The Story

That there is the face of someone very happy she didn’t go to uni straight after school and instead found a creative adventure…I mean don’t get me wrong the money would be better if I was a French speaking brain explorer (psychologist) but half the fun of exploring beautiful parts of the world. My best friend’s response to the high school year book question “Where do you see Lori in 10 years?” … “In France speaking French to a French cat.” Where was I? … In Italy attempting to speak Italian to an Italian cat. 

Arriving at this point was a bit of a wayward journey of creative experimenting from art and design, illustration, digital art, animation (we don’t talk about this one), motion graphics to short film. But, when it came to my final Masters project, I had no idea what to do. How do I pick something that might define what I do next? So what did I pick? Photography. Had I done it before? Nope. Do I know anything about cameras? Nope. Still don’t. But, do I love a challenge? Yip. So I have the medium; but what the hell am I going to photograph? What have I always wanted to do? Travel. Ok, where? Italy.

*Falls down research rabbit hole*

“Barga, the most Scottish town in Italy.” 

Months of research. I packed my bags and went wandering. My friends will tell you I love a wander. My family call me a little nomad. I spent five weeks there talking to the residents of this small town. Hearing their stories. One person led me to the next. I haven’t even scratched the surface. In order to preserve some authenticity I taught myself the basics of photography without getting too hung up on the technical side of it ( I repel any and all forms of technology). I decided to let the stories determine how the photographs were going to look by capturing the character, textures and details. I soaked in as much as I could by recording stories and ambient sounds, by walking the streets day and night for weeks, becoming a regular at Lucchesi’s (if you know you know), by experiencing the jazz and annual fish ‘n’ chip festival, where I was led around the dance floor ballroom style by a Italian gentleman and where no words were exchanged other than the universal language of dance. With true Italian warmth and generosity, I was invited to family dinner tables like it was a given I belonged there, driven around the surrounding region of Garfagnana to the mountains and marble quarries, and went hiking to Monte Forato, the “Holed Mountain.” No research or planning prepared me for that trip. It sparked something in me that even now I can’t quite put into words.

But what I do know is that I experienced a little bit of magic.