A labour of love
I’ve always been drawn to storytelling.
As a child, I was an avid reader. Stories gave me a way to understand people, places, and emotions, especially those I hadn’t encountered yet. I was curious about other cultures and politics, which slowly drew me closer to photojournalism and travel photography. I was drawn in by the raw emotion in people’s eyes, by the ability to see and feel something real that I might never have known through media or textbooks.
Photography was always there, too.
I often carried a camera with me, but for a long time, I didn’t take it seriously. I wasn’t sure I had the eye or the voice. It remained in the background, waiting.
After university, I moved into marketing. First through travel marketing and later into branding and content. I worked with imagery, curated stories, and eventually stepped into a role that allowed me to travel, write, and lead creative projects spotlighting people and culture. The work felt close to something I loved. But not quite close enough.
That’s when everything started to shift.
I was approaching 30, feeling the weight of burnout and the familiar restlessness of not knowing exactly where I belonged. I needed to reconnect with something real, something that felt like mine. So I signed up for an intensive program at the London Institute of Photography and for nine months, I immersed myself completely.
For my final project, I chose to focus on people who live their purpose boldly—artists, makers, and craftspeople who turned their passion into their life’s work.
That project became A Labour of Love.
I photographed tattoo artists, ceramists, beekeepers, painters, and more. I stepped into their studios, observed them in their element, and spoke with them about why they do what they do. What pushes them. What scares them. What keeps them going.
And in them, I found mirrors. People who had the courage to be bold. To step off the safe path. And through their stories, I found strength to step into my own.
A Labour of Love is still in progress—and it probably will be for a long time. With every step in this journey, I find myself asking new questions, guided by curiosity and connection. I’m deeply grateful for the incredible people I’ve met along the way. And lately, I’m especially thankful to be getting closer to the thriving artist community here in Amsterdam - a world that felt like a mystery to me during my first half-decade in the Netherlands.
This blog, diario [diary in my native Italian], is an extension of that project—a place to reflect on what drives me, what sustains me, and how art, work, and life weave together.
It’s a space for stories, for questions, and for the quiet beauty of creative pursuit.
