When I was in Sweden, I met almost nobody. Or better still, I met and talked to nobody while I was taking my pictures. I always believed that photography is a deeply private act, and as other intimate urges and needs, it should be carried out privately, without letting anyone know. So when I take pictures of people, I do it unseen, trying not to bother them, as it would probably bother me. This non-interactive approach, that could recall Levi-Strauss's anthropological method, it's not based on the fact that I think a photographer should't interact with who or what surrounds them, but on the fact that I don't like to do it. The people I met in Sweden were all extremely kind, and nonetheless nobody (alive) appears in this work. 

John Berger explained that what is shown in a photo always evokes what is not shown. In other words, it's not only what we see in the image to manifest the intention of the photographer, but also what is kept out of the shot. So what this work is really about is the absence of people, a self-imposed loneliness, made of trees and houses, windows and water. And only in the end we find somebody. Almost. In fact the series ends whit the statue of a naked woman, sensual and cold, as photography itself. And as photography itself, this figure (The Waterlily by Per Hasselberg) appears real and alive without being so, without ever waking up. As photography, it seduces us, but it cannot answer us and it cannot move. So what's the point of the beautiful shapes of a statue for us to touch, if it can't move? And what's the point of the beautiful shapes in a picture for us to see, if we can't touch what is shown?

This series of pictures, this overturned wonder tale, that misplaces Propp's functions, that starts in a dark wood and continues through many archetypes, ends with a princess that can't be brought back to life, doomed to remain asleep, under the eternal spell of photography.