I’m listening to Yann Tiersen’s music and dreaming of Paris while working on some photos of Torino and writing about it.
It must be said: it’s a love-hate relationship between me and my city. And it’s even hard to call it my city, as my hometown is somewhere else and I proudly call myself a commuter. Back and forth, every day. Constructing and deconstructing my view of it.
Tonight it’s one of those moments I would like to abandon everything and start all over again in another town, in another country… maybe Paris, maybe somewhere else in southern France. Flee from Torino, from its squared net of streets, its provinciality and its long history, from the same people on the bus every morning… because Torino it’s a small decaying industrial town and it’s easy to meet the same people at the same time on the same bus every single working day. And to not exchange a single word with any of them, just furtive looks.
Some other days I walk through its streets and feel there’s nowhere else I would like to live, when I love its being not too big, the old tramways and the paved roads, its parks and the river Po, the colours you have to look for but that surprise you at certain times of the day. When I love knowing by heart every single shop on its main central streets, chocolate and the bicerin (coffee, chocolate and milk cream), small tearooms and historical bars hidden to inattentive passers by.
I’m choosing some of my photographs of Torino for something new you’ll discover soon and that I don’t want to anticipate too much for now. In a few weeks The Lonely Walkers will be one year old and every birthday needs a surprise. In the meantime I’m deconstructing again my vision and my way of living the city, looking at my photos and see recurrent themes of the soul, thinking about all that I hate and love, all that I want to capture.
Photography as a furtive look into the life of this apparent grey city. After all, a love declaration to all its im/perfections.