i wore it hanging from my belt like it was part of my body. it was already night when i took my old red car to get to montisi, a small medieval village that is part of the municipality of montalcino, siena. it was about 20 minutes walk in what defined the perfect landscape.

ettore had invited me. ettore is a friend i knew before the berlin wall fell. we worked together for a few months at solfotecnica, a poison factory in torrenieri, when i thought i was just another character from brazil, by terry gilliam.

the route between montalcino and sinalunga is one of the sweetest and quietest i know. it rises and falls and curves and counter-curves in the middle of hills, olive groves, vineyards and tuscan forests. the music is inside me.

we cross a montisi of celebration. the quarter piazza had won the joust di simone, a representation that they do every year at the beginning of august of a medieval tournament in which they face the four neighborhoods of the village. the row of tables and starters filled the square and the main street. everyone ate, laughed, drank and danced.

we continued until we reached the sparm cinema, where people from every corner of the southwestern part of the province of siena began to arrive. they drank beer in the street, in the cinema bar and inside the hall, from which the seats had been removed to create a dance floor.

it was a jump blues party, where the london dj group the shout collective, and integrated by jamie renton, norman druker, debbie smith and aly prince, made that in a moment, when i danced alone in the middle of the dance floor as one more, i took with my right hand the α 6000 that i had hanging from the waist.

it was a unique act, without think in anything, to follow the rhythm of the music that those old gringos, blues, funk and rock that I thought I had forgotten, and shoot without looking too much through the camera screen.

flowing, that’s what comes to mind. make a single movement. the music, the trigger, the manual function of the camera, the music, dancing, circulating among all of them, in the midst of so many who touched each other with gaze and words, and going out to a terrace that looked at old olive trees and smoking and listening to a love story.

i may not be part of anything. i can remember things that no one remembers, and forget the indispensable. always revolve around the same extinguished lighthouse. but to be in that cinema, that magical night, to flow in that music that we all carry inside and to shoot, was the only thing i needed.