Alba

Raggio di luce al mattino,
è un attimo fuggente.
Trafigge il mio cuore ed
infiamma la mia mente.
Un attimo, ed è già scomparsa.

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Backtracking steps on a foot-printed map

To the man who showed me the way to become who I am
(and to the girl who asks the right questions)

What about all those rings and bracelets you wear? Curiously enough, that was the first time I realised my rings and bracelets do have stories to tell, and that people might wonder what those stories are. It happened on one evening in that hectic summer of 2017, when a newborn, a new job and an international relocation had to be made to fit together somehow. I was then having drinks with some of those who would soon be my new colleagues in my new hometown. It was a pleasant evening in Munich. The pizza was good, as was the beer (which was also cheap compared to Sweden). I was enjoying the company, the chatter, and the exchange of opinions on work matters; an extinguished cigar stub lingering between my fingers. She dropped the question just like that, out of the blue, from the corner of the table opposite to mine.

Continue reading “Backtracking steps on a foot-printed map”

The damage of reporting on the Paradise Papers investigations

News reports about the Paradise Papers investigations can be found everywhere, on the web and in more traditional news outlets. The importance of those revelations cannot be understated, as they expose widespread tax avoidance and wealth concealment on behalf of some of the wealthiest members of our societies, corporate as well as natural persons. Most of these activities are not strictly illegal, true. That something is not strictly illegal, however, does not make it necessarily acceptable in the eyes of most people.

Continue reading “The damage of reporting on the Paradise Papers investigations”

Of coco-pops, bruises and mathematics

Childhood memories stick around. They hide for years, under your skin, deep and out of  view; but they’re always there. Some time ago, I found myself musing over breakfast wares at the supermarket, weighting options. An isle I’ve regularly perused, weekly or so, without nothing more noticeable happening than eventually making my mind up over one of the few “no palm oil” cereal boxes. Not on that day, though. That day, that ever un-chosen box, as innocuous and colourful a carton as it had always been, triggered something it had failed to trigger earlier. Memories are like tame beasts. They need just one wrong movement, a change of conditions, an inadvertent flash in the corner of the eye to go back to being the wild animal that will eventually go for your throat. It was maybe my daughter’s fault: by being born, she allowed my childhood memories to resurface so violently. Continue reading “Of coco-pops, bruises and mathematics”

25 years of goodbyes, and I still don’t get it

The first thing I learned about goodbyes I learned as a child, and it’s that no matter how conscious and prepared you feel, you’re never truly ready

“Missing” is the feeling we get from the projection onto the future of something that was and no longer is, or will soon no longer be. Goodbyes do not concern the present, the exchange of farewells, but the perceived or anticipated absence that follows. Continue reading “25 years of goodbyes, and I still don’t get it”

Istanbul, the meeting point of worlds far apart

“Çok yaşayan değil çok gezen bilir”
“Not he who lived long knows, but he who travelled much”
– Turkish proverb

Istanbul, 28 June-4 July 2014
In Istanbul, two Italians, a Greek, a Chilean, a Colombian and a Costa Rican all coming from Sweden and jumping in the same cab is definitely not an extraordinary or in any other way noteworthy fact. One might argue that in our mobile world we surely were not the first, nor will we be the last, or that it is not an uncommon thing to see elsewhere either. But different from many other cities, it feels like Istanbul has long ago given up taking stock of who walks her streets. Having embraced its millennia-old role as crossroads for thousands of people from everywhere in the known world, keeping track of what language they speak, where they are from, where they are headed and with whom, is just pointless. Continue reading “Istanbul, the meeting point of worlds far apart”

Men and women have since long been using and transforming the territory. Campfires turned into forest fires, rocks and bones reveal graveyards or rubbish dumpsters, cave paintings turn barren rock into early day cathedrals. Then, diverted rivers, carved out hillocks and filled up marshlands leave room to quarries and roads, factory yards and heavy machinery. Seeds were sown, and roofs were built, each leaving a trace to mark the passage of those men and women through the landscape.

This project collects traces both ancient and recent of men and women’s presence on the territory, and the contrast of modernity coexisting with traditional ways of life. I am not a professional photographer and I don’t pretend to be one. Most of the pictures here were captured “on the spot” with whatever equipment I had available.

 

 

 

About friendship, and about distance

It’s been a while since we moved abroad; or at least since we’ve been abroad on a stable basis. It won’t come as a surprise for anyone who has spent time in a different country to read that life changes radically once you take that step. No, I’m not talking about different languages, habits, culture, climate etc. that naturally come with moving. Rather, looking back over these past years it seems obvious how our lives with friends have acquired a more peculiar character. Continue reading “About friendship, and about distance”

Roots

(to Carlo, Mancho, Kim and Miky – my roots and my perimeter)

Sure, stuff changes, and it changes a lot.. But there are things that apparently don’t. Call those roots.. Call them the keystones in the architecture you’ve been building since the day you were born. Call them “no fun dull stuff” as well, if you like. But they are there whether you like it or not. It’s sometimes annoying to think that in reality there’s not much that is truly original or unique in yourself. You are, like it or not, very much like your mother and father, and grandmothers and grandfathers. A lot like your brothers and sisters, and sometimes like your cousins and aunts and uncles too. There is a tiny bit of that friend of yours back in primary school, and of that twat bullying you around and calling you names in junior high. There’s a bit of all those people you called family as a kid when visiting on the other side of the planet. Continue reading “Roots”

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