04 Deep Dive

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The sea has cradled me since I was in my mother’s womb,
it cradles me when I am nothing but a feather.

The sea has cradled me since I started swimming with my father,
so I swam, and so I will always swim,
stroke, stroke, breath,
stroke, stroke, breath,
and feet kicking hard, moving in the current.

The sea cradles me, and I let myself go.

ALETU,22,FROM MILANO

I met Aletu in high school, and she’s never stopped surprising me since. Her gestures of freedom are her most beautiful traits, and with her, I feel free to be the truest version of myself.

MUNI,58,FROM ROMA

Then she told me to ask her what she likes least about herself, she answered to her own question and then we hugged. She teaches me a thousand things every single day.

MANUELA,BORN IN 1946,FROM WHEREVER SHE WANTS

My grandmother stands up from the small couch across the fireplace that separated us during this conversation. She looks at me with eyes that feel different than usual more vulnerable. I think we really talked today.

MICHELA,22,FROM MILANO

Michi speaks to me while sitting on the carpet of her room in Paris, her hair blonder than ever, and the strength behind her words comes like a breeze that both shakes and refreshes everything.

VITTORIA,38,FROM ROMA

Vittoria speaks to me as she leans against the railing of the house in Nasciano, a house that belongs to everyone and no one, a house of tradition and abundant food, a country house tied to the land. Everything she tells me is reflected in what surrounds us.

ADRIANA,ALMOST 71,FROM PONZA

Adriana wakes up almost at dawn every day and works all day in her garden, her vegetable patch and with her animals.

It’s not written anywhere, but she’s been working forever because, as she says, work in the countryside never ends.

My mother parts my hair into three strands
and weaves what she knows with small fears,
weaves teachings with mistakes and weaves stories with her hands full of rings.
Now I part my own hair into three strands and gather to continue,
to recreate the small landscapes full of stories
with my hands full of rings some hers some mine.

PAOLA,39,FROM BRENO

Paola speaks to me from her living room, filled with plants she lovingly nurtures every morning after finishing her shifts at the community. She’s searching for innovation in every corner of the city.

SILVANA,74,FROM VAL TELLINA

Silvi talks to me while knitting, her thoughts and hands moving in unison. Her words flow like a mountain stream, as she waves the colors and lines of her life together.

REBECCA,23,FROM MILANO

Rebecca speaks to me while sitting cross-legged on a stone table in her courtyard. She tells me she often sits here just as she is now, practicing parts for auditions or simply living her freedom

TAMARA,28,FROM PONZA

Tamara talks to me from her sofa at home. Everything is meticulously curated, just like her words, she has deep roots, but her feet are free to walk far and wide.

PRISCA,23,FROM ROMA

I met Prisca at the port of Anzio on our way to Ponza we were choosing which slice of pizza to eat. Since then, I’ve seen her feel every emotion down to the very last layer of her skin.

LILLI,80,FROM ROMA

Lilli, or as we call her in the family, Aunt Lilli, speaks to me from a chair in her journalist’s study. The walls are covered with papers, photos, notes, and thoughts about Rome and the stories of her life.

Among fragments of stories,

clothes, steps, willpower, love,

struggle, life, death, justice,

dance, and joy,

I wait.

Before closing my eyes, I wait

for the message from my friend,

to know she made it home safe.

NATALIA,26,FROM ROMA AND MILANO

Nati has seen me grow , but I’ve also seen her grow, she makes me laugh, makes me feel safe, takes me to get tattoos, and dries my tears. She’s an example of a woman unafraid to be herself.

LAURA,32,FROM FERRUZZANO

Laura came into my life like a whirlwind of thoughts, with an energy that could light up a thousand bulbs, she teaches me lightness within depth.

RAFFAELLA,57,FROM ROMA

Raffaella speaks to me over a glass of orange juice she doesn’t touch until the very end. But she was touching on empathy, resilience and hope, while the vitamines evaporated in the air.

LUCIA,59,FROM APRICENA

Lucia speaks to me with passion and transparency, allowing me to relive moments of her life filled with fragility, growth, and the awareness of the journey that shaped her into the woman she is today.

CLARA,18,FROM ROMA

Clara speaks to me from the couch in her room, lying down, looking at me with her large, sweet eyes, carefully choosing each word she uses.

ALICE,22,FROM MILANO

Ali speaks to me with the last rays of autumn sun on her face, reflecting the same light that touches her skin as she expresses each thought with gentleness.

CRISTINA,59,FROM CAMPOGALLIANO AND MILANO

Cristina speaks to me while drinking cup after cup of tea. She adds sugar, stirs, and sips. Everything she shares comes with profound sincerity, a trait she’s cherished her entire life.

OLIMPIA,21,FROM ROMA

Olli speaks to me wearing a pajama shirt inside-out, brushing her curls from one side to the other as a cascade of emotions plays across her face, each one surfacing only to dissolve into the next.

CHIARA,43,FROM MILANO

Chiara speaks to me while continuing to push the stroller with her youngest daughter sleeping inside. We move together through the park and through her life.

I was thirsty, hungry, sleepy,
I had strength, wounds, hope,
I had a bag full of seashells
and shoes to go far,
I had a couple of t-shirts,
my favorites,
I had eyes full of tears,
they could look
at the stars and the moon,
I had flawless hearing
to listen to the owl, the swallows,
and the cicadas near home,
I had a strong voice that
always shouted,
I had long legs to
climb over brick walls
and hands that could reach
the blackberries in the thorny bushes.

Then I sat down and
stopped to breathe,
because I am still alive.

saddle stiched book
photography book and interviews book

shot on Nikon Fg-20 35mm

Layers of Pages
of the women of now,
of the women of before,
of those who will come,
layers of clothes worn and removed,
layers of skin that have felt the warmth of the sun and the breaths of the wind,
layers not visible unless desired to be seen, scars,
layers barely explored and others shown out of fear,
layers of emotions, of eyes that have seen the world,
layers of women who tell, pass down, learn, and come together in a call,
layers of sighs and tears along the edges,
layers of the women in my life and of those in someone else’s life,

layers to be read in search of a revolution without hatred…

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2025