I scroll through the images one after another. Colourful sunsets. Forests in the mist. Intense gazes. Backlit silhouettes. They are perfect: sharp foregrounds, wonderful bokeh, deep dynamic range. Yet not one moves me or sparks a thought; not one will be remembered five minutes from now. Then I stumble upon a “wrong” photo: dreamlike focus, implausible colours, absurd contrasts. I stop. I feel. I think.
And then I understand.
Can taking a photo be a philosophical gesture? Instead of merely copying what I see, I can use the camera to go against the grain of technological perfection, to rediscover the profound meaning of a shot that speaks of my Weltanschauung.
In my images, both the overall appearance and the details point in a direction that does not seek definition but rather fading. As if they were determined by a form of distrust towards reality, as if there were a definite need to filter experience. The technique is not ostentation but mediation, perhaps even a protective meditation, a safe space between the gaze and things. Interiority does not seek answers or provocations but a habitable silence. It is a nihilism that does not destroy but withdraws. A melancholic or perhaps even aesthetic nihilism. A nihilism that does not affirm Nothingness but allows it to act as a constant backdrop: there is a world that is observed without being asked to have meaning. In short, the precariousness of the world is shown, accepted, and one chooses to remain in that suspended zone where things are not yet finished but no longer promise anything. All this is not a lack of coherence, but quite the opposite: too much coherence, nihilism that becomes atmosphere.
1. THE EXISTENTIAL OCCASION
I know authors who wed themselves to a single subject: only landscapes, only forests, only architecture, only portraits, only street—only choose-what-you-will as long as it is always the same. I observe each of their photos and a few minutes later—sometimes a few seconds later—I have lost it, forgotten in the melting pot of all the others. They were wonderful images of beautiful subjects. But they were all similar to one another.
Therefore, deciding not to always photograph the same subjects in a serial manner, but instead seeking the ordinary subject that strikes in any given instant, is much more than a choice of style: it is a philosophical position. In an age where I am submerged by perfect but mechanically produced images, I seek the imperfect but unique subject and moment to give value to that fragment of reality that cannot be replicated infinitely.
The Triumph of Kairos over Chronos
Greek philosophers taught us that there are two types of time. There is Chronos, the time that passes the same for everyone, linear and somewhat tedious. And then there is Kairos, the right moment, the special instant in which something truly significant happens. Photography that avoids splendid but banal and repeated subjects is based precisely on Kairos. If I capture an explosive sunset or a mystical forest for the thousandth time, I am stuck in Chronos: I am confirming what everyone already knows. Social media is full of this stuff: images that flow by without leaving me anything. If, instead, I catch the unique interlocking of a fading light and an entirely casual pose, then the image becomes an event. Photography gathers a spark that belongs to real life and not just to technology—a spark that moves me and will remain etched in my mind.
Aura as the Uniqueness of Appearance
Walter Benjamin argued that with technical reproducibility, the work of art lost its aura. Yet, if I seek the unrepeatable moment, I can find that aura again: not in the subject, but in the uniqueness of my encounter with it. When I choose not to take the usual postcard photo and instead discover the light on a peeling wall at a precise moment of the day, I am resisting banality. In that moment, the wall becomes unique: it exists like this only now and for the last time in the entire history of the universe. Photography ceases to be a duplication of things and becomes a revelation of the unrepeatable.
The Aletheia of the Everyday
For Martin Heidegger, truth is not a logical formula, but an emergence of things: he called it aletheia. Light does not only serve to perceive objects, but allows the world to show itself for what it is, emerging from the darkness of the obvious. Therefore, to stop immortalising the same things over and over means rejecting visual prejudices. If I photograph beauty already “packaged”, I am following a worn-out mental scheme. If instead I wait for the light to transform an ordinary object into something magical, I witness a small epiphany. Photography thus becomes a gesture of humility: I do not impose myself on the world, but I listen to reality so that it may expose itself in its naked and unique existence.
Against the Society of the Spectacle
According to Guy Debord, the continuous repetition of subjects creates a background noise that numbs the senses. The “already seen” makes people feel at ease because it does not unsettle: it is the trick upon which the society of the spectacle rests to keep individuals compliant and accustom them to not thinking, in an intellectual slumber that inhibits any reaction. Singularity breaks this vicious circle. When I discover a unique gesture or a particular light, I oppose the logic of fast image consumption. It requires patience and the ability to observe: the exact opposite of firing off a burst of photos without reflection. Photography thus becomes a visual Hapax legomenon.
The Punctum and the Wound of Time
Roland Barthes referred to the punctum as that detail which pricks and wounds because it does not fit into cultural schemes, which he called studium. The idea is to capture precisely that detail. If the subject is banal and already seen, I pay it no mind. But if it is unique, like a particular wrinkle or an asymmetrical shadow, then my photo is no longer just information; it becomes an experience. It is the moment in which I understand that I too am limited: just as that light will never return, I too am a unique being who will never be repeated.
Chance Beyond Control
Having chosen it, a painter has full control over their subject: they insert and remove what they want in the work. As a photographer, however, I am subject to chance: my room for manoeuvre, though extended by technological power, must always reckon with the unpredictability of the real. Precisely in this lies the fascination of photographic art, which relates the moment and chance through the creative act. But the moment and chance can unfold all the more, the more varied the potential space of subjects is.
2. ANTI-REALISM AS CREATION
Moving away from realism to represent a reality modified to the point of embracing abstraction is not just a matter of taste: it is a profound philosophical choice. In a world where every smartphone can generate perfect realistic photos, I decide to deny reality because it is the only way to defend art as a truly human act.
The Crisis of Mimesis in the Age of the Algorithm
For a long time, photography was considered a trace of reality, proof that an event actually happened. However, today we are in a paradox: technology has become so effective and powerful that taking realistic photos is far too easy for anyone. My perfect photo is perfectly equivalent to anyone else’s perfect photo. Vilém Flusser argued that the photographer risks becoming merely an employee of their own machine. If the camera is programmed to produce sharp and well-exposed photos, by pressing the button I create nothing: I limit myself to following the instructions of the internal algorithm. When perfection is within everyone’s reach, it not only loses its artistic value but is not even a demonstration of technical skill. The gaze is standardised by sensors that show a world that is merely a mathematical calculation. The rejection of realism is, therefore, a sabotage of the system. I want it to be a vehicle for my inner vision, even if I have to force the limits of the instrument, violate the traditional canons of photography, or apply heavy-handed post-production.
Photography as Poiesis
Abstraction is the ultimate tool for freeing oneself from the slavery of reality. If the realistic photo is mimesis (imitation), the abstract one is poiesis (pure creation). Why make a subject implausible or even unrecognisable? In the Kantian distinction between phenomenon and noumenon, I see realism stopping at the phenomenon—the surface of things—while abstraction seeks to capture the noumenon through rhythm and forms. As Paul Klee stated, with art I do not copy what I see, but I make visible what is hidden from me. In the abstract, the subject disappears and only the relationship between forms remains. Photography thus becomes a philosophical art, almost like music: a succession of luminous vibrations that hit straight in the gut without the need for verbal explanations.
Creativity as Resistance to Perfection
Today technology hinders me because it eliminates error and effort. Once, obtaining a sharp image was a proof of skill. Today it is free because artificial intelligence gives it to me, and so the value of art must move elsewhere. It lies in my choice to distort, obscure, or saturate. While AI can generate infinite realistic photos, an image born from my human gesture is unrepeatable. Beauty is born, then, where the camera would only see an error in focus or exposure.
3. THE ONTOLOGY OF CONTRAST
A powerful contrast, of both light and colour, is not just a graphic device, but a way to express a vision of the world that appreciates conflicts between irreconcilable extremes, where the middle ground disappears because it is irrelevant and uninteresting—indeed, a source of distraction and flattening.
Chiaroscuro as an Ethical Choice
Through violent contrast, I erase greys and uncertain areas. I return to Heraclitus, according to whom harmony is born precisely from the clash between opposites. If the world is polemos, truth is not found in the peace of midtones but in the conflict between blinding highlights and deep blacks. Without this clash between light and shadow, the very form of objects would not exist. White and black define each other and are indispensable to one another. Light (Being) represents the sense that emerges, the epiphany, while shadow (Nothingness) is not a void, but the place where my imagination can be free.
The Isolation of Essence
With the increase of luminous contrast, I make what is not needed disappear: shadows swallow useless details and what remains illuminated was intended on purpose. Similarly, with chromatic contrast, I extract the subject from the background to restore its dignity and snatch it from anonymity. While realism wants to show everything, through chromatic forcing I decide what to hide. In a world submerged by realistic but flat stimuli, the use of contrast is an act of subtraction that expresses a creative power: I force the viewer of my photo to contribute their own part to interpret it. It is an almost Kierkegaardian act of will.
The Dialectic between Appearance and Truth
By exacerbating contrasts, I stage the struggle between what is seen and what remains hidden. Shadow is, first and foremost, mystery: if everything were illuminated, there would be no room to dream. Harsh shadow is the unknown, the unconscious. On the other hand, light becomes a metaphysical, almost mystical fact: not a normal light, but rather a wound in the darkness that speaks the truth of matter. It is the transition from the chaos of shadow to the form of logos.
The Aesthetics of the Absolute and the Rejection of Compromise
By choosing contrast, I reject the nuance, which is often just a synonym for mediocrity or ambiguity. This visual radicalism is my search for the Absolute. Pure white and black are abstractions, because in Nature they almost never exist so separated. By recreating them, or at least strengthening them, I try to overcome Nature to reach a superior mental order. The result is pure emotion: instead of the calm of midtones, deep blacks and highlights deliver a blow to the stomach, arousing ecstasy or anguish or enthusiasm. It is the aesthetics of the Sublime of Burke and Kant: beauty that shakes and almost inspires fear through the clash of opposites.
Colour as Symbolic Language
When I employ colour contrasts, my choice is no longer aimed at a flat representation of subjects, but takes on a symbolic value. Complementary colours push beyond realism and imitation. I enter the world of expressionism, where colour does not say how things are made, but what I feel while looking at them. It is a dynamic equilibrium resonant with life itself, made of opposing drives always in motion. When colour becomes violent and unreal, it no longer belongs to the subject but becomes my state of mind: colour tells the temperature of my thought
CONCLUSION: PHOTOGRAPHY AS METAPHYSICS OF LIGHT
Deciding not to repeat oneself and to seek uniqueness is not an artist’s whim, but a serious commitment. I assert that that piece of reality must be saved from oblivion, because it is present in a way that will never return. It is the aesthetics of chance becoming destiny.
Photographing in a non-realistic way does not mean escaping from the world, but entering it even more deeply. By refusing to be didactic, I declare that reality is not what I see with my eyes, but what I feel thanks to the light.
Violent contrast is the heart of this vision: a rhythm made of flashes and silences. In a world full of perfect but empty images, this photography of mine invites one to take a pause, to stop recognising objects and to start looking at the pure energy of light. In doing so, I become a resistor against the superficiality that puts the brain to sleep and against the boring perfection that erases every difference. With my images, I maintain that life is made of significant moments to be interpreted. Moments that bring clarity only through a frontal collision.