Photography taught me to ask myself which is the reality, where it is and whether it exists. I conflated early the illusion that I take pictures of reality. So, I started studying the frame and my aim was to understand the content. I concluded in endless ascertainments, I tore them inside and some other times outside. In time I realized that everything I allowed to enter in my field of vision was the “signified” of my existence.

The composition of a picture is everything that does not appear or exists in the photographer’s soul when she takes a shot. A picture cannot exist if it has nothing to say and the photographer exists because she can communicate pictures. In this point there exists a tiny deception from the picture’s view: “it promises reality” just like it happens in illusive love when “it promises the ideal”.

The photographer does not use words, he/she uses the frame for communication. She does not possess reality, not even her own reality but, for sure, she is not contained in what she imprints with the camera. Every shooting resembles a search. The difference is that the photographer dives into the unconscious.