A E T E R N I T A S
by Patrick Scilabra
portfolio special mention call 'Urbanautica Institute Awards 2024', 2024
Category: Nature, Environment and Perspectives
30 km from Turin, in the direction of the Valli di Lanzo, it is possible to see 'a chunky, barren hill, all splinters and brambles' in which 'a cyclopean conical chasm sank, an artificial crater with a diameter of four hundred meters: altogether similar to schematic representations of Hell,' as Primo Levi described it in his 'The Periodic Table,' referring to the open-pit asbestos mine of Balangero-Corio on Monte San Vittorio, the largest asbestos mine in Europe and one of the largest in the world.
Asbestos, known for its heat resistance and fibrous structure, was widely used in construction and industry as a fireproof and insulating material. However, dust containing asbestos fibers—up to 1,300 times thinner than a human hair—can cause severe diseases if inhaled, such as asbestosis, pleural mesothelioma, and lung carcinoma.
Mining activities at the Balangero quarry began in 1918, drastically altering the surrounding atmosphere: asbestos was an all-encompassing presence—suffocating and painful. Italo Calvino, sent by L’Unità, described the environment around the mine: 'but there are no hares in the woods, no mushrooms grow in the red soil of chestnut husks, no wheat grows in the hard fields of the surrounding villages, there is only the gray asbestos dust from the quarry that burns wherever it lands, leaves and lungs.' Calvino also described the tragedy of the workers whose memory was honored by naming the shafts they fell into after them. Like Bellezza, 'who slipped from the top of the shaft and fell in one swoop, without the edge of a step stopping him, plunging to the bottom and shattering like the asbestos chipped off by his pickaxe, and so did the other fifteen accident deaths in the thirty-five-year history of the quarry.' From 1956, the quarry transitioned from traditional shaft mining to mechanized terraced mining, giving the quarry its characteristic shape and increasing fiber production to 35-40,000 tons per year. Mining activities continued until the quarry closed in 1990 following the company's bankruptcy. In 1992, a law was enacted banning the use of asbestos in any form in Italy. After its closure, the quarry was abandoned to its fate: the remaining equipment and machinery were either vandalized or removed. Thanks to the efforts of R.S.A. s.r.l. – Società per il risanamento e lo sviluppo ambientale dell'ex miniera di amianto, more than two-thirds of the surface area has been reclaimed since 2000.
The photographs aim to depict the relationship between humans and asbestos, tracing the evolution of the quarry and the gradual reduction of its hazards following remediation activities. From the harmfulness of the omnipresent fibers in the air during the extraction years, through the phases of remediation work, and finally an invitation to look towards the future of this site upon the completion of future reclamation activities following the 'crystallization' of asbestos and its securing.
Review by URBANAUTICA
Thirty kilometers from Turin, in the direction of the Valli di Lanzo, a wound cuts through the landscape: Monte San Vittorio, marked by the crater of the Balangero-Corio asbestos quarry. Primo Levi once described it as “a cyclopean chasm, similar to schematic representations of Hell”—one of the largest asbestos mines in Europe. Here, amid gray dust, the roar of machinery, and shattered lives, unfolded one of the most devastating environmental and health tragedies in Italy’s industrial history.Asbestos, once celebrated as a “miracle mineral” for its heat resistance and fibrous structure that made it an excellent insulator and fireproof material, was widely used throughout the twentieth century. Yet its fibers—up to 1,300 times thinner than a human hair—when inhaled, lodge in the lungs and tissues, causing asbestosis, mesothelioma, and lung cancer. During the years of peak extraction, the air around the quarry was saturated with invisible, lethal dust. Italo Calvino, sent by L’Unità, described the surrounding landscape in stark terms: “There are no hares in the woods, no mushrooms grow in the red soil of chestnut husks, no wheat grows in the hard fields of the nearby villages; there is only the gray asbestos dust from the quarry that burns wherever it lands—on leaves and in lungs.”
The quarry was a place of both labor and death. Calvino recalled how miners were commemorated by naming the shafts they fell into after them. Bellezza, for instance, plunged to his death, shattering like the fragments of asbestos he once chipped away. Seventeen workers lost their lives in accidents over thirty-five years, but the true death toll is far greater if one considers the epidemic of occupational and environmental diseases that continued to claim lives long after the mine was shut down in 1990.
With the shift from underground to open-pit mining in 1956, the site took on the lunar appearance of a vast artificial crater, pushing production to 40,000 tons of asbestos per year. Over time, this landscape revealed itself not as a triumph of industry, but as a monument to collective failure. Its closure—reinforced by Italy’s 1992 ban on asbestos—left behind an emptiness of both land and memory, a desert of rust, debris, and dust.
Patrick Scilabra’s project A E T E R N I T A S bears witness to the urgency of remembrance. Ethical and environmental catastrophes are wounds that do not belong solely to the past; they continue to question the present. They remain within collective memory, reminders of how human actions can bring about devastating consequences for both health and the environment. The Balangero mine stands as an emblem of this warning: a place where the promise of progress turned into ruin, and where the local community bore the long-lasting consequences.
Projects like this carry a value that extends beyond documentation. They are acts of civic responsibility, gestures that restore visibility to those who suffered, and that bring back to light stories too often erased or forgotten.
The danger of oblivion, in cases such as this, is twofold: on one hand, the desire to erase an uncomfortable history; on the other, the temptation to normalize catastrophe as an inevitable price of progress. Scilabra resists both tendencies, offering through his photographs a testimony that is at once memory and conscience.
This is not mere visual reportage, but an act of civic militancy. Scilabra’s images speak not only to the public but to the collective conscience. They keep it alive, they provoke it. Voices like his are vital in a society that often falls silent, almost autistic, deaf to real suffering, blind to damage and its consequences.
In this context, photojournalism and socially engaged photography become tools of profound connection. They do more than tell stories—they build bridges between those who lived a tragedy firsthand and those who might otherwise remain distant and indifferent. Scilabra’s photography compels us to look, to refuse to turn away, while at the same time allowing us to recognize in those ruins something of ourselves, something universal.
Scilabra’s style is plainspoken, direct. His photographs dive into the reality of the quarry without unnecessary mediation. The crater, captured in its immensity, appears like the scar of a meteorite: an indelible mark of humankind’s will to power, capable of reshaping nature’s geography to the point of unrecognizability.
Yet it is not only the scale that strikes us—it is also the details. The abandoned spaces, the rusting machinery, the peeling walls of industrial buildings speak of a vanished industrial enthusiasm, of a transformation that has turned into ruin. The euphoria of progress has given way to decay, leaving behind a landscape of defeat. Here, photography becomes testimony to the passage from the myth of progress to the awareness of limits.
Within this phenomenology of pollution, signs of past lives still emerge. Scilabra captures the traces of faces that resurface in the stories of miners and communities. Something of humanity remains, even after its passage. These images serve as a warning: the “disease” is not only that caused by asbestos, but the deeper structural shortsightedness that prevents us from foreseeing the consequences of our actions; the hunger for resources that devours without restraint; the relentless drive for affirmation that knows no bounds.
The mine thus becomes the symbol of a social illness far beyond the physical one: the self-harm of a society that, in chasing progress, sows death.
Still A E T E R N I T A S is not a requiem. Within the project, a perspective emerges. More than two-thirds of the quarry area has been reclaimed thanks to the work of the Società per il risanamento e lo sviluppo ambientale dell’ex miniera.
In one color photograph, set among the many in black and white, a man in protective gear walks through wild vegetation toward an abandoned building. Around him, plants and shrubs push their way through broken windows and crumbling walls. In this communion between man and nature lies the suggestion of a possible alliance—a different way of walking into the future, guided by another spirit of transformation. A future where life, and above all meaning, can still be found.
A meaning that emerges from a shared commitment: respect and care for the world around us.
also from Urbanautica Institute Awards 2024