You drove past it for years. Then one October you stopped.
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500gsm · 100% cotton · Hahnemühle Photo Rag · Archival pigment inks · 6 × 18 cm · Matte finish.
Autumn series · 1 of 20 different sets.
Catalogue Nº 003 of 100.
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There is a route you drive at least twenty times a year, between your house and somewhere you need to be. You take it without thinking. You know which turns the radio loses signal on, which sections are speed-checked, which fields have horses in them in spring. Then one Sunday in October you take it at five-thirty in the afternoon, and you pull over for the first time. You don't know exactly why. The light is doing something. You stay ten minutes longer than you meant to.
This particular borgo sits on a ridge in central Italy, a medieval tower at its centre and a yellow farmhouse a hundred metres downhill. The walls are gold. The trees in front of them are gold. The car park at the lookout has two other cars in it. Nobody is taking pictures with their phone. Everybody is just looking.
Goes well with Beautiful Ruins by Jess Walter, The Pillars of the Earth by Ken Follett, or any book read with a window facing a town older than the country it belongs to.
There is a week each year, usually somewhere between mid-October and early November, when you start walking slower without deciding to. The air gets sharp. The light slants. Wet leaves stick to your shoes and you notice the smell of woodsmoke from a chimney you cannot see. The year is changing its mind, and so are you.
