Hello! My name is Antonio Foralosso
and I give you my heart through a lens.
I am an observer, solitary, melancholy, silent.
Thirsty for dreams, I scan the world from the White Rabbit hole.
I love photographing everything, from the neighborhood garden to the monument in the historic center.
My journey begins in Verona, Italy.
I dedicate my photos to Yoshikawa Ai-san.
In a weary heart the impossible dream withers...
… Just to revive along a circle. Again. And again.
My photos, in one way or another, are messages of love
But who nonetheless inspires my every shot.
To someone whose life is far away from mine
Sakura for my muse.
Poor reflection of your blinding glare with which you set my soul on fire.
Do you like flowers?
The list of things I don't know about you is getting longer every day.
I often fantasize about which flower to give you, if I could. A rose, perhaps? Roses are always in fashion. But what color? A little voice inside me is screaming "Red!".
No... I never could. I would never dare to give you a red rose.
Spending the nights next to you counting the stars, one by one, until we name them all.
And then, over again.
誰も座っていないベンチ
(Dare mo suwatte inai benchi / An empty bench)
I hold your hand. We sit on that bench over there.
As you look at the horizon, you tell me about your life that I don't know, the lips kissed by the late afternoon sun, the hair moved by the caress of a gentle breeze.
I listen in silence, enraptured, choking my breath not to miss a single inflection of your voice, as I pray that this moment lasts forever.
You turn, give me a shy smile and I fall into the beautiful, infinite vastness of your eyes.
The bench of my heart is still there, empty for so long that I have forgotten what happiness means.
They fill up quickly: friends chatting with each other, parents cuddling their children, lovers exchanging passionate glances. Something that I don't have, or I have lost, or was never mine. Smiles, happiness. I envy them.
I wish I could sit with you at one of those tables and take a picture of your lips adorably covered in ice cream...
I got to frame the tables full of people. I chose to photograph them empty, because this is the only way they tell how I feel.
While I was exploring my city, I took an unplanned turn and came across something that left me speechless: a little patch of uncultivated land next to the remains of part of the old ramparts of the city, surrounded by busy streets, on which stood a group of magnificent cercis siliquastrum trees in full bloom. A small Eden, it was! Where any dream seemed possible... Any but one. Because you weren't there.
Every single photo I take speaks of you and to you.
I often wonder what's the point of continuing, if probably you never see them...
Yet, nothing else makes sense to me.
Their flowers are so beautiful that they don't need the sun at all to shine.
If I were your photographer, I'd want to portray you with as little makeup on as possible. Because you are like these flowers: all you need is your talent and your natural beauty to be the brightest star in the firmament.
A door to Everywhere.
A door to Nowhere.
Is this the meaning of Death?
Is she sleeping? Does she dream of happiness?
When she wakes up, I wish she will touch the sky.
Verona, my city.
If I hadn't been dazzled by her talent and beauty, I would never have picked up a camera.
It all began with a dream brighter than a nova.
I would never started looking at the world through a lens.
Oh, Well of Wonders, hear my whisper...
For Inspiration alone is the bitter part of Love.
Photos are my way of telling her about my city and my soul
Hoping she will see what I see
Even if our worlds are so distant in space and time…
In Verona we call it "Il Grattacielo" ("The Skyscraper"). Well, nowadays that sounds like a sarcastic joke, given its 52 meters of height…
To you, used to quite other glittering pinnacles of glass and alloy reflecting an endless stream of neon signs, it will look just like an old-fashioned doll's house for sure!
While taking photos of the Arco dei Gavi, I was wondering if you know a little about ancient Roman history. How much of it is studied in your schools on the other side of the world? For us Italians and for Europeans in general it is about our past, the origins of our culture. But for you, what does it mean? What do you feel when you observe monuments of a civilization so distant from yours?
I have so many questions to ask you.
... So many things I don't know about you.