Notti in Transito

Black and White Photos about Matera: 2019 European Capital Culture.
Regardless of what we want, we have to go through the night. Night is a time that brings us back to ourselves, just as we really are; It is a time in which we reflect our fragility. Life is a permanent change, more appropriately it is a transit because in change, each one of us does not have to get lost; on the contrary, we have to keep our own history and essence. We must look to the future recovering the meaning and richness of our memory and our experiences

NTT1-Enchanted place in Matera Sassi
Matera is the city where my mother was born and where I spent most of my childhood summers. Matera for me: has the taste of whipped cream just made, placed in waffle baskets left on the kitchen table for our breakfast; it smells at the kitchen cupboards of my grandmother's house; it is the look out of the windows with green wooden jealousies, watching people without them being able to see us; is the afternoon ice cream walking through the main course, dressed as princes and with the perennial terror of staining the shirt
NTT2-Midnight sun
Matera is the city where my mother was born and where I spent most of my childhood summers. Matera for me: has the taste of whipped cream just made, placed in waffle baskets left on the kitchen table for our breakfast; it smells at the kitchen cupboards of my grandmother's house; it is the look out of the windows with green wooden jealousies, watching people without them being able to see us; is the afternoon ice cream walking through the main course, dressed as princes and with the perennial terror of staining the shirt
NTT3-Piazzetta dei Sassi of Matera
Matera is the city where my mother was born and where I spent most of my childhood summers. Matera for me: has the taste of whipped cream just made, placed in waffle baskets left on the kitchen table for our breakfast; it smells at the kitchen cupboards of my grandmother's house; it is the look out of the windows with green wooden jealousies, watching people without them being able to see us; is the afternoon ice cream walking through the main course, dressed as princes and with the perennial terror of staining the shirt
NTT4-A corner in Sassi Matera
Matera is the city where my mother was born and where I spent most of my childhood summers. Matera for me: has the taste of whipped cream just made, placed in waffle baskets left on the kitchen table for our breakfast; it smells at the kitchen cupboards of my grandmother's house; it is the look out of the windows with green wooden jealousies, watching people without them being able to see us; is the afternoon ice cream walking through the main course, dressed as princes and with the perennial terror of staining the shirt

NTT5-Church with epic light
Matera is the city where my mother was born and where I spent most of my childhood summers. Matera for me: has the taste of whipped cream just made, placed in waffle baskets left on the kitchen table for our breakfast; it smells at the kitchen cupboards of my grandmother's house; it is the look out of the windows with green wooden jealousies, watching people without them being able to see us; is the afternoon ice cream walking through the main course, dressed as princes and with the perennial terror of staining the shirt
NTT6-Matera: i Sassi
Matera is the city where my mother was born and where I spent most of my childhood summers. Matera for me: has the taste of whipped cream just made, placed in waffle baskets left on the kitchen table for our breakfast; it smells at the kitchen cupboards of my grandmother's house; it is the look out of the windows with green wooden jealousies, watching people without them being able to see us; is the afternoon ice cream walking through the main course, dressed as princes and with the perennial terror of staining the shirt
NTT7-Old Towing
Matera is the city where my mother was born and where I spent most of my childhood summers. Matera for me: has the taste of whipped cream just made, placed in waffle baskets left on the kitchen table for our breakfast; it smells at the kitchen cupboards of my grandmother's house; it is the look out of the windows with green wooden jealousies, watching people without them being able to see us; is the afternoon ice cream walking through the main course, dressed as princes and with the perennial terror of staining the shirt
NTT8-Bell tower with threatening shadow
Matera is the city where my mother was born and where I spent most of my childhood summers. Matera for me: has the taste of whipped cream just made, placed in waffle baskets left on the kitchen table for our breakfast; it smells at the kitchen cupboards of my grandmother's house; it is the look out of the windows with green wooden jealousies, watching people without them being able to see us; is the afternoon ice cream walking through the main course, dressed as princes and with the perennial terror of staining the shirt

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Notti in Transito