A Date With War Dedicated to Antonio (1995–2023)

Silver gelatin print, inkjet print, 2025

In a place where military service is a rite of passage, unquestioned, expected, I chose

otherwise. I refused to take part in a system that glorifies obedience and violence. For

years, I kept my distance from the language of war, from the uniforms, from the silence it

demands. I chose not to see, not to feel.

But grief breached the walls I had built. Violence arrived uninvited, and I could no longer

stay untouched.

This project is not about soldiers.

It’s about those left behind.

Not about duty, but about what it costs.

I photograph people marked by war, not through acts of heroism, but through their

wounds, their stillness, their survival. I meet them at home, where their bodies speak of

pain and presence. I don’t ask them to perform. I don’t give them roles. I stay. I listen.

Shooting on analog, printing by hand, I move slowly, resisting the quick, the clean, the

detached. Each frame holds the weight of being close without crossing a line. The desire

to know, and the choice to simply witness.

These are not portraits of glory or sacrifice.

They are echoes of what war steals, from the body, the soul, the home.

Not from one side, but from the same wound.

They speak of fragility, of dignity, of the quiet need to be seen.

There’s no resolution here. Only a decision. To stay with what’s hard.

To look, even when everyone else is looking away.

You told me to keep photographing.

So I did.

Not for the flag.

For the people.

For you, Antonio.