© Nicola Cappellari, 'Marea', Penisola/Antiga edizioni, 2025
© Nicola Cappellari, 'Marea', Penisola/Antiga edizioni, 2025
© Nicola Cappellari, negative film
Nicola, "Marea" follows "Analogical Limbo," a previous volume that collects a kind of visual alphabet, a glossary of your way of seeing. What led you to embark on this new editorial adventure, and above all, what prompted you to share with the public these personal landscapes to which you are deeply connected—such as the Venetian Lagoon, the Po River Delta, and other aquatic environments? What inspired you to choose these particular places, and how did you approach this dimension of the landscape?
Nicola Cappellari (NC): Perhaps it's more accurate to say that these places chose me. I've loved them ever since I used to go there with my father—I simply can't stay away. In fact, I don’t even think of them as actual places anymore, but rather as states of mind. When I take photographs, I usually do it without a specific plan; I shoot because I feel compelled to. It’s a way for me to better understand myself.
What I do feel strongly, though, is the desire to share. I've always believed that photography is a kind of three-way relationship: the subject, the photographer, and above all, the observer—who is the only one truly capable of transforming a simple image into a personal story, and thus into real photography. This idea moves me deeply and also shapes the way I shoot: always trying to suggest something, but never to say everything.
And finally, Analogical Limbo (by the way, “a glossary of your way of seeing” is such a beautiful phrase—I might just steal it!). Jokes aside, it’s a work that means a lot to me. It’s a kind of dance drawn from various shots taken over the past 15 years. There’s no overarching narrative thread, except for a consistency in style. It’s a book meant to be opened at any page, freely, without the need to follow a strict order. But in the end, that’s something it has in common with "Marea".
© Nicola Cappellari, 'Analogical Limbo', self published, 2023
© Nicola Cappellari, 'Analogical Limbo', self published, 2023
© Nicola Cappellari, 'Analogical Limbo', self published, 2023
© Nicola Cappellari, 'Analogical Limbo', self published, 2023
© Nicola Cappellari, 'Analogical Limbo', self published, 2023
© Nicola Cappellari, 'Analogical Limbo', self published, 2023
In the book, the images are scans of analog prints you made in the darkroom. Tell us about this “dark” dimension of photography, and above all, about the essential alchemical aspect of your artistic practice.
NC: Yes, I think this is something worth clarifying to avoid being labeled as some kind of… analog fundamentalist. Let’s start by saying that, for me, it’s not about a rivalry between digital and analog—far from it. I returned to film about 15 years ago simply because it works for me. That’s it.
Digital and I don’t get along too well because I feel like I get sucked into a kind of vortex I can’t escape from. Everything moves too fast, I change my mind too many times, I’m weak, confused, I don’t know what I want. I miss that time of waiting—when a beautiful click settles in my mind, takes root, and slowly begins to take shape, playing with my imagination.
Sometimes weeks go by before I even see its first physical manifestation (the developed film), and by the time I finally step into the darkroom, I have a fairly clear idea of what I want to achieve.
In the darkness of that space, I make, remake, make tons of mistakes, curse, drink wine—but somehow, I come out with something in my hands that very closely resembles the image I had in mind.
© Nicola Cappellari, negative film
© Nicola Cappellari, negative film
© Nicola Cappellari, 'Marea', Penisola/Antiga edizioni, 2025
© Nicola Cappellari, 'Marea', Penisola/Antiga edizioni, 2025
© Nicola Cappellari, 'Marea', Penisola/Antiga edizioni, 2025
The tide, with its cyclical and mysterious movement, seems to be a central theme in your work. How do you manage to convey through your photographs the feeling of this continuous flow—and of a nature that is constantly changing, yet remains unchanged over time?
NC: First of all, be careful—you might awaken the humanist soul within me…
But seriously, your question assumes that I actually manage to do that, and I’m not the one who can say. If even one person were to sense this synthetic and non-confrontational aspect in my photography, well, I’d be truly flattered.
“Marea” actually stems from a thought I once had while sailing with friends along one of the smaller canals of the Venetian Lagoon. We came across a boat that had been caught off guard by the low tide—it would have to wait for hours before it could get unstuck. We waved to the passengers and asked if they needed anything, but they smiled and raised a glass of wine, saying no. That day, I realized how important it is to let yourself be surprised by the tide every now and then.
And maybe that’s the point: when I’m in those places, I allow myself to be inside the tide. I am just as I am—with my highs and lows—without the need to mediate, as we so often must in everyday life. “Marea” (conceptually speaking) is, in a way, an invitation to fully live through the highs and lows of life in their natural cycles—without too much conflict.
© Nicola Cappellari, 'Marea', Penisola/Antiga edizioni, 2025
The leporello format of the book seems to reflect the idea of a flow that expands and contracts. How did you conceive the structure of the book, and what role does its form play in conveying the message you wanted to share?
NC: I’d love to take credit for this—but I can’t. In fact, it was your wonderful intuition. The leporello, over seven meters long, is a physical representation of the very concept of “Marea”, with its folds echoing the highs and lows of the tide.
Photography, for me, is something deeply connected to the object of the book (which I truly love). The tactile quality, the dialogue between paper and image, its shape and design… all of it becomes part of the photographic experience.
The leporello structure makes it even more dynamic and participatory. You can leaf through “Marea” like a traditional book, open it at random, or fully extend the leporello to create your own sequences.
Well done, Steve—great intuition.
© Nicola Cappellari, 'Marea', Penisola/Antiga edizioni, 2025
© Nicola Cappellari, 'Marea', Penisola/Antiga edizioni, 2025
© Nicola Cappellari, 'Marea', Penisola/Antiga edizioni, 2025
© Book "Marea" di Nicola Cappellari
Your work is accompanied by a “geography of words” created in letterpress with vintage typefaces in collaboration with Tipoteca Italiana. Why include such an ancient technique to accompany this finely crafted volume?
NC: When they introduced me to Tipoteca just a couple of months ago, I have to admit—my first reaction was to feel like a complete fool. I live so close to it and had never been there before. Unforgivable. It’s an incredible place—everything speaks of craftsmanship, gesture, material, thought. You know what? It’s an incredibly contemporary place, despite its “ancient” nature. It’s like holding a vinyl record in your hands today, gently placing it on a turntable, and making a clear statement: I want to listen to music.
I believe all these forms of artistic and artisanal expertise are absolutely current—almost meta-digital, in a way. Not because I’m nostalgic or anti-technology, but because I think we’re slowly starting to understand that, in order to truly master technology and the hyper-acceleration of the digital world, we need to return to the human: to connection, to gesture, to thought—to something that responds to an ancient need that is deeply part of who we are.
© Nicola Cappellari, 'Marea', Penisola/Antiga edizioni, 2025
© Nicola Cappellari, 'Marea', Penisola/Antiga edizioni, 2025
© Nicola Cappellari, 'Marea', Penisola/Antiga edizioni, 2025. Backstage Letterpress, Tipoteca, Italy
© Nicola Cappellari, 'Marea', Penisola/Antiga edizioni, 2025. Backstage Letterpress, Tipoteca, Italy
© Nicola Cappellari, 'Marea', Penisola/Antiga edizioni, 2025. Backstage Letterpress, Tipoteca, Italy
What were the main challenges you faced in creating this book?
NC: This a big question. Maybe the biggest challenge was simply waiting for the right moment to create the book—with publishers I truly believe in. Being actively involved in the making of the book, not just handing over a “bundle of photographs.” With “Marea”, there was—and still is—a real team effort, a dialogue, an exchange. One that respects the needs of the publishers and also respects the vision of the artist. Only then is it truly rewarding—only then does it become an adventure worth experiencing in every step. So yes, maybe the greatest challenge for me was this: waiting and not giving up until the right opportunity came along.
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