“TO BE FAMOUS YOU NEED TO POSSES INDIEFFERENCE” — Lucone
It began with photography and filming, which I choose as my primary tools to represent my inner world. Even if these mediums capture what is outside, I’ve always experienced the external world as a reflection of my internal one. The images I make feel like messages from my subconscious — things about myself I wouldn’t otherwise be able to access or understand.
This process turns my work into a space of translation: from inner to outer, from private to shared. And in that translation, something unexpected happens — people often see something of themselves in what I make. A photograph, or a sequence of images, becomes a mirror where my inner life meets theirs.
Using analog mediums allows me to ride a technique or a tool, and everything that comes with it. It becomes a dialogue: the tools may have a different “opinion” than mine, and finding compromises is where the work emerges. It is not me making the original — it is the tools and the circumstances, the interplay between intention, chance, and material.
This process turns my work into a space of translation: from inner to outer, from private to shared. And in that translation, something unexpected happens — people often see something of themselves in what I make. A photograph, or a sequence of images, becomes a mirror where my inner life meets theirs.
Using analog mediums allows me to ride a technique or a tool, and everything that comes with it. It becomes a dialogue: the tools may have a different “opinion” than mine, and finding compromises is where the work emerges. It is not me making the original — it is the tools and the circumstances, the interplay between intention, chance, and material.
With film, I began observing people almost in a meditative state, trying to sense what their internal world could be. Since I’ve always spoken about others by speaking about myself, something shifted: by watching other people’s behaviours, dynamics, and relationships, I suddenly began understanding more about myself.
Film became a way to read the emotional architecture of others while recognising the same structures inside me. It’s a double movement — looking outward to look inward, and looking inward to understand what I see outside. In this space of reflection, the boundary between self and other becomes porous, and that’s where my work happens.
Writing came only after everything else. It arrived when the visual world and the inner world finally met. For me, writing takes the form of memories and stories — not fiction, but a distilled summary of everything I see, feel, record, and process. It gathers the fragments from photography, film, and lived experience and turns them into a single narrative thread.
Film became a way to read the emotional architecture of others while recognising the same structures inside me. It’s a double movement — looking outward to look inward, and looking inward to understand what I see outside. In this space of reflection, the boundary between self and other becomes porous, and that’s where my work happens.
Writing came only after everything else. It arrived when the visual world and the inner world finally met. For me, writing takes the form of memories and stories — not fiction, but a distilled summary of everything I see, feel, record, and process. It gathers the fragments from photography, film, and lived experience and turns them into a single narrative thread.
Writing is the place where all the images, intuitions, and emotional reflections finally speak to each other. It completes the cycle: observing the outside, recognising the inside, and then shaping both into stories that make meaning.
All of this lives in the back of my mind when I work. But the moment I actually create, I shut down the brain and forget everything I know. I give chaos full control of what I’m doing. Instinct prevails, and in that moment my inner world speaks for itself. The gesture becomes physical, guided by nothing but carrying everything I have absorbed, felt, and witnessed. What comes out is not planned—it’s lived. It’s the sum of what I’ve owned inside me and outside me, finally allowed to surface.
All of this lives in the back of my mind when I work. But the moment I actually create, I shut down the brain and forget everything I know. I give chaos full control of what I’m doing. Instinct prevails, and in that moment my inner world speaks for itself. The gesture becomes physical, guided by nothing but carrying everything I have absorbed, felt, and witnessed. What comes out is not planned—it’s lived. It’s the sum of what I’ve owned inside me and outside me, finally allowed to surface.
@ludovico.andrea.dauria
dauriaandread@gmail.com