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“Geographies of Silence” is a photographic exploration of landscapes that do not speak through noise, but through stillness—traces, textures, and the quiet persistence of what remains. Created across several flâneuries through Europe, the American West, the Canary and the Mediterranean islands, this body of work reflects my ongoing fascination with remote places where time feels suspended, and silence becomes a language of its own.
“Geographies of Silence” is a photographic exploration of landscapes that do not speak through noise, but through stillness—traces, textures, and the quiet persistence of what remains. Created across several flâneuries through Europe, the American West, the Canary and the Mediterranean islands, this body of work reflects my ongoing fascination with remote places where time feels suspended, and silence becomes a language of its own.
What I see connecting these territories—despite their distance—is not geography, but atmosphere. Whether in the California deserts or the arid hills of the Aegean, I found the same sensations: wide, infinite skies, empty roads, sunburnt structures, and most of all, an overwhelming light. That light is everywhere in these photographs. It becomes a subject in itself—revealing textures, flattening space, carving silhouettes from silence.
What I see connecting these territories—despite their distance—is not geography, but atmosphere. Whether in the California deserts or the arid hills of the Aegean, I found the same sensations: wide, infinite skies, empty roads, sunburnt structures, and most of all, an overwhelming light. That light is everywhere in these photographs. It becomes a subject in itself—revealing textures, flattening space, carving silhouettes from silence.
Lanzarote, 2019
Lanzarote, 2019
Lanzarote, 2024
Schoenenberg ZH, 2025
Fuerteventura, 2025
Fuerteventura, 2025
There are no people in these images, but they are never uninhabited. Human presence lingers—quietly and powerfully—in objects and interruptions: a STOP sign, a car covered like a relic beneath a tarp, traces of past use, structures arrested in mid-function or long since forgotten. These objects, ordinary yet symbolic, carry a fragile dignity. They remind us of how people pass through, leave marks, abandon, and adapt.
There are no people in these images, but they are never uninhabited. Human presence lingers—quietly and powerfully—in objects and interruptions: a STOP sign, a car covered like a relic beneath a tarp, traces of past use, structures arrested in mid-function or long since forgotten. These objects, ordinary yet symbolic, carry a fragile dignity. They remind us of how people pass through, leave marks, abandon, and adapt.
This absence of human figures is intentional—by removing them, I invite the viewer to slow down, to become part of the landscape, to feel its hush. In that quiet, something essential emerges—not just about places, but about us. These are not empty spaces; they are places full of memory, of waiting, of presence in another form.
This absence of human figures is intentional—by removing them, I invite the viewer to slow down, to become part of the landscape, to feel its hush. In that quiet, something essential emerges—not just about places, but about us. These are not empty spaces; they are places full of memory, of waiting, of presence in another form.
Zurich, 2025
Sins AG, 2024
Zug, 2025
Bruetten ZH, 2025
Tobel-Taegerschen TG, 2024
Daeniken SO, 2024
Traveling from my home in the “Italian far east” to the distant landscapes of California, Arizona, and the North American West sparked a renewed sense of curiosity and exploration. There, I encountered both the imagined and the real—the deserts, the light, the dust, the roads, and the towns I had long seen in films, books, and catalogues. I witnessed horizons that felt limitless and serene, skies deep and rarefied, and deserts both wild and human-shaped. Even far from cities, traces of human presence were everywhere, from the fleeting towns to the relics of colonization, silent yet proud witnesses to the passage of time.
Traveling from my home in the “Italian far east” to the distant landscapes of California, Arizona, and the North American West sparked a renewed sense of curiosity and exploration. There, I encountered both the imagined and the real—the deserts, the light, the dust, the roads, and the towns I had long seen in films, books, and catalogues. I witnessed horizons that felt limitless and serene, skies deep and rarefied, and deserts both wild and human-shaped. Even far from cities, traces of human presence were everywhere, from the fleeting towns to the relics of colonization, silent yet proud witnesses to the passage of time.
Landscapes that capture freedom, the allure of the frontier, and the myth of the Road, revealing beauty in simplicity, solitude, and everyday objects, where the ordinary becomes extraordinary.
Landscapes that capture freedom, the allure of the frontier, and the myth of the Road, revealing beauty in simplicity, solitude, and everyday objects, where the ordinary becomes extraordinary.
Navajo Nation / Monument Valley, Arizona, 2017
Anza Borrego, California, 2018
"Drive-in Theater" - Bombay Beach, California, 2018
El Mirage, California, 2016
West Hollywood, California, 2018
Lucerne Valley, California, 2018
"Most people almost always associate the desert with what they lack: water or people.
They never think about one thing that abounds in the desert: light. All this Light"
Malibu, California, 2016
Malibu, California, 2016
Fuerteventura, 2025
Salton Sea, California, 2019
A pale, flat day. A place forgotten, suspended between sky and damp sand. Silence lingers, heavy with the smell of wet earth; the air is even cold. No one is here. The road has no name—only the anonymous letter of abandoned places. I walk a few steps to break the monotony of hours at the wheel, when suddenly a car appears in the distance. White. I know it. It rushes closer, the sound rising, then slows to turn. I lift the camera—frame, focus, click. A fleeting greeting, and it’s already gone, carrying that Alaska license plate, so strangely out of place here.
"Seven" - Lucerne Valley, California, 2016
Friuli, 2018
Gavdos, 2016
Vajont, Friuli, 2013
Friuli, 2014
Friuli, 2015
Udine, 2015
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