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Alessandro Furchino Capria takes us through his small talks with the unknown

Small Talks With Strangers

Alessandro Furchino Capria (born in Turin, 27th October 1982) has a background in Industrial Design that subsequently led him to approach photography. He lives and works in Milan. 

His eye for photography is a sophisticated one – beauty is captured in the most natural way thanks to its classic taste for composition and lighting. 

Furchino Capria’s practice is driven by an evident love for balance between proportions and an overall image neatness. Still, it is completely free from any type of manipulation. 

His photographs are the outcome of two divergent magnetic forces: an attraction towards the appearance of the subjects – them being animate or inanimate – and a dedication to a way of shooting in a relentless manner, but that is at the same time also serene, non-serial, even though the images appear as if secretly connected. 

Recently has signed 2020 campaign for the prestigious and international contemporary art fair mart and he is currently working on his next book that will be out at the end of the year. 

About Small Talks With Strangers – words by Robin Sara Stauder: 

It has just rained and you are waiting for the lift. You wonder what it would be like if everything else you ever waited for also had a small LED screen to announce its arrival. You give in to the childish hypothesis of having no more uncertainties to deal with – no more seconds to count. At this point, you would probably have dry hair and a different gaze. Instead, you keep looking at the same things and perhaps you don’t even really see them anymore. 

As is the case with your neighbour, until he asks to come upstairs with you. He clearly has something to say about that unexpected rain – about vanishing seasons. There was a time when they had LEDs too. Floors where it was always spring. But nowadays you go to the beach and the forecast is for snow. 

It may seem stupid to talk about the weather. To wish each other a good evening before spending it alone. To stare at a sunset or an empty fridge. The blinding screen of a computer, or that tree outside your window that covers everything you try to see. But what if, instead of being stupid, it was just true?

True and therefore all too often banal, of a banality that frightens us. After a year of washing dishes in the same corner of the world, it becomes a little bit yours, but you only realise that once you’ve left. The same for our conversations: so quick and forgettable. And yet our only point of contact with that unknown world. 

In the dictionary, small talks are defined as conversations about unimportant things, often between people who do not know each other well. But what if not knowing each other well was the important part? 

It has just rained and the lift has passed your floor. You would like to call it back, but you’ve got nowhere else to go. The house beyond the door is yours in theory. Yet those few square metres of embarrassment felt more like home. 

Your hair is still wet, but at least it’s stopped raining. The day feels a little less unknown but, just as you’re getting to know it, it begins to end. And at dawn on the next day, you’ll have to start all over again. 

Time to read
3 min
Words by
Robin Sara Stauder
Published on
20 July 2021
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