Andati Avanti is a slow, intimate story about aging and the end of life. The images, far from media spectacle, whisper Rino’s story and invite us to look at death with empathy, restoring its space and dignity. Since I turned 40, I’ve started to perceive time differently compared to a few years ago; It feels like I never have enough of it. Everything changes quickly: my loved ones grow older, others move on. The awareness that days slip through my fingers despite my reluctance now makes me wonder about the meaning of all this rush, of always thinking about what will happen, often making me forget to focus on the here and now. Rino was my father-in-law; he was 89 years old, and we spent 12 years of life together. In the 1950s, he was an alpine paratrooper with an instructor’s certification in gym and rock climbing. His work and passions were always largely founded on his physical prowess, with which he built the foundations of his life and that of his loved ones. He faced significant losses and withstood shocks and setbacks until his body, that perfect shell, began to deteriorate. That shell, little by little, started to betray its host, no longer enduring as it once did. And while this was happening, I had the impression that for Rino, time began to stretch; It seemed almost as if he was waiting, as his comrades-in-arms used to say, to move on. There is a bitter aftertaste of awareness in portraying a loved one who is leaving, but I will always remember the moments when I took these photographs. Although Rino was a man of few words, when I approached him with the camera, words weren’t necessary; it became our way of expressing how important we were to each other, with the time needed to do so, without haste, simply living in the moment. “Andare Avanti” (Moving on) is an expression used by the Alpini Corps to decree that someone, among fellow soldiers, has now passed away.