The luxury of not taking pictures: a day to really look

Because every now and then you need to pause the shot to rediscover the authentic pleasure of observing.

---

Some days begin like so many others, with the typical hectic pace of my job: hours in front of the computer, editing to complete, files to send, deadlines awaiting you with their merciless precision. It's a job I deeply love, but it often consumes you without you realizing it. You sit, focused, immersed in the images of others while your own, outside the window, scroll by quickly and silently.

And precisely on days like this, when your eyes are tired from hours of screen time, something unexpected happens: the desire to stop. To breathe. To enjoy a moment without the compulsion to capture it.

Un alba già fotografata nel dicembre 2023

A dawn that calls you, but the car and the drone remain where they are.

Sometimes you open the window and find a sunrise that seems to have something to say. Saturated colors, a light that slips between the clouds with an almost painterly delicacy. The kind of scene any photographer would love to capture instantly.

And yet, no: no rush to grab the camera or drone. No fear of missing the moment. Just the gaze that lets itself be caressed by those colors, as if they didn't need to be captured.

It's a strange, almost liberating sensation: the pure pleasure of looking.

A ski trip that was "all there was to it", but the priorities were different

And then there's that morning sun, the one that invites you onto the slopes without even needing to speak. A ski trip would have been perfect, it would have been everything. Good snow, ideal light, even the desire. But the priority was different: editing, work, responsibility.

And so you stay at the computer, while outside the mountain sparkles. Not with frustration, but with awareness. With that small sacrifice that is part of this job and of every passion transformed into a profession.

And paradoxically, it is precisely after hours of screen time that the need arises to go out, to distance oneself, to begin to feel the real world again after having manipulated so many virtual images.

San Vigilio: stroll without taking photos

A stroll through San Vigilio becomes a balm. The light filters through the trees, the air is clean, and the silence of December 9th, after the Immaculate Conception long weekend, is filled with things you don't have time to listen to during the week. It's one of those situations where the photographer in you normally awakens like an automatic reflex.

But not on days like this. Or rather, he wakes up... and then voluntarily chooses to remain silent.

No photos, no stories to post, no "I have to share this." Just pure observation. And you realize that when you stop looking for the perfect shot, you really start to see.

The night climb… in the darker than expected

The day culminates with a ski mountaineering ascent towards the Jochtal, in Valles. Darkness, crunching snow, and temperatures that wake you up faster than a cup of coffee. And here comes the anecdote that makes you smile: the headlamp... forgotten at home.

You climb like this, almost blindly, trusting your intuition, your steps, what little your eyes can make out in the clear, starry night. An experience that seems primitive, almost essential. And the descent? Illuminated by the light of your iPhone. A calculated folly, a small setback transformed into an adventure.

Dinner at the refuge, the warmth of the company, the pleasant tiredness... everything perfect, everything memorable. And again, no photos. Only memories.

Technical reflection: stopping to recharge your gaze

There's a phrase we all know: "He who stops is lost." In the world of professional photography, it almost seems like a rule: you have to always be productive, always present, always ready to shoot.

But there is also another truth, much more uncomfortable and much more real: “He who never stops, loses everything.”

Technically, stopping is part of the job. An eye that doesn't rest becomes robotic. A mind that doesn't get enough oxygen stops creating. A photographer who's always snapping away ends up taking pictures without truly seeing.

Stopping every now and then is vital: It's maintenance. It's breathing. It's creative regeneration.

The shot is born first in the mind and heart, not in the sensor. And to make them work well, you need to take breaks.

An article without photos, by choice

This article will have no images, except for the cover photo, which resembles the sunrise I observed, but from a few years ago. It's a conscious, almost provocative choice. Because in a world that fills every second with content, recounting a day without a single photo becomes a counter-current gesture.

An invitation to imagine, to leave space, to remind ourselves that not everything we experience requires visual proof.

Sometimes, what we don't photograph remains much more ours.

Conclusion: stop to go back and see

This day, or any similar day in our lives, teaches us a simple but often forgotten lesson: stopping isn't wasting time, it's saving it. It's restoring value to things. It's returning to being present, rather than productive.

Because yes, it's true: he who stops is lost... but he who never stops loses everything.

And photography, after all, is born precisely from the ability to see. Not to run.