Veronica Daltri – Amore Mio di Provincia

Veronica Daltri

Amore Mio Di Provincia

The project is focused on the province of Italy as a category of feeling.

In fact there is no interest in creating a physical amenability to a specific land; what I want is to convey the feeling of the province and that of living in the province.

As I was shooting the project, I understood that the sensation was the same in Marsala as it was in Ivrea or in Barletta or in Udine. That feeling brings to a kind of collapse of the 110 Italian provinces, into the biggest and unique province: Italy itself.

This work was done with slide films to resemble the color tones of films commonly used by Italian families in the 70s-80s, because sometimes in the province it is like if the time has been stopped at that time.

During my travel throughout the peninsula, I moved focused on the everyday lives of people. I went to common situations: friends chatting on a lawn, sunbathers at the beach, Saturday night in the disco. As if the pictures I took were my personal notes about the maxi country, my tale about todays Italy.




Veronica Daltri was born in Cesena in 1985.

During the university years she discovered her passion for photography. After the degree in Herbal Medicine, she won a grant at the San Lorenzo FotoFestival in Roma and she attended the courses at the Scuola Romana di Fotografia, taking the degree in 2011.

In 2011 she joined the Luz Agency in Milan and became one of the younger photographers represented by the agency in the “Avant Guarde” section.

The project “Amore Mio Di Provincia” was published on RVM magazine and was shown at Officine Fotografiche in Rome in 2012, during the “Obiettivo Donna” Festival.


35 Responses to “Veronica Daltri – Amore Mio di Provincia”

  • Contrived nostalgia always looks odd to me. At best, nostalgia is self referential. As such, can you really experience nostalgia for a time you never lived? Regardless, too much of this just comes across as oddly colored photos. Perhaps you had to be there.

  • I’m afraid I’m with Jim on this one.

    All I see is a series of very badly done photographs.

    Sorry to be so blunt Veronica. Perhaps I am missing something. In any case congratulations for appearing here. Clearly the editors see something I don’t.

  • Dear Veronica we love your work.
    It’s amazing the way you’ve captured these timeless emotions.
    What about the colors?? simply POETRY! our best compliments!
    We have no words for who considers your photographs badly done.

  • I enjoyed the photographs.

    It was the words that confused me.

    “I don’t trust words. I trust pictures.”
    -Gilles Peress

  • “What about the colors?? simply POETRY! our best compliments!
    We have no words for who considers your photographs badly done.”


    Drifting on blacklight waves
    a Dayglo Jesus floated lazy
    on the sweet smell of Colombian
    coffee dripping from the beanbag
    chair where I told her of my love.
    She waited to answer.

    Twisting twelve-string Carole King
    protest strains left coffee stains
    of doubt on smalltown media
    McLuhan’s message could not
    pierce on dark patriotic billboards.
    She said she loved me.

    Hiding between Baez refrains
    her words changed diamonds
    to rust as strange purple smoke
    drifted between us driving me
    and dixie down to the hard floor.
    She said she loved everyone.

    Watching brown eyes drop
    to a cup I could not take words
    that the world needed her love more
    than this man almost lost in soft
    Jackie DeShannon lyrics.
    She joined the Peace Corps.

    Wailing six-string Jonny Lang
    tele blows stale smoke and
    school-girl fantasies as the
    last matchbox lands empty
    on the still hard floor.
    She lied to me.

    Seeing her 30 years later
    and six husbands poorer
    behind the counter of a 7-11
    humming Bob Marley tunes in
    a place for the hopeless sinner.
    She said she loves me.

  • Ciao Veronica —
    I like your pictures very much, I like your colors and I like your eye.

  • Is that what happened to her, Jim? Damn. I guess she’s never going to pay me for those damn guitar strings.

  • A reflection of a tired site with a lack of direction. Either burn gets new blood in the editorial team or David retakes control right now things are floundering. All the proposed initiatives are lost in a series of build ups that have lead to very little results. Why? There is no longer room for dialogue which has led to further fracturing. But others may see it differently ……………….. time to re-raise the bar content wise.

  • I’m a little perplexed.

    The images ARE poetry.

    And that last one of the train… sublime…

    I want to ride that train…

    In fact, somehow, I am riding that train…

  • Beautiful. I’d forgotten the softness of slide film. It makes me want to grab my old camera and experiment. My favorites are 1, 4, 12 and 16.

    I think it’s possible to feel nostalgia for a time never lived. Perhaps it’s not nostalgia, perhaps it’s attraction, recognition, identification, association of feelings and sites and smells and dreams imagined or even experienced at another time. I didn’t live between WW1 and WW2 and I have a strong nostalgia or connection to that time.

    I also believe that for some who have always lived in the US it is just not possible to grasp that sense of provincial. Nothing wrong with that, it’s just not something that may be possible to connect with. The first moment I saw these images, the provincial sense was very strong. I lived among Italians all my childhood and spent time in Italian country side and it is true that parts of Italy still retain that quality and beauty, that pace of life that is just priceless.

  • Well I really enjoyed this essay. I realize this essay isn’t probably everyone’s cup of tea, nothing to do with storytelling. Breaking rules and just seeing and feeling.
    Frostfrog save me a seat on that train just in case I arrive a little late.

  • Bill,

    actually, every working day, I ride one of those trains, and rest assured that they are always so f@cking late that all poetry runs dry ;)

    About the essay: I hear you, Veronica… and I get what you are trying to convey as the spirit of the Italian provincia (“good things in the worst taste” paraphrasing Guido Gozzano). What does not fully convince me is that many of the images are too much “sophisticated”, with rarified subject/composition, to hit the target and the smart choice of treating them stylistically like the bunch-of-small-prints-mostly underexposed-or-with-direct-flash that each family keeps in some drawers sounds faux in the end.

  • Great vision!

  • abele – such is the joy of being able to ride a poetry train from half-a-world away.

  • Jim Powers…

    What’s the “Flashback” text? Lyrics or a poem? Never seen it before.

  • Paul, it’s a poem I wrote for a poetry slam a few months ago. I write primarily unrhymed verse, but was playing a little looser for the slam.

  • Jim can I write some guitar on it and you can film me singing it?
    We gonna crash YouTube I’m telling you :)

  • Only if you can do a good Leonard Cohen imitation.

  • Yes yes … I love Leonard… You know this right :)

  • It’s gonna be mostly Am, Em, Dm , maybe some C or G but mostly minor chords..
    ok.. I’ll start working on it…

  • Panos, whatever’s in that bogie, pass it around. :)

  • Jim…

    Bloody hell! :) I thought that was some famous poem or lyric I never heard of. Very, very cool.

  • Wow, thanks Paul! I enjoy writing and listening to poetry, and have been doing both for many years. I particularly enjoy poetry slams. Poetry works best as a performance art.

  • Many people, however, accuse me mostly of chromes against poetry! :)

  • chromes = chrimes

    Wish you could edit these posts.

  • “chromes against poetry” makes a wonderful book title!
    Jim, have you ever thought about making a book with your poems and pictures?

  • No. But, some of my poetry would be “interesting” to illustrate. :)

  • Girl rejects boy, gets comeuppance. Every night we have the same dream.

  • mw, ain’t it the truth.

    Slow Blues

    Too many JukeJoints,
    Too much sad rhyme,
    Bad wine and slow Blues
    Blowin’ out of time.
    Dropped “D” benediction,
    Waitin’ for the end,
    My sin and your song,
    Just can’t make it blend.

    A Cleric with a Tele?
    Ain’t gonna play that scene,
    Clean tone and folks songs,
    Don’t know what it means.
    One star on the marquee,
    You play that gig so well,
    My hell and your cross,
    We only got one nail.

    No trouble with this Tele,
    Know her curves so well,
    Motels and stale beer,
    Still ain’t no magic spell.
    You want to call it love?
    It’s still gonna kill me,
    Learned to flat the five,
    Just can’t bend the “G”.

  • Hey Jim, love your poetry!

    How about some illustrations, or is it best left to the imagination …

    Greetings from Miami!

  • Jim Powers…
    I ordered “I Live in Hut” S. E. Smith, (Winner of the 2011 Cleveland State University Poetry Center First Book Prize last September) great and fresh poetry. Although my knowledge of poetry is limited I do enjoy anything that is inspiring, beautiful and I found this book was brilliant.

  • I loved these images. Really got lost in them. Maybe the fact that its 5AM and I haven’t slept yet might have something to do with my liking.
    I’ll view again after an arvo nap.

  • Very nice!
    So refreshing.
    So inspiring.

    Thanks for sharing this

  • Jim- Jesus man, do you post these anywhere? Heh, I guess thats a sign of the times… I feel like they need to be organized on a website, otherwise I’ll never be able to keep track of them. I won’t remember where to go. Anyways… really nice work. See that is poetry. These images were all feeling and no thought. One without any of the other to compliment… just ends up being empty.

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