Pidûs [children's feet, or cute feet in Friulian, my mother tongue, the language of origin, of ground]. 

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This project has been unfolding for years. Wherever I go, I take a photograph of my feet. With shoes, without shoes. On concrete, on sand, on grass, on stone. In London, in Italy, in Scotland. At a funeral, or after my accident. It does not matter where.

What matters is contact.

I travel alone. I live alone. No one takes photographs of me. So I began photographing the only part of myself that always meets the world directly. Not my face. Not my pose. The interface.  Feet are the first negotiation with the landscape. Before narrative, before memory, before meaning, there is weight. Gravity. Pressure. The small, constant agreement between body and earth.

Most travel photography looks outward and upward: monuments, horizons, spectacle. These images look down. They document the point of support. The place where I stand. The place that carries me.

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There are now over two hundred square images arranged in a grid. Repetition becomes ritual. The gesture is simple, almost minimal. The body is reduced to its contact point. A quiet archive of presence. This is not about loneliness. It is about authorship. When no one frames you, you frame yourself; not in vanity, but in proof. I was here. I stood here. This ground held me.

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Each photograph holds three layers of ground:
– the physical surface beneath my feet
– the cultural ground I come from
– the existential ground I continue to search for

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Feet are humble. They carry everything and receive no glory. And yet they are the condition for every journey.

Pidûs wants to be a long conversation between body and world.

A dispersed self-portrait made of contact.