Italian Journey

The French photographer Robert Demachy worked at a time when the gum bichromate process was still in vogue. Primitive though the process was, Demachy was able to extract the most subtle nuances from the medium, investing his portraits, nude studies and landscapes with a timeless quality that I find so appealing.

When creating images for Italian Journey, I knew that I wanted to achieve that timeless quality - that “sheen of antiquity” as it was once described. Rather than immerse my hands in a colloidal mixture of gum arabic, pigments and bichromate, I chose instead to use a computer. First, I scanned the images that I had taken in Italy and then manipulated them in Adobe Photoshop. The beautiful paper textures are real, scanned from an assortment of artist etching paper. I then blended the textures and photographs to create the patina of aged parchment. For the “imperfections” at the edges of each image, countless scans were made from ink blotches; the patterns created were extracted then layered over the images.

I started my Italian journey in Rome where I photographed little - intimidated, perhaps, by its enormity and sheer magnificence. Seeking solace in side-streets and alleyways, I discovered statuaries reclining in forlorn repose, casting furtive glances at a Vespa - or was it a Lambretta? But there was no escaping the allure of Rome's big attractions. Familiar though certain places may be, one can always invest them with visual puns or contradictions. The splendour of the Trevi fountain is here assailed by the ubiquitous tourist bric-a-brac.

The degree to which I see is varies in inverse proportion to the size of a place. It is comforting when a place is small and its boundaries visible. San Gimignano is such a place. Outside its city walls, the Tuscan landscape, draped in serried rows of olives and grapes and dotted with farm houses, looks idyllic - suitable for inclusion as a backdrop in any Renaissance painting. Within it, boars - albeit, stuffed ones - exist cheek-by-jowl with emblematic Pinocchios and porcelain cherubs. Walking the streets, one feels transported to an earlier time. The plain ancient stones and bricks belie the magnificence of the interiors of many of the homes and courtyards. Frescoes shelter under porticoes - forgotten and often in need of restoration.

Located a mere hour-and-a-half train ride north of Rome is the hillside town of Roccantica. I fell instantly in love with it and neighbouring Casperia. Admittedly, being fed and looked after by relatives of friends here had much to do with this feeling. Roccantica is in a most tranquil location.

We rose at dawn and headed for the hills behind us to hunt for wild boars. The initial nightmarish vision of being impaled by the beasties' enormous tusks quickly faded. I need not have feared this expedition. It was really an excuse to luxuriate in the morning sunshine and enjoy the mountain scenery. Up here, the pace of life is decidedly slower, and social intercourse is protracted.

The city most associated with the great flowering of the Renaissance is Florence. It sits astride the Arno, and looks resplendent in the late evening light. Its skyline is dominated by Brunelleschi's Dome. Of course, Florence is also home to some of the greatest art of the ages.

Sienna is a lovely medieval city in the same neighbourhood. Unfortunately, it was the wrong time of year for the famous horse race that takes place in the piazza. Still, I climbed the tower to a rooftop view that did not disappoint.

Of all the cities visited on my Italian journey, Venice remains the most memorable. Alighting from the Santa Lucia train station and seeing water where streets should have been, and boats instead of cars, my breath quickened and my steps gained added momentum. It is impossible not to fall in love with La Serenissima - ‘the most serene’. Venice is relatively compact, yet it yielded, not surprisingly, a disproportionate number of successful images. Decaying and inexorably sinking into its oozy foundations, the treatment given to the images here accentuates this decline rather than hides it. Take, for instance, the palazzi with their crumbling walls. The many culs-de-sacs might have made exploration on foot diffficult but they often led to unexpected and surprising vistas. Away from the Grand Canal, boats and barges dawdled idyllically in quiet waterways - the serenity gently punctuated by the sounds of shuffling feet as the denizens hobbled along and went about their daily business.

Jeffrey Becomb, a fine photographer and travel writer, once remarked that 'Burano is the most colourful square-mile in the Mediterranean‘. I can confirm the truth of this remark. Despite a fine veil of rain, the houses, each with their own unique colour, looked radiant.

In conclusion, I will borrow words from a good friend who opened my Italian Journey exhibition some years ago now. In combining the ancient and the modern, the physical and the digital, I hope that I have been successful in revealing the wonder of these places — and the poetry that is Italy.

Moses Tan
“Italian Journey” is available for purchase from Blurb.