Luca Stauder

When I was 7 years old, my father brought me my first camera... no that's another story, perhaps already heard. If I talk about my relationship with photography, everything is less noble, more direct and problematic.
My first camera, an Olympus XA2, was a gift for my First Communion, and the result was a film finished during the party, without inspiration: more for the mechanical gesture and the sound of the click.
 
I use to say that photography is part of my life as an application of my main vocation: do it yourself. Not the simple DIY, I mean with more open-minded taste to apply and be an incentive to do anything with my hands, strength, ability... (and, inevitably, the DIY too).

Thus I combined the "Do It Myself" with my other obsession: the systemic-functional analysis of things and tools (ok, I can truly say that when I was a child I had fun to disassemble and to reassemble watches, calculators etc... and I swear they always resumed their normal operation, if not better) with an interest in the aesthetic side of everything that surrounds me here.
I love photography and image in particolar. But if I look at the abundance of photographers, artists and their production and reproduction, I often get sick from a saturation of feelings disconnected from meaning.

Futhermore I criticize myself and I can say I look at few of my photos with satisfaction. A satisfaction tied up to the feelings the photo should suggest: the story telling, the contingency of a second, the organization of a scene according to an aesthetic that would bring the image to that sense of perfection we can read into reality.
Perhaps is too rhetorical, but I really think the photo as the design (now you can discover my studies) should be fully fulfilled  when no longer is left to clear away, coming out as essential in the light-color composition, without losing its function that is, in fact, to tell us a story.