Giulia Madiai

Florence / Italy


I’m Giulia, I’m 31 years old and when I was in the third year of high school my friends gave me a Canon and an Ilford HP5 film, from that moment on I didn’t have many doubts about what would have been my path. I started to feel an annoying boredom for what took my time away from the photographic studio, an activity that instead managed to give me a rare sensation of calm and to appease an annoying itch in my hands that I lived with, as if, moving inside it, I had the sensation of being able to say something without saying it badly.I graduated in photography and visual arts at the Free Academy of Fine Arts in Florence with a project/documentary journey on the last Spanish transhumant shepherds, entitled L’acqua lava via le cose. I then worked for two years in a fashion company as an assistant photographer, cultivating an interest in the world of fashion that grew over time.
I am currently a freelance photographer, working with various companies, and sometimes I find it difficult to find the concentration and care for both my professional and artistic work. In any case, I never stop thinking about it, through research, studies and workshops I keep my photography moving between fiction and reality, between questions and possible answers. Starting from my personal experiences, filtering the doubts and what I don’t understand, I try to tell about themes related to the human condition with long and short term projects.


Everything I study, read, study in depth, the films I watch, the newspapers I leaf through, the new or old references, I believe form part of my store of knowledge, a store of knowledge that I try to keep up-to-date and fresh.

I think it is on this acquired, but constantly growing, terrain that inspiration moves, inspiration that can sometimes arrive suddenly during a one-hour walk uphill, while I am wandering in a small town with unknown streets, or, on other occasions, it may not knock on my mind for months and months, during which nothing moves. It usually happens when I stop listening to myself for too long, and often it is in that same loss of the path home that I then find myself, sometimes not.


If I had to list them I would do it in black and white and there would certainly be no shortage of provincial bars, yoghurt ice cream as a winter lunch, stones brought home from the woods, the shower, but perhaps most of all, spending Monday afternoons in one of my favourite laundromats drinking coffee from the vending machine.

Image courtesy of Giulia Madiai.

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