Andrea Frapporti Photography

White Countryside, III - South Cambridgeshire

     

White Countryside, II - South Cambridgeshire

     

White Countryside, I - South Cambridgeshire

     

Found an old photo of the Lessinia mountains I took back in 2016 when visiting home, and decided to re-work on it. Unsure why I kept it away.

Autumn Solace

Beachy Head Lighthouse, II. England (2021).

     

Beachy Head Lighthouse. England (2021).

     

Camel Thorn, Dancing Sky. Namibia (2019)

A re-edited version of an image I made a while ago but with which I wasn't very happy. I like this much more now.

---

Five Camel Thorns. Namibia (2019).

I've never seen anything even remotely comparable to the desert plains of the Namib. Both in terms of beauty and the sheer sense of Sublime they evoke.

---------

Stand With Me. Senja, Norway (2020).

I visited Senja two months before the first lockdown started. It was the last trip before the world changed, at least for the foreseeable future. Those empty, wide, white and silent landscapes are everything. There are days I want to feel like that small white birch: alone but never lonely, contemplating the landscape, contemplating Nature.
------

Polperro Harbour, Cornwall, England (2019).

I am particularly fond of this image of Polperro Harbour I took back in April 2019, shortly before sunset. It's the only image I made during my visit to Cornwall's coast. I like how that fisherman hut on the cliffs and the small fishing vessel to the left appear as a last reminder of civilisation at the entrance of the open sea.

The soft light of the setting sun, mixed with the presence of some gentle mist in the distance, made this scenery feel very peaceful and calm to me.

Despite these being obviously very well-charted waters, the unknowns hidden past the safety of the harbour are still made present, somehow. And they are not something to be afraid of, as they are there ready to welcome and nurture our imagination.

This is what I love about photography: the possibility of making the familiar unfamiliar again, or finding mystery in the ordinary. At least to my eyes.
------

Greeting the Sunrise, Death Valley, California (2019).

I don't usually compose my shots with so much space dedicated to the sky and so little to the "foreground", but that time had to make an exception. Not because I think it doesn't work in general, but because it can be challenging for me to balance the image with so much negative space, and I usually find things happening on the ground to be more interesting. Also, I'm probably not very good at it :)

The way those clouds where greeting the sunrise and getting to beautifully coloured by its rays in return was unmissable though. What cannot be seen is an absolutely empty and silent expanse of desert and badlands.

I have rarely felt so much at peace as in that (already quite hot) morning.

Zabriskie Point, Death Valley, California (2019).

Throwback at the hottest place I've ever been to.
I remember getting out of the car to a 48°C wind, which felt like opening the oven to check on that loaf of bread you're baking.

Camping in Furnace Creek with a low of 36°C that night was not easy either. We very quickly realised our "designed in Scotland" Vango tent was not exactly the right piece of equipment for that corner of Earth. I ended up "sleeping" in the car with all the windows down first, and on a picnic table later.

But it was worth it. We woke up at sunrise and had this mighty piece of desert all to ourselves. I'll be back. Just maybe not in July :)

Longing. Isle of Harris (2020).

Because of the lockdowns and personal reasons, I haven't been able to work on my photography much. Actually, at all. I haven't had the necessary time, opportunities nor mental state.

This forced separation is starting to weigh on me, and I am so looking forward to being out there again one day.
Breathin fresh air in a new land.
Contemplating a scenery for the first time.
And of course making images out of the beauty I see around me :)

I hope you are all well and safe.

Emersion. Isle of Harris (2020)

The Hidden Beach. Isle of Harris (2020).

Happy and honoured to have been selected for a honourable mention at the IPA 2020, for my image "In Between" taken in the Namib Desert in Namibia.

Port Stoth, Isle of Lewis (2020).

This tiny inlet is the most northerly landing in the Outer Hebrides. It stopped being used in the 60s, when it saw many cargoes coming and going to bring supplies to the nearby lighthouse. An old, abandoned, red brick storage house watches over the sheltered sands. It is small but opens to the wide emptyness of the North Atlantic. When we were gone, nothing was left but the sound of the waves echoing through the rocks.

Glimpse of the Standing Stones of Callanish. Isle of Lewis (2020).

One cannot but wander what life was like in this corner of the world over 4,000 years ago, back when these huge stones were erected. They have seen entire civilisations come and go, and are still there, silently watching over us.

New order ready to head to its new home. I always feel so incredibly honoured when someone likes my work enough to purchase a print.

(2/2) Preparing the exhibition! 25x25cm images printed on Hahnemuhle Photo Rag 308gsm, mounted on 40x50cm mounts and framed. Lot of work, but so satisfying...

(1/2) Preparing the exhibition! 25x25cm images printed on Hahnemuhle Photo Rag 308gsm, mounted on 40x50cm mounts and framed. Lot of work, but so satisfying...

Ocean's Self Portrait. Isle of Harris (2020)

Every now and then, you can find the echo of the ocean painted in the sand at low tide, with its waves and constant sinuous movement almost printed on it. As if it were leaving a self portrait, while retiring away to follow the Moon.

Evanescence. Isle of Harris (2020).

The long exposure was almost over when my tripod and feet were caught by the rising tide, which was very quickly taking back possession of Seilebost beach, one waive at a time. Because of the strong wind and the fact I was standing on quicksand, I had to grasp my camera and abruptly move away, all while having the reflex of closing the shutter.
The event somehow led to an enhancement, in the photograph, of the dreamy softness I was trying to capture.

All this to say that this image is more the result of an accident rather than a completely controlled act of creation. I ended up loving it nevertheless, and I even more liked the idea of the unexpected "collaboration" between photographer and natural elements.

Demarcation. Isle of Harris (2020).

I will never get tired of the patterns the moving tide can draw on this island's sands.

Like A Riverbed. Isle of Harris (2020).

Convergence. Isle of Harris (2020).

I never truly realised how fast the tide can rise on the ocean. Every time I found a possible good composition, I had to rush to take the image before the waves already started crashing on my boots. That, and the frequent presence of quicksand, make photographing those beaches not an easy job :)

Falling Tide. Isle of Harris (2020).

Passage of the Tide. Isle of Harris (2020).