Flowing City [PREVIEW] by dotART / Exhibit Around APS

Flowing City by dotART - Art Association | Exhibit Around Registered office: via del Veltro 30 - 34137 Trieste, Italy Headquarters: via San Francesco 6 - 34133 Trieste, Italy Tel. +39 040 3720617 | info@exhibitaround.com | www.exhibitaround.com C.F. 90125960329 Cover photo: Florin Flacau Short stories: Roberto Srelz Translation: ZoĂŤ Rivas Zanello, Alenka Poropat Proof reading: Andrew Constanti Graphic design: Studio grafico Stefano Ambroset ÂŠ All photos owned by the named photographer

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Photography is fast. Photography is slow. Photography has to push you to look at what stands in front of you, to notice things, get captured by them, but not always to try to capture them.

Davide Marcelli (Italy)

Roberto Cenci (Italy) Thirty Seconds In London – 6 –

You-Are-Here inspired by

Roberto Cenci’s

«Thirty Second in London» On the way home, inside a taxi which he had called, trying

really hard to remember the company’s name – was it the one

similar to the tea brand? Or was that the advert for the sponsor?

– Hollis laid his hand on Kim’s knee and said that if anyone ever accused him of taking advantage of his own charm, he would be

embarrassed if it ever happened in front of his mother. He asked her twice if she had liked it. Kim nodded distractedly, trying not

to appear too annoyed or afraid. Her leg and hip muscles were

sore. In the end, it was just work. In fact, when they had bent down to get the two white lines, she had even had fun. She had even enjoyed herself, although right now she couldn’t distinguish the people along the road: she could only see a line of blurred

shapes, and the red and yellow of the double-decker buses. Soon,

they were going to arrive anyway, and she would never have to see him again. It was five o’clock and she had been up since the

day before. At home, the fridge needed cleaning. To get out of the taxi, she took off her heels and she danced off with her coat moving in the air coming out of the Tube ventilation grate.

Hollis mumbled something to the driver, giving him a new

destination address. The man did a U-turn and stopped not far – 7 –

after Piccadilly to let the woman who was going towards the pedestrian area pass. The confidence that Hollis had showed with Kim disappeared straight away, once he remained alone.

The good, cute, elegant and well-dressed woman he had met at the Thai restaurant turned out to be a serious drug addict and a

whore. They had taken too much stuff, prime quality expensive

stuff. Now he could only see strings of light and his eyes were

burning. Doesn’t matter. He will sleep on the plane. “I am sorry”, the driver addressed him through the speaker with such a

perfect native English accent. “This will take a second more.

There’s trouble on the street”. Hollis rubbed his painful wrist.

Fucking Kim had been tiring. “Yes, yes”, he answered, “No hurry”. ‘Next time’, he thought, ‘I’ll be more cautious. I’d like a

normal girl. Yes, I’d like that’. Back home, in Rivera, he had two dogs. It would be nice, his girlfriend-to-be would love his dogs. Look up at the house.

He got off. There was a woman next to the hotel revolving

door. ‘Do they still make revolving doors? I’m feeling dizzy, he

thought. The woman was holding a phone. She started laughing

at something. Her laugh reminded him of the sound of an automatic gun. He could also hear water flushing, and he then noticed one member of the hotel staff washing the pavement in

front of the entrance, while the other was sweeping away the dust. He realised that the woman had a cheap Korean mobile phone: strange, in a place like this. The brownish heavy metal

revolving door threw him inside, across the lobby, stopping only – 8 –

Roberto Cenci (Italy) Thirty Seconds In London – 9 –

Roberto Cenci (Italy) Thirty Seconds In London – 10 –

at the reception desk. The hotel logo consisted of a triangular

shape inside a circle. “Need anything, Sir?” asked the young man at the desk while his colleague was talking to another guest, not far away. “Well”, said Hollis “I’m tired. I’ll pay everything right

away and then I’ll go to get my stuff ready as I will be leaving

tomorrow”. “Very well, Sir”, answered the young boy with a nasal voice. “I’ll prepare your receipt, Sir. May I ask where you are

heading?” Risky. Hollis didn’t want to leave any trails. “Washington”, he answered. A waitress just went through the door of

the bar. She gave the impression of being very cold. The young man smiled at him and asked “Would you like me to call you a taxi to get you to the airport?”

It’s years since I’ve been here.

He nearly laughed while getting into the black car. “Wash-

ington. Of all places, why Washington?” There was a photo in

the corner for the hotel trips: one of those big, well-printed posters, showing a panoramic view in which, behind the glass, you could see a dome. Could be Washington, or maybe Rome. You

could see the reflection of the visitors and the ornamental plants

next to the sofas in the lobby. The dome seemed to be surrounded by plants, appearing between the palm trees and the sky. The

reflected men and women in the hotel were like shadows, a ghostly crowd. “My father”, he thought, “He would tease me and tell me that I am always seeing ghosts”. Hollis has always had a

vivid imagination. His father, on the other hand, didn’t. Every-

one said he hardly ever used to show his emotions. He was never – 11 –

angry and he never laughed. Everyone said that you could see he

was alive only when he was drunk. Four times a year, never more

and never less. And on those occasions he would cry, say that his

life was horrible and that everything was so miserable, then he

would push Hollis, shout at his wife and leave. He would disappear in the countryside, and come back a few days later, not every time though, once he never came back. Back to the hotel. I can move on.

There was no map in the lobby, one of those maps on which

you can found the “You-are-here” sign. He needed one of those maps, but there was none. It was hot, extremely hot, scorching. He was about to ask the receptionists to turn the heating down,

but he then realised that he was probably the only one who was hot. Looking out of the window he could still see lines instead of cars, he was shivering for the cold one moment and the next in a

heat flush. “Who cut this stuff?” In the lobby there was a red carpet with a lion on it. “Dieu et mon droit”, he read “Who knows

what it means”. He picked up the papers they had prepared and collected the key. In the lift he could see that the floors went

from 1 to 18, skipping the number 13. He was staying on the fifth floor, in room number 56B. The doors to the rooms were made of fake wood, but they seemed to be strong enough. The

light came from the lampshades hidden behind the fake columns. At night the light seemed red, while during the day it

seemed white. There must have been an automatic air perfuming and air circulation system – still not covering the smell of the – 12 –

Roberto Cenci (Italy) Thirty Seconds In London – 13 –

Roberto Cenci (Italy) Thirty Seconds In London – 14 –

tapestry. He didn’t hear a single sound since he had gone upstairs. He entered the room, opened the window, stopping only

to stare at those moving lights in the street until they disappeared. The fresh air made him feel better. Step on the train.

“The thing is some people are terrified. They are afraid of

even just stepping outside. I can’t imagine them being able to feel guilty or angry”. The woman with dark skin sitting in front of

Hollis had got on the train at the stop before his; the crowd

started to move, time for work. Or time to head back. Bond Street. Hollis got out of the taxi straight after leaving the hotel:

a detour. All according to the schedule: he had asked to be taken to the corner near the park, and then away. It is better not to stand out too much: no need for luggage. Everything he needed

had already been sent to the other side of the world. It’s that animal instinct which saves your life. “This means that they are scared of living. They are locked up, imprisoned, I think. Frozen inside. With no emotions. And why is all that?”

The woman was about forty years old. She had that sort of

sophisticated and elegant beauty which had never been on the cover of a magazine, not even in London. However, the beauty

that did reach quite high levels of society and decided to stay

there and grow old. At the same time many other women grow old together with her but do not keep her beauty.

Hollis was enjoying watching her. “What do you think?” he

asked her. “Did you get on at the Arch?”. Hollis scratched his – 15 –

head. “Yes, at the Arch. One stop before you. I think I feel sorry for how they have to live”, he answered, “especially when I am

tired. But I am also really glad that there are women like yourself, here in this city. It is extremely grey here, everything passes so quickly.”

Step off the train.

They continued to chat for a while. The woman smiled and

was talking a lot. “I try to do so, just as you said”, she said. “You

mean with your diet?” answered Hollis. “I try, of course. I’m not saying that I always succeed. My intentions are good, though.”

“I’m pleased. You are such a beautiful woman”. “Thank-you”, she

said, smiling. She appeared to be embarrassed. “Excuse me”,

Hollis got up. “I’m getting off, I’m getting the bus to the airport”. “Oh”, she seemed disappointed. “Will you come back to London?”

Hollis focused on imagining the eyes of the women that he

would want to be his partner. She had a nice perfume, peculiar but intriguing. “No, I’m afraid I won’t. Bye, hope to see you again though.”

When he emerged from the underground darkness, he found

himself under such a clear night sky that he could see the stars

through the reflection of that city, moving within him and everyone.

– 16 –

Roberto Cenci (Italy) Thirty Seconds In London – 17 –

Roberto Cenci (Italy) Thirty Seconds In London – 18 –

Roberto Cenci (Italy) Thirty Seconds In London – 19 –

Alessandro Manchìa (Italy)

– 20 –

Romina Calini (Italy)

– 21 –

Anna Beyger - Pasternak (Great Britain)

– 22 –

James Niven (Australia)

– 23 –

Rafał Rafalski (Poland)

– 24 –

Nino Evola (Italy)

– 25 –

Rossella Giacomelli (Italy)

– 26 –

David Fletcher (Great Britain)

– 27 –

Riccardo Crevatin (Italy)

– 28 –

Rafał Rafalski (Poland)

– 29 –

Giuseppe Cardoni (Italy) Metropolitan Fragments â&#x20AC;&#x201C; 30 â&#x20AC;&#x201C;

Giuseppe Cardoni (Italy) Metropolitan Fragments â&#x20AC;&#x201C; 31 â&#x20AC;&#x201C;

Giuseppe Cardoni (Italy) Metropolitan Fragments â&#x20AC;&#x201C; 32 â&#x20AC;&#x201C;

Giuseppe Cardoni (Italy) Metropolitan Fragments â&#x20AC;&#x201C; 33 â&#x20AC;&#x201C;

Giuseppe Cardoni (Italy) Metropolitan Fragments â&#x20AC;&#x201C; 34 â&#x20AC;&#x201C;

Giuseppe Cardoni (Italy) Metropolitan Fragments â&#x20AC;&#x201C; 35 â&#x20AC;&#x201C;

Giuseppe Cardoni (Italy) Metropolitan Fragments â&#x20AC;&#x201C; 36 â&#x20AC;&#x201C;

Giuseppe Cardoni (Italy) Metropolitan Fragments â&#x20AC;&#x201C; 37 â&#x20AC;&#x201C;

Nino Evola (Italy)

– 38 –

Giorgia Ivone (Italy)

– 39 –

– 40 –

Nicole Anne Revita (Philippines)

– 41 –

Marco Marcone (Italy) Asia – 42 –

Marco Marcone (Italy) Asia – 43 –

Marco Marcone (Italy) Asia – 44 –

Marco Marcone (Italy) Asia – 45 –

Marco Marcone (Italy) Asia – 46 –

Marco Marcone (Italy) Asia – 47 –

Marco Marcone (Italy) Asia – 48 –

Marco Marcone (Italy) Asia – 49 –

Merethe Wessel- Berg (Norway) Rain, Oslo

Robin Yong (Australia)

– 54 –

Robin Yong (Australia)

– 55 –

Riccardo Crevatin (Italy)

– 56 –

Florin Flacau (Romania)

– 57 –

Marco Musillo (Italy)

– 58 –

Florin Flacau (Romania)

– 59 –

– 60 –

Fabiola Iris Sbano (Italy)

– 61 –

Taking photographs has become so instantaneous, that we now use a little touch display instead of our own vision. We might not have even noticed this: looking directly at what we photograph has become optional.

Florin Flacau (Romania)

Riccardo Crevatin (Italy)

– 64 –

Marco Lambardi (Italy)

– 65 –

Georg Worecki (Luxembourg) Performative Urbanism – 66 –

Georg Worecki (Luxembourg) Performative Urbanism – 67 –

Georg Worecki (Luxembourg) Performative Urbanism – 68 –

Georg Worecki (Luxembourg) Performative Urbanism – 69 –

Georg Worecki (Luxembourg) Performative Urbanism – 70 –

Georg Worecki (Luxembourg) Performative Urbanism – 71 –

Georg Worecki (Luxembourg) Performative Urbanism – 72 –

Georg Worecki (Luxembourg) Performative Urbanism – 73 –

Beppe Castellani (Italy)

– 74 –

James Niven (Australia)

– 75 –

Merethe Wessel- Berg (Norway) Rain, Oslo

Giorgia Ivone (Italy)

– 80 –

Nino Evola (Italy)

– 81 –

Edoardo Schepis (Italy) E… Motion – 82 –

Edoardo Schepis (Italy) E… Motion – 83 –

Edoardo Schepis (Italy) E… Motion – 84 –

Edoardo Schepis (Italy) E… Motion – 85 –

Edoardo Schepis (Italy) E… Motion – 86 –

Edoardo Schepis (Italy) E… Motion – 87 –

Edoardo Schepis (Italy) E… Motion – 88 –

Edoardo Schepis (Italy) E… Motion – 89 –

Nino Evola (Italy)

– 90 –

– 91 –

Anna Beyger - Pasternak (Great Britain)

– 92 –

Gabi Ben Avraham (Israel)

– 93 –

Guilherme Bergamini (Brazil)

– 94 –

Marcin Fiń (Poland)

– 95 –

– 96 –

Florin Flacau (Romania)

– 97 –

The difference between an image swamped by many others in a memory card and a single image which represents a special moment of our lives is the evolution of photography in time.

Fabiola Iris Sbano (Italy)

Romina Tancredi (Italy)

– 100 –

Filipe Bianchi (Portugal)

– 101 –

Romina Tancredi (Italy)

– 102 –

Andrea Zazzaro (Italy)

– 103 –

Filipe Bianchi (Portugal)

– 104 –

Filipe Bianchi (Portugal)

– 105 –

Filipe Bianchi (Portugal)

– 106 –

Alain Menez (Ireland)

– 107 –

Filipe Bianchi (Portugal)

– 108 –

Filipe Bianchi (Portugal)

– 109 –

Steve Geer (USA) One-sixth of a second – 110 –

Seconds in minutes inspired by

Steve Geer’s

«One-sixth of a second» One-sixth of a second.

The beginning of a headache, a hell of a headache. Stress in

police officers: when it starts it makes you cross your eyes, then

you hear the drumming of the bodhráns, then shiny-watery eyes and temples thumping like bass drums. For a while, Sosuke

sings a song by Wolf Larsen found on YouTube; takes a sip from

his hip flask. His “Jameson” flask which only costs a few Yen in polished tin with a screw cap. Irish whiskey, distilled three times:

from “Follow-The-Sun” supermarket. Not bad though, it sure helps with the headache.

“Sosuke”, whispers Hiroto.

A car was rushing down the road, a bit too fast in Hiroto’s

opinion. Everything to do with the residents of the neighbourhood and everything that happens in the neighbourhood, and in

that city, that flows as water in a canal after the curfew, everything is his responsibility: his superior has made that clear. “Sosuke”

The deepest part of his eye, the part full of tears, turns to-

wards Hiroto. Hideously. “Hiroto?”

“Sosuke. You need to stay awake. The car is moving.” – 111 –

“It’s a black car, Hiroto. We are looking for a green one.”

“Sosuke, it’s the street lights. It’s dark green, Sosuke. And it’s

past midnight. It’s our car: «Lady Cockroach», pal.” “The keys, Hiroto”. Thirty seconds.

The car passes close by. It is hot. They remain low down, hid-

den, staring at the shop window. The Dutch guy was right. “How did you get a fever?” asked Hiroto. All that Sosuke knows is that it has something to do with his stomach and that alcoholics can

get bad illnesses caused by bacteria and impurities in their guts.

They get in their car. Sosuke starts it up. “Sosuke, you are as yellow as a Japanese guy”, said Hiroto. “You look as if you were

made of wax. You should get a check-up at the hospital tomorrow morning”. Sosuke pulls out on the road, without turning the

lights on and starts to follow the “Lady” keeping a distance. “It must be your guts – what do you say?” continues Hiroto. “Do

you think so?” replies Sosuke. Since he is thinking about his illness and is feeling embarrassed for not being well that night, the screech of the breaks and the smashing of lights coming from

further down the road surprises him. Just in time to pull over without being seen. Minutes.

“He crashed right into the guy who was crossing the road”,

hisses Hiroto. “Shit. Now what?”

“And now we wait. He can’t run away”, bursts out Sosuke

even more yellow under the yellow street lights. – 112 –

Steve Geer (USA) One-sixth of a second – 113 –

Steve Geer (USA) One-sixth of a second – 114 –

Hiroto doesn’t even have time to reply when the falling rain-

bow of the colours of two more cars rushing down the road crash against the “Lady”. Plastic and metal plates screech so much that it makes his hair stand up straight. Horns and other broken lights, the slamming of doors, people getting out of the cars and voices, way too loud. “Bloody hell”, said Susuke. “Of all nights, did he have to crash tonight?”

Many of the residents look out of their windows. Two guys

with beards and wearing t-shits with printed flowers and bowling shoes approach willing to help; another guy comes out of a bar.

One-sixth of a second.

Lines. The idiot upset an old woman wearing slippers, who

was sitting on the stairs in front of her front door. She jumps up,

asks for help, shouts. She looks like a ghost, and so do the shadows of a colourful signboard for a famous smartphone brand crossing with the vertical and horizontal lines of the fence.

A curtain, was pulled open suddenly – the ghostly white face

of a man in his dressing gown, misshaped. A girl on the street

covers her eyes, showing her pink nail varnish and screams,

screams and screams, pleading for nobody to hurt anybody, especially her. Sosuke jumps the fence, ripping his trousers; Hiroto, not having a fever, goes around the long way. What attracts

everybody’s attention the most, including the policemen’s and

Hollis’s, the guy who’s running away, is a Pitbull or a Bull-whatever.

– 115 –

Six seconds.

Sosuke and Hiroto aren’t armed, but they seem extremely

determined, while passing by the window reflecting the scene; Hollis, with his slightly not Japanese-style beard, looks scared

only. Hollis isn’t wearing his coat but he doesn’t seem to be cold. He is about forty inches taller than Sosuke. After having pushed

the Dutch guy’s friend aside, the girl with pink nail varnish, a few steps behind, rolls over on the floor and stays there, shocked, looking into nothing. She slips between the two cars parked along the road, surrounded by the light coming from the lamp-

posts, and reaches the pavement on the other side of the road. All of this lasts only a couple of seconds: Sosuke is out of breath,

his face has gone from yellow to green, the sort of green which you could imagine a frog being. The people looking out of their

windows look like cartoon characters. Two guys running after a third guy, double their size. All three are running around a bunch of cars, running after each other, none of them realising that they could just cut across in front of the others to catch them.

One-sixth of a second.

By the looks of it, the policemen in this world aren’t too

smart. All three of them stop, turn around, they look at each other and then start running again, in the same way as they were

before. Hiroto’s voice is continuously telling Hollis to stop,

shouting police phrases which seem exaggerated or threats with no effect at all. His voice is joined by the voices of those looking – 116 –

Steve Geer (USA) One-sixth of a second – 117 –

Steve Geer (USA) One-sixth of a second – 118 –

out of the windows. Like all the pushers selling cocaine, Hollis

is a fast runner, he is wearing trainers, but Hiroto and Sosuke seem to keep up with him. Another car arrives, stopping not far

from the old lady: she must be a veteran of the neighbourhood. She quickly lies down on the floor covering her head with her

arms as soon as she sees the barrel of a gun pointing out of the window of the car. Hiroto instinctively freezes in a martial art

position, pointing his finger only. Sosuke is thrown off balance, slipping on a puddle of water but remains standing by reaching for the door handle of one of the cars parked there. Six seconds.

However, it’s the guy in the last car who gains most of the

attention; a big part of the frames of the slow motion scene. He

is a film character: squared hair style, a red leather jacket, he seems to be holding something quite unpleasant, a truncheon,

maybe. He is holding it well and seems cool while approaching. Now Sosuke is starting to feel cold: his headache wasn’t as bad as it was before, his breathing is slowing down. “Bloody hell” he

says again and the scene before Sosuke and Hiroto slows down as well as if everything was fractioned into single photo frames.

A delivery boy throws aside his bike, the pizzas he was delivering and the change he had with him and runs away. The woman

wearing sandals was frozen still. The object the guy wearing the

red leather jacket is holding isn’t a truncheon. It is an old but efficient .44, a copy maybe made in China. The gun barrel has been modified so the kickback wouldn’t be so strong. The sort of – 119 –

guy who brakes and gets out of his car holding a .44 isn’t a weekend warrior, but someone who shoots people as a hobby. A black bandanna, tied around his head, is hiding half of his face. Six seconds.

Hiroto, still standing, looks first at the guy with the big gun,

then at Sosuke smeared on the floor, back at the guy again and lastly at Hollis standing completely petrified with his mouth

hanging open and his arms dangling in the air. He sheathes his

finger and tries to remember the self-defence classes he took when training to be a policeman, the very same classes when the instructor explained exactly what to do. He is quite sure that

such weapon could kill you on the spot, not sure a hundred percent, but quite sure. He has never been shot but he has witnessed

other kids on his team being shot. He feels something, but he is

neither scared nor excited: he is feeling absurdly peaceful, unthinkable. He notices the guy is aiming perfectly, holding the

gun slightly above his eyes and the target, so as to avoid the cordite and the spark ending up in his eyes. One-sixth of a second.

There is a moment pause when Sosuke shouts out “Hiroto!”,

the loud bang of the .44 makes Hollis jump back. The guy throws

the .44 back into the car, gets back in the car and drives away. Sosuke stands up while the old woman is still screaming and

Hiroto is still paralysed, Sosuke runs to Hollis: but he is aware the latter is already dead.

– 120 –

Steve Geer (USA) One-sixth of a second – 121 –

Steve Geer (USA) One-sixth of a second – 122 –

Steve Geer (USA) One-sixth of a second – 123 –

Beppe Castellani (Italy)

– 124 –

Alessandro Manchìa (Italy)

– 125 –

Rafał Rafalski (Poland)

– 126 –

Boris Godnic (Slovenia)

– 127 –

Tadashi Onishi (Japan) Ghost In The Tokyo Shell – 128 –

Tadashi Onishi (Japan) Ghost In The Tokyo Shell – 129 –

Tadashi Onishi (Japan) Ghost In The Tokyo Shell – 130 –

Tadashi Onishi (Japan) Ghost In The Tokyo Shell – 131 –

Tadashi Onishi (Japan) Ghost In The Tokyo Shell – 132 –

Tadashi Onishi (Japan) Ghost In The Tokyo Shell – 133 –

Tadashi Onishi (Japan) Ghost In The Tokyo Shell – 134 –

Tadashi Onishi (Japan) Ghost In The Tokyo Shell – 135 –

Beppe Castellani (Italy)

– 136 –

Ivan Blazhev (Macedonia)

– 137 –

Davide Marcelli (Italy)

– 138 –

Attilio Bixio (Italy)

– 139 –

Paola Bet (Italy)

– 140 –

Jeffrey De Keyser (Belgium)

– 141 –

Francesco D’Alonzo (Italy)

– 142 –

Francesco D’Alonzo (Italy)

– 143 –

Monica Montefusco (Italy) Torino – 144 –

Monica Montefusco (Italy) Torino – 145 –

Monica Montefusco (Italy) Torino – 146 –

Monica Montefusco (Italy) Torino – 147 –

Monica Montefusco (Italy) Torino – 148 –

Monica Montefusco (Italy) Torino – 149 –

Monica Montefusco (Italy) Torino – 150 –

Monica Montefusco (Italy) Torino – 151 –

Photography has the power to produce not only a mere memory, but an emotional response in the observer.

Simona Latartara (Italy)

Armineh Hovanesian (USA)

– 154 –

Kristin Van Den Eede (Belgium)

â&#x20AC;&#x201C; 155 â&#x20AC;&#x201C;

Kristin Van Den Eede (Belgium)

â&#x20AC;&#x201C; 156 â&#x20AC;&#x201C;

Guilherme Bergamini (Brazil)

– 157 –

Guido Steenkamp (Germany)

– 158 –

– 159 –

Rafał Rafalski (Poland)

– 160 –

Kenichiro Hagiwara (Japan)

– 161 –

Nicola Daddi (Italy)

– 162 –

James Niven (Australia)

– 163 –

Sonia Granata (Italy)

– 164 –

Alessandro Manchìa (Italy)

– 165 –

Thomas Gauck (Germany)

– 166 –

Frank Rafter (Ireland)

– 167 –

Davide Marcelli (Italy)

– 168 –

Kenichiro Hagiwara (Japan)

– 169 –

Jeannette Muller (Italy)

– 170 –

Ivan Blazhev (Macedonia)

– 171 –

Davide Marcelli (Italy)

– 172 –

Sonia Granata (Italy)

– 173 –

Jeannette Muller (Italy)

– 174 –

Igor Dražić (Croatia)

– 175 –

Valentina Bassi (Italy)

– 176 –

Jeannette Muller (Italy)

– 177 –

Irena Walania (Poland) Hong Kong – 178 –

Irena Walania (Poland) Hong Kong – 179 –

Irena Walania (Poland) Hong Kong – 180 –

Irena Walania (Poland) Hong Kong – 181 –

Irena Walania (Poland) Hong Kong – 182 –

Irena Walania (Poland) Hong Kong – 183 –

Enrico Doria (Italy) Dreary Town – 184 –

Enrico Doria (Italy) Dreary Town – 185 –

Enrico Doria (Italy) Dreary Town – 186 –

Enrico Doria (Italy) Dreary Town – 187 –

Enrico Doria (Italy) Dreary Town – 188 –

Enrico Doria (Italy) Dreary Town – 189 –

Enrico Doria (Italy) Dreary Town – 190 –

Enrico Doria (Italy) Dreary Town – 191 –

Jeannette Muller (Italy)

– 192 –

Jeannette Muller (Italy)

– 193 –

Adriano Zanni (Italy) Cosa Resta (Racconti d’osservazione) – 194 –

Adriano Zanni (Italy) Cosa Resta (Racconti d’osservazione) – 195 –

Adriano Zanni (Italy) Cosa Resta (Racconti d’osservazione) – 196 –

Adriano Zanni (Italy) Cosa Resta (Racconti d’osservazione) – 197 –

Adriano Zanni (Italy) Cosa Resta (Racconti d’osservazione) – 198 –

Adriano Zanni (Italy) Cosa Resta (Racconti d’osservazione) – 199 –

Adriano Zanni (Italy) Cosa Resta (Racconti d’osservazione) – 200 –

Adriano Zanni (Italy) Cosa Resta (Racconti d’osservazione) – 201 –

Merethe Wessel- Berg (Norway) Rain, Oslo

Merethe Wessel- Berg (Norway) Rain, Oslo – 206 –

Merethe Wessel- Berg (Norway) Rain, Oslo – 207 –

Tatsuo Suzuki (Japan) Friction / Tokyo Street – 208 –

Tatsuo Suzuki (Japan) Friction / Tokyo Street – 209 –