Yes, it’s the title to one of my collections. It’s not commonly practiced nowadays. We’re more and more beleaguered by a world that hems us in and hounds us. You won’t find all that many people today willing to stop and look up simply to see clouds go by. Taking time to look is lifesupporting.

Metaphorically speaking, it may be said that a shot in the self-timer mode sheds light on otherwise blind-spots of our past, enraptured by that mysterious force that equally stirs our present and future. Does black and white photography help this process of enlightenment?
I always shoot in black and white, in the first place because colour photography didn’t exist once. Nowadays, I’d say it’s nothing short of imperative, because black and white manages to carry through what you refer to as “that mysterious force”. Not reflecting reality, black and white turns on the imagination. Thanks to it we can break away from the mundane and start penetrating the mystery.

There’s a statement by Pessoa, portuguese poet, you often refer to that more or less runs: “but what was it I was thinking of before I stopped and took time to look?” Why is it so important to you?
It’s exactly the way I am and feel; the mind and eyes sometimes manage to travel side by side. I’ll add to that another statement I think clarifies what I’m saying: “how do I explain to my wife that when I ‘m gazing out of the window I’m working?”.

Interview by Marco Minuz