date » 30-03-2026 11:38
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tags » thumberwal, street photograhy, olympus c 5060 wz, point and shoot camera on street, daylight, urban life, fascism era, black color as death,
Black is Black? No Black is Nothing
This stubborn, leaden sky forces this vertical biped—the tout court human—to go about, of all things, dressed (!?) in a single, definitive shade: Black. Capitalized, for reasons as heavy as this asphalt we walk on. It’s less a 'color' and more a naked exposure of these flat, pedestrian city thoughts; maybe 'cadaverous' is a better word. Dead thoughts walking.
If my historical memory serves, this wasn't the last time this kind of soot-black uniform was considered 'fashionable' around these specific Italian latitudes: Fascism. Sure, elsewhere (Europe in primis) there was a similar film of dust,, but the air felt different. It was quieter. Diminished, perhaps, but at least not this loud, look-at-me display that pretends not to look. For those who catch my meaning.
It's a fact: back then, everything was reduced to two tones—like this photograph, like the papers, the newsreels flickering in smoke-choked cinema halls. But. And this 'but' is for the Boot (geographic shape) itself or named 'Belpaese' (not let's not confuse that phrase with the soft cheese—that black wasn't a choice but was de facto uniformity again The Fascismo. The history books tell us exactly how that performance ended. But. Morto un Papa se ne fa un altro, as they say, or... maybe they just don't? 'Ni'—yes and no.
So, setting the metaphor aside (though I’m not sure how much I’ve set it aside), look at this scene. This current, lazy black of the jackets, the shoes, the everything. It's not depth. It's a dip into the same sticky, black pitch that, when you look closely, is just the Blackness of Death, settling in wherever the eye lands.
Sic transit gloria mundi! And this traffic we are creating is just the slowest, grimmest parade.
This stubborn, leaden sky forces this vertical biped—the tout court human—to go about, of all things, dressed (!?) in a single, definitive shade: Black. Capitalized, for reasons as heavy as this asphalt we walk on. It’s less a 'color' and more a naked exposure of these flat, pedestrian city thoughts; maybe 'cadaverous' is a better word. Dead thoughts walking.If my historical memory serves, this wasn't the last time this kind of soot-black uniform was considered 'fashionable' around these specific Italian latitudes: Fascism. Sure, elsewhere (Europe in primis) there was a similar film of dust,, but the air felt different. It was quieter. Diminished, perhaps, but at least not this loud, look-at-me display that pretends not to look. For those who catch my meaning.
It's a fact: back then, everything was reduced to two tones—like this photograph, like the papers, the newsreels flickering in smoke-choked cinema halls. But. And this 'but' is for the Boot (geographic shape) itself or named 'Belpaese' (not let's not confuse that phrase with the soft cheese—that black wasn't a choice but was de facto uniformity again The Fascismo. The history books tell us exactly how that performance ended. But. Morto un Papa se ne fa un altro, as they say, or... maybe they just don't? 'Ni'—yes and no.
So, setting the metaphor aside (though I’m not sure how much I’ve set it aside), look at this scene. This current, lazy black of the jackets, the shoes, the everything. It's not depth. It's a dip into the same sticky, black pitch that, when you look closely, is just the Blackness of Death, settling in wherever the eye lands.
Sic transit gloria mundi! And this traffic we are creating is just the slowest, grimmest parade.
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