Usually, when a new project comes up, people often ask me how the idea for that new project came about.

When they ask that question, I always sense that they are asking about the precise moment when the idea arose or what event triggered it.

There is never a single, original idea behind my projects, except for the need to convey through them a simple but powerful sentence:

“We may differentiate ourselves by race, colour, language, wealth and politics; but consider what we have in common: dreams, laughter, tears, pride, the comfort of a home and the desire to love. If I could photograph those universal truths...”

This masterful reflection by Wayne Miller has always been with me, serving as my personal and professional compass. And, for better or worse, I have always held the deep conviction that I need nothing else.
There is no original idea, but there is evolution, both personal and professional.

The ABYSSINIAN DIARIES project took me to modern-day Ethiopia and to Kapuscinski’s book The Emperor; this masterful book led me to The Shah or the Excess of Power by the same author, and that led me to PERSIAN DIARIES; during the development of this long-term project, I discovered the poetry of Mevlana, and this led me directly to the mysticism of the whirling dervishes of Konya, where, while developing the project, I discovered contemporary Turkish society and the immeasurable figure of Mustafa Kemal Atatürk, whose legacy remains in the current republic.

Suddenly everything fell into place and the current project took shape as a book.

From a strictly professional point of view, I have always tried — whether rightly or wrongly — to keep a certain distance from trends or other photographers, with the clear aim of keeping my instinct intact.
So, there are relatively few masters to whom I owe my way of living photography, but their influence is evident every time I pick up the camera or begin a new project.

From Ansel Adams I learnt what I know about analogue photography, and his teachings guided me in my first darkroom. Wayne Miller inspires me with the professed humanist dimension of his work, the undeniable emotional power conveyed by his shots, and the impeccable tonal range of his greys. Marc Riboud never ceases to amaze me with the impeccable, austere and seemingly simple composition of his images. Leonard Freed inspires me with most of his work, whose photographs are masterfully composed. What inspires me most about Larry Towell is his handling of perspective and volume within each frame and, of course, the humanistic dimension of his work.

To all of the above, I can only add one more thing: after tens of thousands of shots, I am guided purely by this idea: knowing where not to look and where not to point my lens.

So simple, so complicated.