© archive manunzio
The photographer's eye? Very different...
I will look like one of those showcase relics, just a disembodied head popping out of a display case like in a cartoon. But ilk mattino ha l'oro in bocca (early in the morning, and only with the weight of pure, solid gold) I go hammering away at it, layer upon layer, stripping the architecture down to its raw, naked geometry until the lines bleed into nothing but pure, unadulterated Metaphysics...well!
It was (the shot) a blinding mid-summer afternoon back then—a fierce, baking noon where the sun cuts the walls like a knife, turning every peach and terracotta facade into a pale, absorbed noon, silent and transfixed under a scorching sky. But this morning (early day when write it before the heat takes over, I am in other dimension space-time playing with...
© archive manunzio
Explain it: above the original and raw shoot, or that appear it to first time to eye; bellow after "re-toucing" Pshop tha my personal vison of "scena criminis" a pure Metafisica rule