A mysterious thread binds characters with their author: it magically forms from when these characters are still mere ideas and repeatedly entice the photographer in the melancholy of his studio. A link is ultimately formed. Wallpaper, stripes, hangers, towels and cloths, pencils and mugs.


Stripes. They are the details. They appear on stage to be materialised in a framed set. All they ask is for their story to be represented at least once, in order to for their existence as characters to be fulfilled.
The photographer assembles the stage, arranges them and envisages their story.
A story that will be set in one shot.

Soon, however, the stripes on the wall are transformed into prison bars. The details realise that they want to speak without needing an author, as if they didn’t need a story dictated by someone else. The drama unfolds with the photographer.
When they try to take stage as real actors, the details become intolerable and complain continually; yet they are not recognised as professionals, the scenes are always missing an “essential” presence.


The real problem is that characters are stiff masks locked into the role they are portraying. Details, however, are full of life, a continuously and individually flexible element. The presumption of traditional photography to depict life is, therefore, unhinged by a reverse process.


This is the new photograph. It is the photograph that comes in life, and wants to prove that impossibility. The instant and a kind of eternity are juxtaposed and intertwined, to the point where it is no longer possible to distinguish between reality and fiction.