Silvio Canini: UMBRATILE - Collana CAPSULE PHOTO di Gente di Fotografia

It was common in the 1960s, and perhaps even earlier, to rent out one’s home to vacationers who came to spend their holidays by the sea, in order to earn some extra money. Meanwhile, we would sleep in the garage, where we had managed to set up a bathroom.
The less fortunate made do in the shed.
Tourists would stay for the entire season, bringing the whole family along, including grandparents. Only the father sometimes had to return home to work — unlike today, when even managing a weekend away feels difficult.
My parents owned a haberdashery on the main avenue and didn’t have much time to look after me, so during the summer, I became the child of the tourists and a sibling to their children. I often ate with them and spent the whole day at the beach, making the most of the sun until it disappeared.
I remember that towards the end of the day, we would search for the last rays of sunlight to finish our sandcastles, as those giant concrete buildings cast long shadows.
A few winters ago, while filming the dunes that are built in autumn to protect against storm surges, this memory resurfaced. Dressed lightly, I tried to stay in the sun as much as possible. That day, I began taking photos from a lower perspective, climbing onto beach cabins in an attempt to visually capture my thoughts.
I took the first photos in 2016 and a couple of the most recent ones in 2025. But I still didn’t feel like I had finished. One photo was missing: myself, today — a teenager moving around in search of shade just to see the screen of my smartphone.
It’s amazing when memories, blurred by time, resurface — reliving them, putting them in order, and bringing them to paper.
We are still the same, just in a different time — only a little older, a little more fluid.
P.S. Accompanied by my hotelier friends to the rooftops of their hotels to take pictures, I asked them: What do you see?
No one noticed or said, the shadow! 

(Silvio Canini)