Moments of Life - Finding Beauty in the Ordinary Exhibition
It took an incredible amount of work to get to this stage, but with the help of my partner Linda and the curator, Walter Revello, the task became far more manageable. Over the course of the year I narrowed down the final selection for the exhibition, and in doing so I learned more about my own photography than I expected. It pushed me to really examine what draws my eye, what I’m responding to in the moment, and why certain frames feel like home.
I’ve always bounced between genres — landscapes, detail shots, documentary, street — and for a long time I worried that meant I had no clear identity. I thought moving between disciplines diluted my skills. What I’ve come to understand is the opposite: exploring different ways of seeing has shaped how I work. It’s given me a wider perspective and made me more intentional in the moments I choose to photograph.
Being entirely self-taught brings its own weight. Imposter syndrome has followed me through most of my life, and although I don’t feel it while I’m out shooting, the moment the work is placed in front of an audience it can hit hard. But seeing the exhibition come together — the prints, the sequencing, the care Walter put into presenting everything — genuinely shifted something for me. Walking into that space and seeing years of my life on the walls, arranged with such attention, was surreal in the best possible way.
It felt like a reminder that the work matters. That the way I see the world resonates with others. And that maybe this path I’ve been pushing forward on, quietly and consistently, is the right one.
The opening night in Turin was something I’ll never forget. I’ve always imagined what it might feel like to show my work publicly, but the reality was far more emotional and far more grounding than I expected. People didn’t just look at the photographs — they engaged with them. They asked thoughtful questions, pointed out details I hadn’t realised I’d captured, and connected with the images in their own personal ways.
Some of the most meaningful moments came from the art community itself. A few gallery curators spent time walking through the exhibition, and their feedback hit me harder than I’d expected. They told me to believe in myself more, to trust the voice in my work, and to continue leaning into the way I see the world. One Italian artist shared a compliment I’ll hold onto for a long time — he said that some of the images felt “as if they were painted.” Hearing that from someone who lives inside the world of art every day was surreal, and it added another layer of confidence I didn’t know I needed.
What struck me most, though, was how universal these “ordinary” moments felt. Scenes I captured quietly, often while walking alone or waiting for something else to happen, suddenly held meaning for strangers from a completely different place and culture. It made me realise that the smallest moments in life aren’t small at all — they’re shared, recognised, and understood by far more people than we think.
Turin itself played a big part in the experience. The warmth of the community around Ecomuseo Nesta, the genuine interest in photography, and the way art seems woven into the rhythm of the city made the whole process feel bigger than just an exhibition. It felt like being welcomed into something — a wider creative conversation I hadn’t realised I was already part of.
Throughout the evening, I kept catching myself stepping back, just watching people move through the space. Seeing them pause at certain images, pointing things out to each other, leaning in closer — it reminded me why I started taking photographs in the first place. Not for recognition, not for validation, but to create something real that connects one human moment to another.
If you’d like to explore the full collection beyond the exhibition itself, I’ve also published a book featuring all the images from Moments of Life: Finding Beauty in the Ordinary. It’s available to purchase on Amazon, and it brings together the complete series as it was curated for the show.
Thank you to Linda Bartesaghi, whose support never wavered, and to Walter Revello, who helped turn this exhibition from an idea into reality.