Fiftyfour days. Fiftyfour photographs.
For fiftyfour days I photographed silence and emptiness. Looking for some little subversion. I didn’t want to believe anything would change or happen. The small and haggard figures that materialized in the silence took on a necessary obviousness.

It was a Wednesday on March 11th that we were ordered not to leave our house. So, I went up to the upper terrace, opened and put down the tripod and mounted the camera on it. On the display I chose the shot. I would have adapted the diaphragm to the light from time to time. I snapped. I marked on the floor where the three feet rested, where I would reposition the same easel the next day, and the next.

For fiftyfour days, as long as the first lockdown: from 11th March to 4th May 2020. Always aiming the same frame with the lens. The same portion of the road.

To break a prohibition that seemed anachronistic, I wanted to at least cast my gaze outside the house. Through the camera. And in the silence of waiting, expand the imagination as only with nothingness around is possible.

To then see if something really wasn’t going to happen out there. If the void would remain empty. If silence would remain silent. Even if the body was forced to remain immobile where it was.

Then even photography becomes immobile, filling in the pages of an ever-changing daily diary: the day before with the next. One photograph a day. With only the inscrutable alternation of daylight and night. The shadows like hourglasses to mark the slow passage of time.