The old gold question: is Gear Enough?
The other day, chatting with a friend, we realised how many different things help us be photographers. Gear, of course. But not only that.
Simone Bramante (a photographer I really think you should follow, if you don’t already) puts it perfectly: technology doesn’t replace style — it just makes it measurable.
So the question moves somewhere else:
what is our style built on? What is it that makes our heart race, that lets us breathe a little deeper when we press the shutter and try to make sense of the world around us?
That’s why I decided to start this little series of post about the books that have shaped me as a photographer. They didn’t just show me pretty images; they taught me new ways of looking at things, new angles that I didn’t have before.
And I want to start from the book I love most in the world, and that changed forever the way I see it: Ocean Sea, by Alessandro Baricco.
Plasson’s Quest: Finding the Sea’s Eyes
I could talk for hours about the Locanda Almayer (yes, in Italian sounds better) – that suspended, unreal place where everything seems to be happening and not happening at the same time. I could introduce you to each of the guests, one by one, and we’d get lost in their stories.
But today I want to stop on just one of them: Plasson.
Plasson is a famous painter, known for his portraits. People say that all he needs to do is looking into someone’s eyes, and the rest of the painting comes almost by itself. At some point though, he leaves those faces behind. We find him on the shore, trying to paint the sea with the sea itself. He dips his brushes straight into the water and chases something that sounds almost impossible: to find the sea’s eyes, grab its essence, and fix it forever on the canvas.
Why am I telling you about Plasson?
Because his wandering feels very close to what I’m looking for when I shoot: the essence of things. That moment where everything aligns for a second and the world shows a tiny piece of its truth.
Sometimes this waiting seems endless. I walk, I look, I frame, I change my mind. And then, suddenly, I see it — that fragment of beauty, of clarity – honesty, somehow. I press the shutter and try to hold it still.
For a moment, it feels like I’ve found the sea’s eyes too.
And then, as always, I start over. Another walk, another search, another attempt to see a bit deeper.