I Don't Photograph To Explain
Written by: Guest Contributor; Domenico Mallamo
My images don’t offer answers, at most, they ask questions.
I prefer them to suggest rather than declare, to leave an open space where the viewer can step in.
I prefer them to suggest rather than declare, to leave an open space where the viewer can step in.
Every gaze is an encounter. Every image, a threshold.
I get lost inside these shots.
I don’t bring truths. Only my imagination, my emotions, my stories.
I try to hold on to what’s slipping away, to give shape to something that was about to dissolve.
Each photograph is an attempt - perhaps imperfect, but always sincere.
There are images that don’t speak - they whisper.
They are born from a subtle balance, between light that caresses and shadows that stretch out in silence.
Sometimes they tell a story I don’t even know, yet somehow recognize.
It is there, in the frame, that time becomes fragile and precious. Just a moment - and it remains.
And then, one day, I came across these boats. They weren’t seeking attention, yet they demanded it.
Fishing boats, shaped by time and salt, with colors as vivid as the hands that built them. Boats that seem still, yet within them, carry the sea.
There’s an ancient quiet in their faded wood, a repeated gesture in the knots of their nets, a promise in the reflection stretching across the water.
I tried to photograph them the way one photographs a memory: gently, without disturbing it. Because in each of them, I felt a story that wanted to stay. A departure at dawn.
There are images that don’t speak - they whisper.
They are born from a subtle balance, between light that caresses and shadows that stretch out in silence.
Sometimes they tell a story I don’t even know, yet somehow recognize.
It is there, in the frame, that time becomes fragile and precious. Just a moment - and it remains.
And then, one day, I came across these boats. They weren’t seeking attention, yet they demanded it.
Fishing boats, shaped by time and salt, with colors as vivid as the hands that built them. Boats that seem still, yet within them, carry the sea.
There’s an ancient quiet in their faded wood, a repeated gesture in the knots of their nets, a promise in the reflection stretching across the water.
I tried to photograph them the way one photographs a memory: gently, without disturbing it. Because in each of them, I felt a story that wanted to stay. A departure at dawn.
A slow return, with low light and tired hands.
The breath of the sea, which never truly fades.
And now, each image is a fragment of that breath.
A story that goes on, even after the shutter closes.
Even now.
About the author:
My name is Domenico. I was born and raised in Bari, but I have been living in Parma since 2001.
In everyday life I am a public employee in the IT service, but photography is my escape route, my way of exploring and portraying the world.
When I go out with my camera, I let instinct and light guide me, trying to capture the essence of what I see. Besides shooting, I love spending time with my family and watching soccer and tennis on TV.
In everyday life I am a public employee in the IT service, but photography is my escape route, my way of exploring and portraying the world.
When I go out with my camera, I let instinct and light guide me, trying to capture the essence of what I see. Besides shooting, I love spending time with my family and watching soccer and tennis on TV.
