There are places where the past and the present meet and almost merge into a plot whose charm is hard to resist. The rain wets the car wind shield with small, boring drops, transforming it into a screen on which the images flow in black and white full of an ancient attraction. The photographer's gaze crosses it to linger on a landscape whose geometric rigour he captures: the bridge that defines the horizon has the imposing solemnity of a church facade but the image becomes dynamic in the lower part crossed diagonally as it is by the line of the parapet that runs along the Naviglio. Today the rare passers-by pay a distracted glance to that iron, those tie rods, those bolts. Yet these elements still retain the signs of an ancient civilization where iron represented modernity, the strength that knew how to resist the ravages of time, the challenge to the future, the same audacity that still characterizes the arches of the railway stations. Andrea Calestani approaches the Navigli with the curiosity of someone who has already experienced Milan in distant years but who is now rediscovering it when faced with places he had never visited.

(from the introduction by Roberto Mutti)

Susanne Martinet proposes an inexhaustible research work. The body, embodied, lived, discovers, feels, vibrates. For me it was an awakening, on the surface and in the bowels. It requires a constant presence, listening and willingness to meet, with oneself and with the other, be it an object, a material or a person.
The rigor that Susanne requires during her work allows access to a complex dimension, which holds limits and possibilities together, a practice of feeling, of knowing that needs its own time. It becomes research, which never ends, which holds different languages together, for this very reason it requires an awareness above all in detail.
One detail changes everything, Susanne tells us.
The photographs were taken during the summer internships and meetings; I, a student, felt the need to snap, to stop what I felt and lived with my body, with my whole being. They are images that attempt a balance between inside/outside, trying to connect the inside with the outside.
They have no intention of defining, of cataloging, but of opening up a possibility of reading, a point of view.
The idea of the project, born and shared in a choral dimension, evolved into a book. We felt the need to broaden our research: Susanne's work is Susanne herself, every detail tells about her and how every shape, object, movement of light is part of her sensitive gaze on the world, curious and open to amazement and how it is necessary to make it part of the narrative.
(from the introduction by Michela Liverani)

Juxtaposing elements from different realities was one of the cornerstones of the surrealist movement, which adopted Lautrément’s phrase – “the chance juxtaposition of a sewing machine and an umbrella on a dissecting table” - as the manifesto of a new aesthetic based on disorientation and contradiction. By including remarkably incongruous objects in their works, these artists aimed to challenge our expectations, to free the mind from what it already knows and from automatic mental associations. Each of Fausto Meli’s photographs also contains an anomalous element; but in his case, it is neither particularly incongruous nor ostentatious. In fact, it is sometimes so unobtrusive as to be detectable only by paying close attention to the image. The unexpected elements in this artist’s works have a connection with what is shown in the photographs, (futuristic building, a castle on the sea, an old library, a volcanic island...); he creates encounters that have the power to generate new beauty, open up new meanings, new reflections...
(from the introduction by Gigliola Foschi)

The cutting of an image has an element of paradox: it forces us to come to terms with the materiality of somethng we instinctively deem intangible. John Mitchell, in his Pictorial Turn, dissolves this apparent contradiction when he distinguishes between images and pictures, arguing that "A picture appears on a material background or in a specific place. [...] An image never appears unless in a determined medium, but it also trasends media and can be transferred from one medium to another.".

It follows, therefore, that you do not make cuts in an image, but rather, a picture. But adjusting or touching a picture inevitably means generating new images and this is the precise area the work of Colomba D'Apolito explores, pushing and challenging limits and possibilities. This process of cutting and cropping that works on the support not because of an ant-modern stance, but because of an equally precise choice of field.
(from the critical text of Enrico Gullo, Art Historian and PdD in art history)

Pierre André Podbielski is a companion on this journey: travelling through museum corridors and across illuminated rooms where artworks are watching visitors, rather than being watched by them. They have watched the audience of art lovers that has kept me company for five years, an audience that I see again, with all its peculiarities, in Pierre André's photographs. However his photographic time, his aesthetic surprise inside the exhibition space has one thing that I do not. This is something that belongs
to real photographers, to men like Elliott Erwitt. Pierre André is an ironic, amused, suspended and detached, but sympathetic photographer. In his photographs, it is the smile that binds everything, holding the images together, telling their stories even better.

Photographic irony is an enviable gift, because photography is by its nature always balanced in a state of tension: it is always serious; the seriousness of the realities we experience, and it is always rhetorical. It is the way photography can stop time that makes it so solemn, its way of placing the moment the shot was aken at the centre of our gaze that makes photography a rhetorical moment, in the best sense of the word.
(from the introduction by Roberto Cotroneo)

The shaded area in which we hide away from ourselves is so large that it is impossible to even attempt to describe our identity. Those familiar with this shaded area know that to get beyond it you need to undertake a long, hard and at times painful journey down memory lane. Everybody has images from their past which, the more they reveal the profound essence of things and people, the more surprising they are; they clarify this grey area we all have to confront in a way which words cannot, but which photography can; they expose what we are and how we got there. Nonetheless, the past is not inert, and our journey is a game of mirrors where fragments of self awareness and memory, of love and lack of it, of reality and imagination become jumbled up, one moment familiar, the next unsettling. As if the moments we alone recall, and with which we order the months, days and years of our lives, are whimsical, a little bit here and a little bit there. Never diachronical but willy-nilly, typical of haphazard memory. Some return, reassuringly. Others take us who knows where, to elsewheres we have inhabited and lived. They are the pieces of an ever-changing puzzle which is our present, the difficulty is putting them together … later on. And so it is that memories change, just as we change, and they betray us, or, sometimes we betray them. We are wrapped around who we were in a spiral of explanation and interpretation of our world, which, on the last curve replenishes the memory we hold within: the yesterday where we come from. It enriches it, at times actually recreates it. […]

(Franco Carlisi)