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My wife Yoshino and I live in Italy, my native country, since June 2019. We met five years ago while I was working in Japan where she was born and grew up. In March 2020, in the dramatic early stages of the coronavirus pandemic, we were beginning a new life together while falling in a proper waking nightmare.

We would live with a constant sense of danger, confusion and emptiness.And for me it was all too much. But then I realised that inside my biggest fear was lying my own salvation: being terrified by Yoshino’s death gave me the strength to be truly present and to connect with her in a more profound way. It opened my eyes, my mind and my heart.

So I did the only thing that I could do: photographing Yoshino not the way she looked like but as I felt her.

And by doing it I discovered a different woman. And a different kind of reality. One where Yoshino could be free from what I wanted to see. Where she would be simply glimpsed at and not described or understood.

Two years later I still try to hold Yoshino tight, to not let her slip away. After all some of my fears are still there. It's fine. In the end, there is no light without darkness.



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