Connections

We can construct bridges with light and words. Not the ones made of concrete and metal, but intangible bridges that link emotions, tales, and ideas. 

Parco Fluviale Regionale del Trebbia (Italy) - 2014-06-22

A simple photo, just like a good text, has the incredible ability to focus our attention for even a moment, to make us see something we would have overlooked.

“Here is my secret. It is very simple: one sees only with the heart. What is essential is invisible to the eye.” (Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, “Little Prince”)

Today we are immersed in a constant flow of images and sounds, an overexposed world where everything appears to scream to stimulate our attention. But what stands out is seldom what is most noisy, but what is able to speak quietly. A correct light, an unforeseen shadow, a detail that shows itself only to one who has the patience to look with attentiveness.

Photography is a bit like getting the words right: it is not just a matter of taking, but also of being able to express something. An unspoken communication is set up between the photographer and the viewers of the image. Eyes and voice are brokers of culture, sensitivity and experience.

That is probably why I keep taking photos, even when I am not so stoked about it. Any photograph, even the straightforward ones, can really make you think and point out the beauty that is around us. And with all the chaos that is around us, to be able to just stop and actually look is really the best gift we can have.

It has no words, but it tells everything.

“Your Hand in Mine” is one of those songs that seem to be written to complement silence, to let distance speaks, to give voice to connections that cannot be seen but can be felt.

It was released in 2003, as part of an album with a title that is already a statement of intent: “The Earth Is Not a Cold Dead Place.” “Explosions in the Sky,” a Texas group playing emotional and visceral post-rock, wanted to say in that record that there is still warmth, still beauty, still love - even in silence.

“Your Hand in Mine” doesn't have a real climax: it grows, yes, but remains in suspended state. It is a breathing, a waiting. As if something is about to happen - but it doesn't. And that is precisely why it remains.

Over time it has been used in movies and TV series (one above all: “Friday Night Lights”), but it has always retained its intimate, never intrusive voice. Like a passing glance, a presence beside us that does not stand out, but is there.

That's why it goes well with this scene, this photograph of lives that do not meet but share a fragment of time. A silent fragment.

A full fragment.