By Camilla Sarra. Images courtesy of Giulia Vezzosi.
Some springs have nothing to do with the calendar. La Mia Primavera, Giulia Vezzosi’s new solo photography exhibition in Florence, starts from a personal experience that slowly became a way of looking at change. Opening at The Open Studio on September 12 and running for four weeks, the project grew out of what Vezzosi calls “an encounter that was never really an encounter” and turns that experience into a photographic exploration of the body and rebirth. We spoke with Giulia about photography as a personal language and the role of instinct behind the camera. The vernissage takes place on September 12, from 6 to 8 pm, at The Open Studio, Via dell’Anguillara 35r, Florence. The exhibition will be open Wednesday to Sunday, from 11 am to 6 pm, for four weeks.
Giulia Vezzosi’s Approach to Photography
Who is Giulia Vezzosi, and when did you realize photography would become your language?
I’m a photographer and visual artist, but before anything else I’m someone who needs to immerse herself in the people and emotions I encounter. Photography lets me experience reality more deeply. Each project begins with something real that I need to live through before I can turn it into images. There wasn’t one exact moment when I realized this would become my language. At first, I photographed what I wanted to hold onto, especially memories and people I loved. Over time, I understood that photography was doing more than preserving what I was living. It was helping me understand it. It became a necessity before it became a choice.
The Story Behind La Mia Primavera
How did La Mia Primavera begin, and why did you choose this title?
La Mia Primavera began at a time when I needed to give shape to something I was experiencing but could not yet fully understand. Photography allowed me to move through it without looking for immediate answers and let the images find their own meaning. The project grew slowly and changed with me. I chose the title because spring, for me, is an inner state rather than a season. It is the moment when something starts moving again, even if it still feels fragile. It is not necessarily about reaching a happy ending. It is about finding the courage to open yourself to life again.
Desire, Rebirth and the Meaning of Spring
The project grew out of an encounter you describe as “never really an encounter.” What did that experience leave with you?
For a long time, in my mind, she was spring. That person represented rebirth and the possibility of beginning again. Only later did I understand that this spring did not belong to someone else. It was already inside me. I was the one carrying that way of seeing and that desire. I realized the beauty I saw was not only in front of me. It also came from the way I chose to look at the world. Maybe it is because I have always loved the idea of love even before love itself. What still moves me is the desire for something that cannot always be reached. I keep searching for it because somewhere in that search I feel most alive.
Creating a Non-Linear Photography Exhibition
The photographs do not follow a linear narrative. How did you shape the exhibition as a whole?
I wanted to create an experience rather than tell a linear story. I wasn’t interested in explaining what happened. I wanted to explore what remained and leave enough space for people to bring something of themselves into the exhibition. The photographs are not chronological because memory does not work that way either. It moves through fragments and returns. I imagined the exhibition as an open space where each visitor could find their own point of entry and complete it with their own story. The exhibition will also be accompanied by Suddenly in Bloom, an original piece composed by Raspel specifically for La Mia Primavera. The music is not there to explain the images. It expands their emotional atmosphere, allowing photography and sound to become part of the same experience.
The Body as Memory, Desire and Identity
The body returns throughout the project as a place of memory and desire. What is your relationship with the body when you photograph it?
I’m drawn to the body because I see it as one of the most authentic expressions of identity. I like to observe it almost as I would a landscape, without trying to possess it but with the desire to form a connection. A body tells us much more than appearance. It carries vulnerability and memory. It also bears the traces of what we have lived and what we are still searching for. When I photograph, I look for a balance between distance and involvement. I need enough distance to see clearly, while still allowing myself to connect emotionally with what is in front of me. I think the most sincere images emerge from that tension.
Turning Personal Experience Into Universal Images
How difficult is it to turn something so personal into images that can also resonate with others?
Paradoxically, sharing something so personal was not the hardest part. Keeping it all inside would have been harder. I did not photograph what I was experiencing because I wanted to tell other people about it. I photographed it because I needed to move through it without losing the desire contained within it. I never began La Mia Primavera thinking about a final result or how it would be received. It grew slowly, image by image, following the time I needed to understand what I was experiencing. Only later did I realize the photographs could resonate with other people too. I think that when a work comes from something genuinely lived, it can touch something universal even if its starting point is deeply personal.
Photography, Music and Creative Inspiration
Who are the photographers you admire most, and where do you look for inspiration beyond photography?
I find a lot of inspiration in music and poetry. Both can evoke emotions without having to explain them, and that is something I also look for in photography. Sometimes a song stays with me and eventually finds its way into an image. Among the photographers I’m drawn to are Ren Hang and Ralph Gibson, for almost opposite reasons. I love the freedom with which Ren Hang approaches the body. Gibson fascinates me for his more distant, evocative gaze and for the way his photographs suggest rather than explain. I think my own approach exists somewhere within that tension.
Instinct, Reality and Imagination in Photography
In your work, reality and imagination often seem to overlap. How much do you rely on instinct when you shoot?
For me, instinct is a form of listening. It does not mean photographing without thinking. It means being present enough to recognize when an image is beginning to happen. I try not to impose my ideas too heavily and prefer to leave room for reality to surprise me. When I photograph, I can be completely immersed in what I’m experiencing while still observing it from outside. My images come from that space between involvement and distance, where what I imagine meets what is actually happening.
Social Media, Intimacy and Visual Language
Today we constantly present ourselves through images. Have social media changed our relationship with intimacy and the way young photographers develop their own visual language?
I think social media have profoundly changed the way we communicate through images. We produce and share photographs with unprecedented ease, but that does not necessarily mean we reveal ourselves more authentically. Sometimes we show a lot while leaving very little room for intimacy. For photographers today, one of the biggest challenges is developing a personal language without being overwhelmed by the speed at which images are created and consumed. It is easy to be influenced by what we constantly see. That is why I think it is important to stop and understand what you genuinely need to say. What I look for is almost the opposite of the logic of social media. I want someone encountering one of my photographs to stop and move closer, giving themselves time to ask a question. Some images need to be inhabited, not simply looked at. We see so much today but often feel very little. I hope my photographs can invite people to slow down, even just for a moment.
What It Means to Bloom Again
Your idea of spring is closely linked to starting again. What does it mean to you, today, to bloom again?
This is probably the hardest question because blooming again is something I’m still learning how to do. I don’t think there is a precise moment when you suddenly realize it has happened. Sometimes you understand it only by looking back. For a long time, I believed my spring existed outside me, in another person or in something that might complete me. Today I know that spring also lives inside me. That does not mean I have stopped desiring. Part of me will probably always search for something that can never be fully grasped. Maybe blooming again does not mean making absence disappear. It means learning to live with it without giving up on love, even when opening yourself again means you could be hurt. For me, it means having the courage to desire as if it were the first time.
