Almost Nothing: memories from the Italian countryside
Memories don’t come back all at once. They return in fragments, little glimpses that break through the monotony of our everyday.
These photographs tell a story of return, of peace. A rediscovery of my memories, in an attempt to find myself again. They are what I see when I go looking for what I thought was lost: the places I grew up in, passed through, moved away from. The more I looked, the more I saw how the smallest and insignificant things contained entire worlds.
An old family house, light on a ruined wall, a corner of the sky, a field of golden wheat surrounded by sound of crickets and the smell of dust of a combine working on that field. And the people that live in those places. I tried for years to run away from my memories, like they were almost nothing. Pretending to hate them, considering them the source of all my sadness.
What I found wasn’t nostalgia, but something stronger: a sense of belonging. A recognition: not of facts, but of feelings. What once seemed ordinary now feels important, special. What I once ran away from, now I cherish.
Nothing has changed, and yet everything has. Because I have.
This is a story of the places that shaped me. This is me. A slow rediscovery of what time takes and what it leaves behind.
This is almost nothing that, over time, has become almost everything.
