Ghost
My first photographic campaign in Sardinia dates back to the early 1990s. At that time, I was working on my first book about trees, and I was searching for some images of the island’s ancient cork oaks. Once that work was finished, I decided to take a vacation in Santa Teresa di Gallura.
Our hotel was located at the foot of a hill, on top of which lies a military area known as “Capo Testa.” The place is fascinating, not only for its old lighthouse but above all for the marvelous granite rocks that stretch out toward the sea. Shaped over time by wind and water, they have taken on unimaginable forms, as if sculpted by the hands of master artists.
Some resemble animals, others have anthropomorphic appearances — sometimes with such dynamic poses that it seems as though they’ve been bewitched, frozen in motion by some spell.
That’s how a new project was born — one that would lead me, over the years, to travel extensively throughout the granite areas of northern Sardinia, particularly Gallura and the islands of the “Strait of Bonifacio National Park.”
The shapes I discovered seemed to trace back to the origins of humanity — at times so harsh and raw as to be unsettling. Among them were forms of infernal creatures that appeared to have emerged straight from the underworld. I also found skulls, birds of prey, bears, seals, elephants, whales, dogs, and even sea turtles.
One day, I came across a rock that reminded me of Dante Alighieri, and I couldn’t help but wonder — was it a coincidence, or was it he himself who wished to guide me through this Dantean hell?
Some of the islands where I conducted my research were so wild and untouched by humans that animals had taken full possession of them. On one of these — the island of Razzoli, long uninhabited — I was once attacked by a community of yellow-legged gulls, forcing me, for my own safety, to make a hasty retreat from the island.
Several years have passed since those first explorations, and alongside the erosion of the granite, I’ve had to acknowledge the wear and tear of the cartilage in my knees. Perhaps a sign — telling me that it’s time to consider this project complete, and to share it with you.
