Can you please tell us more about your picture titled Natura morta con piume (Still life with plumage)?
Some time ago a great journalist and news director gave me a wonderful challenge: “I am more than certain that it is not photographically possible to depict a capon or some other dead poultry hanging by its feet without causing unease in the observer”, he told me. And that was how “Natura morta con piume” came about: that capon hanging by its legs - silent, in all its splendor, and in its great majesty - became the protagonist, but the name came from the little feathers scattered around the scene. To be honest, after I shot it, I couldn’t manage to cook it: somehow it was part of me, so I gave it to the porter at my studio.
Talking about your personal relationship with food, what is the first taste you remember, and why?
If I think back, the first thing I remember are the flavors of Piemontese food, the dishes my mother would make: great risottos, and the crêpes Suzette she prepared as a snack for me and my brothers. I would often watch her preparing her recipes, and I’d make her tell me about how in the summer, at the villa on Lake Maggiore, she would go down where the kitchens were and talk to the chef and steal his secrets.
If you close your eyes and think of fine dining, what comes to mind?
Independently of photography, I love to cook, especially for friends: for me cooking is a way to display creativity; I mean, the pleasure of combining flavors in a fun, exciting setting. If I close my eyes and think of refined cooking, I think of something made by the hands of a great chef who, like an artist, uses flavors and brushes to construct his own work with passion, character, and love: the ingredients themselves, which don’t seek to amaze or dazzle, are simply the true expression of the person who created them.