I am fascinated by low season.

It began when I lived in Europe for two years and got to experience its in-between seasons. Life seemed to begin again when cities and seashores were returned to the locals instead of being under siege by tour groups and cruise ships. Beaches in the fall and winter call to me. They make me breathe deeply, differently. I feel like I can stretch my legs and contemplate without hurry. The waters begin to look more silver than blue, and the light looks a little more ethereal. 

I love Italy every single day of the year, but I do love it (especially northern Italy) in the fall and winter. I love wrapping myself in a cozy (Italian) scarf and enjoying damp, foggy mornings in Milan and Venice. I love the crisp fall air heightened by the lingering scent of roasted chestnuts and cozy evenings in front of a plate of fresh seafood or risotto. Mostly, I like having Italy "all to myself" (well, not quite, but more than in July or August).

This collection is an ode to the northern Italian seaside during low season. First, Liguria and its coveted Italian Riviera, a narrow curve of land bordering France sprawled at the foot of the Mediterranean Sea. Then, my precious Lagoon - Venice and its glorious fog season. Coast to coast, in November, when the sea swells and the light envelopes you. 

These photographs are also meaningful to me because they represent hard physical work. Chasing the Venetian fog meant leaving my apartment at sunrise day after day, the cumulating fatigue only offset by passion and awe. In Cinque Terre, my body (and my heavy camera) had to climb thousands of steep steps in astonishingly hot weather to capture the villages and the sea from above. When I look at these images, I see so much of my personal history with Italy, but also my history with myself -- a decades-long journey of a flourishing mind and an aging body with one timeless constant: my profound love for Italy.

I hope you enjoy the collection as much as I enjoyed capturing these scenes.

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On Italy's toe, the rest of the country feels far, far away. Here, the coastline is nicknamed "The Coast of the Gods", and rightfully so. The waters reach blue and turquoise hues that don't even seem possible, every sunset is a symphony, and the old villages seem to be carved out of the very rock they are perched upon. But perhaps what is most dizzying of all is facing the Tyrrhenian Sea and watching the Calabrian coastline taper off in the horizon while Sicily suddenly comes into view. Calabria's Tyrrhenian coastline offers a front-row view of Sicily's three active volcanoes: Etna, Stromboli and Vulcano. They make their presence known throughout the day, spewing and smoking like clockwork, reminding us of the fragility of everything. 

My stay in Calabria bombarded my senses, including my taste buds. The humble yet fiery cuisine is a grateful tribute to the gifts of the land and the sea. While throngs of youth leave the south every year in pursuit of opportunity in the north or abroad, the future of the region is left in the hands of passionate families who find ways to honor ancient traditions while embracing innovation. In the agricultural heart of the region, the plateau of the Monte Poro, I am in awe of the lush vegetation and abundance of olives, figs, bergamot, liquorice, lemon, almond and figs. And cheese. I should have led with that! The Poro is renowned for its pecorino cheese, a strong (even pungent) variety that, like all ingredients here, doesn't go unnoticed on the palette. 

When I think of Calabria, I am instantly pulled back to its colors, flavors and rhythms. The collection is simple, balanced, and dreamy. The photographs are vibrant yet serene. I hope that the pieces in this collection evoke what Calabria stirred in me - a longing to become more mindful and to deeply cherish the resilient yet fragile lands that surround us.

Below are the images from Calabria and Sicily's Aeolian islands that make up the collection.