Remembering Ben Winston

Today I accidentally knew that my friend Ben Winston passed away few days ago in the Peak District.
It was a shock not only because he was a lovely human being (everybody’s opinion), a gifted photographer and filmmaker. He was 39. I kept thinking about his beloved family, his wife and his little daughter.

It’s quite common to die. But you never got used to the idea. For me, it’s one of the (many) cases. Ben was brilliant and he researched emotions from his work. He loved his work, he loved the outdoors, he loved working with people and shooting instants, frames… I really fell in love with his practical approach, that thing you can never learn from anybody, it’s just inside you.

I remember when we last share a cup of coffee, back in London. We spoke about life and opportunities, it was hard for me to understand all his thoughts, because of his close Sheffield accent. We really had a great time that afternoon, trying to record audio tracks for a video, fighting against airplanes and ambulances.

I wish we could have spent more time together.

Thank you, Ben.


I’m your sacrifice


Viviamo nella menzogna perché in questo modo sappiamo che è comodo nascondere le magagne.
Vivessimo nella sincerità, non dureremo molto.
Amarissima considerazione di un inizio anno che sa tanto da linea di demarcazione, da punto di non ritorno.
E la vita? Se ne sbatte, di noi, del nostro modo di pensare, della nostra sofferenza e agitazione. Essa noi bramiamo possedere, incauti del non capirne l’inafferabilità e l’incoscienza del voerlo fare.
Un nuovo giorno sta per sbocciare. Ma l’ansia non lenisce la miseria. Di getto, sul lavoro. Almeno, non penso.