Motorway trips have always fascinated me. Gas stations in particular. Born to be places of rest, supply and consumption, life inside rest stops beats to a rhythm that announces the beginning and the end of the holidays.
Every year, from July to September, people from all walks of life gather inside the equipped service areas renewing that nostalgic promise of happiness. Regardless of whether it is a short or long break, travellers almost never interact with each other. Nevertheless, the sacred right to a comfortable rest oversteps any social inhibition.
Transit Lounge is a photographic series that I started in the summer of 2015. Moved by childhood memories and my passion for road trips, I travelled along Italian highways in order to document the crowded and colourful habitat of service stations.
During my journey throughout the Peninsula, I photographed families, couples, truckers, bikers and pets of any size. I observed the landscape changing constantly with the arrival of new travellers and every time the show starts over again.
All of these people are secretly connected by hundreds of kilometres of driving, picnics on the tarmac or the last cigarette smoked before letting the room to other perfect strangers.
Every year, from July to September, people from all walks of life gather inside the equipped service areas renewing that nostalgic promise of happiness. Regardless of whether it is a short or long break, travellers almost never interact with each other. Nevertheless, the sacred right to a comfortable rest oversteps any social inhibition.
Transit Lounge is a photographic series that I started in the summer of 2015. Moved by childhood memories and my passion for road trips, I travelled along Italian highways in order to document the crowded and colourful habitat of service stations.
During my journey throughout the Peninsula, I photographed families, couples, truckers, bikers and pets of any size. I observed the landscape changing constantly with the arrival of new travellers and every time the show starts over again.
All of these people are secretly connected by hundreds of kilometres of driving, picnics on the tarmac or the last cigarette smoked before letting the room to other perfect strangers.