Impromptu thoughts of a "Dolomite-Po Valley man" My mother was tall and slim, with a consciously understated beauty; on the contrary, my athletic fath...

She was from a good Ferrara family, had a diploma from the music conservatory and was anything but sporty; he was a ski and ice-hockey champion and mountain climber, from a modest family who were photography pioneers in this remote corner of Italy. She was precise, measured, and cultured; he had a sunny disposition, artistic sensibility, and a big heart underneath a thick skin. Two very different personalities that would seem to clash, however it just took a couple of glances and a few walks to make Gabriella and Roberto fall madly in love. Their love wasn’t to be denied, to the extent that Gabriella gave up her former life, abandoned her beloved city, the music, the cinema and the theatre, and went to live in a small town called Cortina, sharing her living space with a big, patriarchal family: in-laws, brothers and sisters-in–law and children, all in one big house. This was a big step to take in 1937, and ensured that Gabriella Carnevali was much discussed in Ferrara and Bologna. Their marriage produced three children, with me as the youngest and the one who was expected to take over the family business. It wasn’t long before the love of photography seeped into my bones. Born and raised in Cortina, I seemed to be following exactly in my father’s footsteps: the love for photography, the drive for sport, the ice-hockey jersey. But my mother’s blood soon began to make itself felt. I can recognise my tendency to look far into the distance as coming from her, as well as the awareness and ability to face choices which can even be difficult. Thanks to her, I slowly got rid of that resistance to change andsense of duty typical of the mountain character, and which can sometimes be limiting. Solid roots from my father, and from my mother the wish for openness, discovery, not just of places but of cultures, different viewpoints, far-off lights and environments. This desire, along with my great interest in photography, has taken me to sixty different countries all over the world, and led me to confront plains, oceans, isolated communities, feelings of wonder, fear, dazzling landscapes, and immeasurable grief. I use my camera to put the images seen by my soul onto film. I have often asked myself how much this chemical mix of blood could have fed my curiosity, the desire to cross boundaries, to go further, deeper, to communicate and compare my culture with others. I recognise my mother’s laugh in the sense of humour that helps me when I feel I have no way out, and my father’s obstinacy and sweetness every time I find myself drowning in the quagmire of disasters that happen on our planet. Sometimes I would like to send them a message, a photograph, a confirmation, proof that their union was the bearer of the magic of certainty, the crystalline properties of a mountain spring and the vastness of the sky seen from the Po Valley.