Luca Iovino says about himself:
“I was born in Verona (Italy) in 1983 and, after few years I move to Naples. When I was 11 years old I started getting curious about photography, going down the streets looking at the things the city was offering me. I came close to architecture photography and urban reportage.
In 2005, I collaborated with ArkFotoLab, the black and white photo lab and dark room of TerzoPiano Autogestito from Architecture department in Naples. There, I came across workshops and collective exhibitions, promoted by myself.
In 2007, I became an official photographer of Largo Baracche for the cultural organization SABU, an artistic space when I had the chance to come close various artists – whether famous or emerging – from the Italian cultural and arty field.
In 2009, I dedicated myself to journalism for Pressagency.it as a photo-reporter. In 2010, I moved to Milan to enroll in Riccardo Bauer, graduating in photography in 2012. In the same year, I started doing some commercial works for various photographic studios.
From 2014, I focused myself on photography research, especially talking about the editorial side of self-publishing, and independent distribution for photography projects. In the same year, I found ‘MY_OWN_PRIVATE_PASSAGE’, a visual search lab for the realization of shot stories connected to the journey.
Since 2015, I live in Turin, where I work as a freelance photographer and photo editor.”
About ‘Passaggio a Bovisa’ (Passage to Bovisa):
How is a city able to show itself to its citizens? In the beating heart of Nothern Milan suburbs – the exhausted fine borders of the city – I marked my path, finding the walking as the key of Bovisa district.
What’s the fine line between integration and simple cohabitation? What’s our level of participation?
Beyond my gaze, I looked for its real essence; beyond the abandoned fabrics and pop buildings, beyond the secrets gardens and walls that exclude your perception with the outside world.
I wanted to go through the space around it, being there where people have always lived this hood, because walking you can get what the eye, instead, is not able to. Go finding your space, finding your way and turning it into a memory.
It’s an attempt to talk about that empy spot, that forgotten space, which is so close but abandoned. Lost, I’m afraid.
