I took these photos in La Mulata in La Latina. Maybe it was all the red wine I'd been drinking that night (some of which ended up on my yellow tunic) but when I caught a glimpse of the crowd reflected in the huge mirror, I saw poetry.
Although I see myself absorbed in the group, I am kept separated by the act of persevering my observation. The observer doesn't participate in the action of the moment and so becomes the other, an island exiled from the rest.
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