I recently spent ten days in Italy, returning after a long time away. As usual, I was swamped with things to take care of, so every day was filled with meetings and endless errands.
Italy greeted me with unexpected rain and cold. I had come seeking that warm, majestic Italian sun under an endless blue sky—a comforting embrace of light that you never tire of. But no luck. Just gray skies and rain.
From Milan, I traveled to Como to visit my mother, then to Lugano to see friends, Florence to stay with more friends, Bologna to catch up with old work colleagues, and finally, Rome to my own place. Then back to Como, Milan, and, at last, homeward bound.
In between, I managed a move, tried to sort out taxes, mailed documents, sold a car, canceled insurance—the usual web of bureaucratic tasks that make you want to give up on it all. Ah, Italy.
I’ve been taking photos since I was a teenager. My first camera, bought with a little saved allowance, was a small digital Canon (still somewhere to my mother’s place). My second, a compact Fujifilm, was stolen when my house was broken into. And on it went, one camera after another. I’ve almost always had a camera in my pocket.
This time, I brought a Holga with me, thinking I’d start a series of sunset photos. (Didn’t happen.) I also packed my OM-5, with plans to capture the parks of Rome, hoping for those unique warm light-and-shadow contrasts you only find there—a hint of amber that’s unmistakably Roman. If you know, you know. (Didn’t happen, either.)
The only camera I ended up using was my Instax 90. I barely took ten photos in total. Didn’t have time? Maybe. Am I no longer drawn to Italy’s beauty? Definitely not. It’s a stunning country, no question.
The truth is, I was tired. Physically tired. I’ve done so much in recent months, and I realized that photography—though second nature by now—isn’t something that just happens on its own. It requires time, a deliberate pause to look, to capture, and, most importantly, to understand why you’re doing it.
But what does that mean, to have a purpose in photography that isn’t driven by money? Photography, for me, is a way to see things with intention, to frame moments that otherwise slip away unnoticed. It’s about transforming the ordinary into something extraordinary. Perhaps Henri Cartier-Bresson put it best: “To photograph: it is to put on the same line of sight the head, the eye, and the heart.” In other words, photography requires a kind of commitment, a reason that goes deeper, not just in the place you visit but inside yourself, of course is not just snapping pictures.
If I remember right Garry Winogrand once said, “I photograph to see what the world looks like in photographs.” Sometimes, though, that also means knowing when *not* to photograph. There’s wisdom in letting certain moments pass, unrecorded and fully experienced. As Elliott Erwitt put it, “Photography is an art of observation. It has little to do with the things you see and everything to do with the way you see them.” There are times when the best way to “see” is to simply put down the camera.
Another thought from this Italy trip and my lack of photos: sometimes, you need a break. Going somewhere without taking a single photo can actually help if you’re feeling worn out. Because once you’re home, after the jet lag fades—say, in a couple of days—you start thinking about all the shots you could have taken but didn’t. And you feel that urge to shoot again. Maybe this only works if it’s a place you visit often, but it’s something to think about.
Until next time.
Thank you for taking the time to read my reflections. If you’ve had similar experiences, feel free to share your thoughts in the comments—I’d love to hear from you.
