I've traveled the world not to find you.
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I've traveled the world not to find you. 〰️
Andrea Marzagalli’s photography begins where most eyes look away. He turns his attention to the unnoticed—hotel rooms, empty corridors, fragments of light resting on a wall. Rather than seeking the exceptional, his gaze reveals the quiet structures that sustain life.
In I’ve Traveled the World Not to Find You, travel becomes an inner journey. The absence of people does not erase life; it makes it resonate. Light becomes the true subject—sometimes sharp, sometimes muted—shaping space and revealing emotion.
Marzagalli’s images move between document and vision: they record the world faithfully yet transform it through restraint and clarity. Each photograph is not a statement but a threshold, inviting reflection.
Installed within the offices of Blackball, Milan, the works live among the rhythms of everyday life, reclaiming photography as a companion to experience rather than a distant icon.
Travelling, for Marzagalli, is not to find but to let the world happen—to open a space between seeing and remembering, where the real regains its mystery and the ordinary becomes luminous.
If you go, please remember you will be missed.
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If you go, please remember you will be missed. 〰️
If you go, please remember:
the light still falls the same way through the curtains.
Dust still dances in the morning,
as if you might walk back through it.
The rooms have learned to keep their silence.
The chairs sit perfectly still.
Your cup remains where you left it;
a small ghost of warmth gone cold.
Sometimes I try to recall the sound of your voice,
but it comes to me as static,
like an old tape played too many times.
The edges blur;
what was once sharp begins to drift.
Photographs fade,
not all at once.
First the color, then the faces,
until I’m left with outlines
and a feeling I can’t name.
Memory is kind, and cruel.
It lets you stay just long enough to ache.
And then it softens you,
turns you to mist,
and carries you away.
If you go,
please remember,
you will be missed,
even after I forget the reason why.
Why is it so hard to be happy?
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Why is it so hard to be happy? 〰️
A visual meditation on uncertainty, fragility, and the illusion of control.
This series explores the quiet struggle beneath the surface of everyday life, the way joy slips through our fingers, the way the world feels layered and unstable, as if we are living in two realities at once.
Using double exposure, each image becomes a collision of moments: a face blending into a stormy sky, a body dissolving into a sea, a landscape merging with its own reflection. The compositions blur the line between subject and background, suggesting that happiness, like identity, is something we can never fully separate from the chaos around us.
Nothing is entirely clear. People appear as transparent silhouettes, half-present. Landscapes fold into themselves.