My homeland

I left my homeland at 19 years, a month, and a day. I wasn't sure at the time, but in doing so, I realized I'd never return to living there. And so, it was. I found fortune elsewhere, but certain roots, you can't tear them up; you take them with you and repot them elsewhere. Always.

It was precisely those roots, kept alive, that drove me to return to my homeland as an accomplished photojournalist. I'd heard all the clichés about Calabria for years. All of them negative, at that. Wherever I met, when I spoke to them about my homeland, I was looked at strangely. "You're not a typical Calabrian" was the most common phrase. I didn't know whether to take it as an insult or a compliment. Over time, in truth, I developed the feeling of insult. First, because a Calabrian knows Calabrians, and second, because, seeing others, I realized that what could have been a population essentially criticized and viewed negatively was actually rich in talent and personality.

The time had come to return with fresh eyes and my experience as a National Geographic photographer to tell the true story of this region. The most rugged and least visited in Italy.

So, I began to travel far and wide. Staying for weeks in the same place. Building new relationships and even friendships. The more time passed, the more I became an "anonymous" photographer. That is, I could fit in anywhere without being considered a busybody. I tried to diversify, but I didn't miss anything. From the religious procession to the opera at the theater, from the solitary fisherman to the ‘Ndrangheta trial (the Mafia from Calabria). From the villages abandoned after the floods of the 1970s to the village famous for its history. But also, archaeology, landscape, agriculture, university and, above all, a great deal of introspection from families I've been introduced to thanks to my ability to communicate.