Michele Brunetti

Years ago, I heard Paolo Gioli’s idea: “I use the camera as a notebook.” That simple thought has guided my work ever since. Every time I raise my camera, I am drawn to something elusive—a detail that confuses, captivates, or even frightens me. I capture that moment without fully understanding it.  

Later, when I develop the images, a new reality emerges. I no longer see the scene as I experienced it, but as the camera, the lens, and the film captured it. The result feels like a shared creation—a collective work between me and my tools. The camera has its own way of seeing, its own intelligence, with the curious ability to reveal order from chaos.  

I shoot in the midst of disorder, but in development, I discover a hidden structure.  

I’ve never been interested in the idea of the photographer as a mere ‘eye’ or in chasing the ‘perfect composition.’ In fact, those ideas bore me. Instead, I’m drawn to uncertainty—the feeling that something out there isn’t quite right.  

There’s an unease about what’s considered normal, and I often wonder: is it really normal?  

Eggleston elevated the ordinary, turning boredom into something beautiful. But for me, the question is different: why does something is boring? And can that boredom be captured? It’s a difficult outcome to achieve because, when I develop the photo, something unexpected often emerges—and that chaos, where does it go?  

This is why I speak of chaos and order. I shoot amid the confusion of everyday life, and through the process of developing, my camera works against that chaos, quietly transforming it into something structured—a shared creation between me, the camera, and the film.