I take photos everyday, without really making an effort, it just happens. I’m not looking for “pretty” things to take photos of, I just want to chronicle my daily life, to keep little pieces from it. I love seeing the banal places of my everyday transfigured by light, made important by the mere fact that they are kept in the grain of the film. But even if my subjects are so modest (the streets I pass by when I go to my job, coffee mugs casting long shadows on the kitchen table in the morning, a corner of my room, etc) and I’m not looking for “beautiful” or “interesting”subjects in themselves, still all these photos are highly idealized. It’s not even something that I consciously propose to do, but somehow it seems important to me that my diary in images contains mostly the nice things (even if my written diary can take also the boredom, the sadness, the worry, the disappointment, the loss). It’s not that all these images should be perfect (actually my favorites are just silly snapshots of my friends and me and I don’t mind documenting for “posterity” 🙂 how messy our work room can get). But what is really distressing and sad and awful is edited out from these photos. Trying (and not always managing) to frame my street photos in a way in which no commercial billboard appears in them. I took once a photo of orange apartment buildings glowing in the golden sunset light, so beautiful and transfigured, and then later I noticed that a poster for the circus that I wasn’t aware of was framed in the photo. Although I don’t do that usually, I photoshoped out the poster, I just couldn’t stand the thought that the horror of those animals pictured as happy would stay in my diary.