…or how I accidentally got back into photography without becoming a better person

You know you’ve been away from blogging for too long when your camera looks at you like, “Do I know you?” as if to ask, “Are we still doing this?”

Anyway — hello. We are, apparently, still doing this.

Postcards from a Pause

After a few months of hiatus (creative block? general chaos? Mercury retrograde?), last December I found myself doing what I always do when I’m home in Barletta: walking along the beach and through the castle grounds, my personal antidote to the everything-else, pretending it’s introspection and not just a socially acceptable form of loitering.

Yes, December 2024 but no dramatic rebrands, no “new year, new aesthetic” declarations, just a quiet decision to start noticing things again. Slowly, casually. I know, it’s not groundbreaking, it’s not Paris or Lecce, after all but it is deeply satisfying. There’s something about salt air and uneven pavements that get the creative neurons firing — or maybe that’s just the cold.

Barletta during wintertime is not anywhere near a glossy brochure version— and that’s precisely why I love it. No crowds. No influencers doing yoga under the palm trees. Just wind, salt, and the sort of decaying seaside charm that makes everything look slightly hungover. The castle stands nearby, dignified and mildly annoyed, and the sea wears that unfiltered, melancholy Mediterranean blue like a shrug. I didn’t expect to find anything worth photographing. Which is, of course, when everything starts to show up.

Sunflowers in Plastic and Gates, Ghost Signs, and Other Existential Decor

It all started — as it always does — by the beach. If you’ve ever wandered Barletta’s shoreline in winter, you’ll know the strange joy of wearing a coat while staring into a sun that refuses to warm you. That’s where I met them again: the plastic flowers. A giant orange one, and an even bigger yellow one, umbrella-shaped and completely ridiculous. They preside over an empty children’s playground area: faded, weathered, and completely unbothered by their own surrealism.

Is it a whimsical installation? A set left behind from an avant-garde Italian musical about photosynthesis? No one knows. It’s pop art by accident — a bright, brittle absurdity, and maybe one of the most honest things I’ve ever photographed.

From there, it turned into a bit of a scavenger hunt. The kind where the prizes are textures, shadows, and moments so oddly satisfying they feel staged — except they’re not.

Take, for example, the ghostly sign in front of the castle: a blank metal square perfectly mirroring the small window behind it. “I’m just a sign, standing in front of a window, asking to be noticed.” A duet in geometry which made me fell for it.

Then there were the “gates” — a whole series of them, unintentionally framing each other like some sort of Russian dolls. A metaphor? A trap? A cry for help from urban planning? Still unclear.

And of course, the runner — caught near a perfectly shuttered white building. Motion and stillness. Noise and silence. Fitness and… me, awkwardly walking with a camera.

Further along, the bare trees stretched up into the sky like skeletons doing ballet. No leaves, no distractions — just line and form and the blue sky.

There’s something reassuring about photographing trees when they have nothing left to show off. It’s all bones and posture — honest and unapologetically bleak. I relate.

The Art of Noticing (Again)

Coming home and picking up the camera again didn’t just help me take photos. It reminded me how to look — really look. Not for drama, not for the algorithm, not even for beauty. Just for the strange, the quiet, the interesting, the slightly melancholic oddness of a place I know too well.

It’s not about chasing the perfect shot anymore. It’s about noticing the sign that wants to be a window. The wreath that forgot to retire. The unapologetically plastic flowers refusing to blend in.

So yes — this was a (slow) return of sorts. Not triumphant, not even particularly efficient but sincere. “Refining my ability to observe” sounds lofty, but really, it’s just me trying to care again. Quietly. Slightly out of focus.

I’m back — ish. Still rusty, still side-eyeing my own pretensions. But if there’s a plastic sunflower involved, I’ll probably take the photo.

Thanks for sticking around. Or stumbling in. Either way, I see you.