Interview by Claudia Bigongiari
All Images © Carlotta Valente and Istituto Centrale per il Catalogo e la Documentazione (ICCD)
Carlotta Valente studied analog photography and printing techniques at Scuola Romana di Fotografia. In 2017 she became the head of the laboratory and a lecturer at the same institution and, continuing to deepen historical photographic processes, she founded Studio Bayard in 2021, a space to produce analog photography and collaborate with various artists.
In 2022, she received a commission from Istituto Centrale per il Catalogo e la Documentazione to create 27 artworks using historical processes. The project, The Mimetic Observer, has been exhibited at the ICCD museum and in Palazzo Barberini in 2023, and was also published as a book by Viaindustriae in the same year.
Alessandro Coco studied Communications Sciences in Rome and Visual Arts at IUAV in Venice. In between he worked for some years as photographer for the Ministry of Cultural Heritage’s archives.
He obtained a PHD in documentary photography which he interprets as an artistic form that intersects cinema, literature, art, and photography. He is the records manager and coordinator of the digital archive at ICCD (Istituto Centrale per il Catalogo e la Documentazione), where he creates and curates projects and exhibitions on contemporary photography.
Claudia Bigongiari (CB): As well as being a tribute to Dante’s majestic piece, Divina Commedia, and to the instruments and methods that have marked the evolution of analog photography, The Mimetic Observer is, above all, an investigation of light. Light has always been a repository of meanings connected to knowledge and spirituality. How did you start thinking and relating with the concept of light, at the beginning of the commission, and what has been your personal relationship with this element?
Carlotta Valente (CV): Working with different qualities of light was an immediate choice as soon as I was invited to participate in the The Mimetic Observer project. The idea was to interpret the three cantiche by associating a material and a photographic process with the three different qualities of light that Dante describes in Inferno, Purgatorio, and Paradiso.
For instance, Inferno is represented by the density of paper and the pseudo-solarization technique. With this process, the whites in the print are inverted—or, as we say in the darkroom, “burned”—creating deep blacks and metallic greys. I chose this technique to make tangible the dense and impenetrable darkness that Dante describes in Inferno.
For Purgatorio, I chose to work with the transparency of glass as a metaphor for the souls in this cantica, the only ones in the entire Commedia capable of casting a shadow. The emulsion-coated glass plates, created using the cyanotype process, can project the image of the represented subject, making visible the light passing through the glass as well as the shadow it forms. Additionally, the blue characteristic of cyanotypes connects to the “ciel d’oriental zaffiro” (the “oriental sapphire sky”), the first color Dante sees in the Commedia.
In Paradiso, daguerreotypes perfectly align with the impossibility of a singular, clear vision that the poet describes. Depending on how light falls on the silver plate, the image shifts, appearing positive or negative, warmer or cooler, making it impossible to perceive the photograph in a static and definitive way. Moreover, daguerreotypes develop a particular coloration when exposed to excessive light, which I found fitting with Dante’s experience of blinding illumination in Paradiso.
For me, light has always had an “epiphanic” quality—like a revelation that completely changes the way I see and perceive things. Every form of light reveals and transforms, and this is often what drives me to photograph a particular subject.
(CB): Dante’ journey is a path through vision, from the obscure and hostile atmosphere of Inferno (hell) to the almost blinding clarity of Paradiso (paradise). These passages have been reproduced through various image supports and development processes. The analog “method” (within the dark room) is, in some way, similar to Dante’s journey towards the vision of light.
(CV): In a way, yes, and I find this comparison very interesting. In the darkroom, photosensitive objects are “born” in darkness—or rather, in the part of the light spectrum they perceive as such—and are then processed so they can withstand exposure to light. The creation of a photographic image happens in darkness, just as Dante’s Commedia begins in the selva oscura. And for the story to emerge into the light, to be seen and read, a journey is required.
(CB): Returning to the historical processes of analog photography (silver salt prints, cyanotypes, daguerreotypes) evokes the idea of image production as a physical and slow process, where the making is part of the image itself. This contrasts significantly with the contemporary notion of images—quick and suspended. How do you, especially working with analog methods, relate to today’s photographic production?
(CV): This aspect is one of the main reasons I work with historical printing processes—and perhaps what I love most about them. I believe that in slowness and tangibility, there is a form of resistance in an increasingly fast, “immortal,” and immaterial world. Adhering to extremely slow processing times—often repeating them multiple times to achieve a final result—means embracing a different rhythm, which, in my view, leads to greater awareness.
Moreover, creating objects that enter the physical flow of time, aging and transforming, gives the image a human and mortal value.
I also believe that contemporary photography is undergoing a significant hybridization with techniques and technologies of the past, allowing us to rediscover processes that were deemed obsolete nearly two hundred years ago in the name of speed and progress. Reopening research on these techniques, combining them with non-traditional materials and contemporary imagery, represents an extraordinary opportunity—one that is central to my work as both an artist and a printer.
(CB): The subjects you photographed—animals, plants, and elements connected to light—reflect what Dante encounters during the Divina Commedia. The most challenging to perceive and understand, as for the poet, is the representation of Paradiso. What did you choose to photograph in the last nine images? What challenges did you face?
(CV): Returning to the theme of light, the subjects in the nine images of the Paradiso series specifically represent luminous phenomena or descriptions of what Dante sees in the blinding light of the celestial realm. For example, the poet mentions the phenomena of light reflection and refraction, which I chose to depict through a reflective sphere and a prism. He also describes the soul of his ancestor, Cacciaguida, as a candle seen through a sheet of alabaster.
The biggest challenges were related to photographing objects with particular opacity qualities—transparencies, mirrored or reflective surfaces—and very small dimensions, which I had to significantly enlarge in the shot. Additionally, daguerreotypes have very low light sensitivity, so to achieve the desired depth of field and exposure, we had to use an enormous amount of light, even blowing multiple flash fuses in the process.
As often happens with complex historical photographic processes like daguerreotypes, we had to restart the sensitization process from scratch multiple times. After mercury development, inexplicable stains would appear on the plates—issues for which no documentation exists in historical texts or online sources. Together with Joaquin Paredes Piris, we ruled out one variable at a time, repeating the process over and over until we identified the cause. Collaborating with Joaquin was essential—thanks to all our experiences working with daguerreotypes together, he was the one who taught me everything I know about this process.
(CB): The animals, on the other hand, symbolise human desires and evils within the souls of Hell. Photographing them stuffed in the Civic Museum of Zoology in Rome is intriguing, as if we can only approach these furies because they are not real, confined within the museum’s cases. Did you intentionally create this ambiguity?
(CV): More than ambiguity, I would say it was a necessity. The Civic Museum of Zoology allowed me to photograph the animals outside their display cases and gave me access to storage areas with specimens not on public view.
The most fascinating aspect of photographing Inferno was having the chance to closely observe, with unlimited time, animals that would be impossible to approach or photograph if they were still alive. Moreover, working with taxidermy specimens didn’t make the creatures feel any less real to me. On the contrary, death and the preservation of bodies seem to express an even more tangible reality.
Although it wasn’t my specific intention, I do find it interesting that this ambiguity emerges. On one hand, taxidermy—freezing and objectifying a fragment of reality—feels very similar to the photographic process. On the other hand, there’s also the ambiguity of reality itself: things often appear more real in photographs than in real life, much like in Hiroshi Sugimoto’s work on wax statues.
(CB): The Mimetic Observer, supported by ICCD, has become an exhibition at Gallerie Barberini Corsini (Rome), curated by Peter Lang and yourself, Alessandro Coco, with the 27 photographic works which are now part of the Institution’s collection. What was your initial approach to such a monumental work, and how did you handle the realisation of the project and the commissioning of Carlotta?
Alessandro Coco (AC): The approach to The Mimetic Observer was deeply rooted in a desire to create a contemporary dialogue with Dante’s Divina Commedia through the medium of photography. When we conceived this project with ICCD, our primary goal was to reimagine Dante’s epic journey through a visual language that could capture the metaphysical transformations described in the text.
Commissioning Carlotta Valente was a deliberate choice. Her profound understanding of historical photographic techniques and her ability to conceptualize light as a metaphorical and physical medium made her the ideal artist for this complex project. We were particularly drawn to her experimental approach—her willingness to engage with analog processes not as nostalgic recreations, but as living, breathing artistic languages.
The project’s structure emerged organically. We wanted to create a comprehensive visual interpretation that would mirror Dante’s progression from the darkness of Inferno through the transitional space of Purgatorio to the ineffable light of Paradiso. Each of the 27 photographic works needed to be both a standalone piece and part of a larger narrative arc.
Practically, this meant extensive collaboration. In collaboration with Peter Lang, we provided Carlotta with conceptual guidelines, historical context. ICCD provided full access to our daguerreotype collection, enabling Carlotta to deeply study the technical intricacies, as well as access to the laboratory, which was crucial for her experimental photographic processes. The laboratory offered her part of the specialized equipment necessary to explore complex analog photographic techniques like daguerreotypes. However, we deliberately left significant creative space for her interpretation. The technical challenges of reproducing these historical photographic processes were immense, but they were also central to the project’s philosophical underpinnings.
Producing these works was a meticulous process. Each photograph needed not only to represent a visual interpretation of Dante’s cantiche but also stand as a testament to the material history of photography itself. The fact that these 27 works are now part of the ICCD’s permanent collection speaks to their significance beyond mere artistic representation.
Ultimately, The Mimetic Observer became more than an art project. It was an exploration of how we perceive light, memory, and transformation—themes that are as relevant in contemporary art as they were in Dante’s medieval cosmology.
(CB): I was also captivated by the title of the final work, Lo Sguardo di Dante – The Mimetic Observer, especially the word “mimetic.” It made me reflect on how, from its very beginning and purest intention, images (much like Dante’s poetry) can be filled with fictional elements and misinterpretations. Can you expand on this choice?
(AC): In photography, as in Dante’s poetry, the act of observation is never neutral. Every image is a negotiation between the observed subject, the artist’s perception, and the technological medium of representation. The word “mimetic” captures this intricate dance between reality and interpretation.
Dante’s journey through the Divina Commedia is fundamentally about perspective—how vision changes as one moves through different realms of understanding. Similarly, our photographic project explores how different analog processes fundamentally alter our perception of light, space, and meaning.
The title suggests that the observer is not a passive recorder, but an active participant in meaning-making. Just as Dante reimagines theological and philosophical concepts through his poetic vision, Carlotta reimagines historical photographic techniques as a way of seeing beyond the immediate, literal image.
By choosing “mimetic,” we wanted to emphasize that representation is never about faithful reproduction, but about creating a new reality—a parallel interpretation that is simultaneously true to and distinct from its original source. It’s an acknowledgment of the creative act inherent in both poetry and photography.
(CB): Finally, co-curated by ICCD and Viaindustriae, the project has resulted in a publication. How did you, Alessandro and Carlotta, approach the realisation of the photo book, especially considering the challenges of reproducing the three different supports on paper?
(AC): The publication of The Mimetic Observer was a complex challenge. Our goal was not simply to create a catalog, but to extend the project’s conceptual framework into a printed medium that could somehow capture the material essence of the original photographic works.
We knew from the beginning that a traditional printing approach would be insufficient. Each of the three photographic supports—the pseudo-solarized paper for Inferno, the cyanotype glass plates for Purgatorio, and the daguerreotypes for Paradiso—had unique material qualities that could not be fully translated through standard printing techniques.
This is where our collaboration with Giorgio Di Noto became crucial. He is not just a printer, but an artist who understands the experimental potential of print media. We approached the publication as an artistic project in its own right, exploring printing techniques that could suggest—if not exactly reproduce—the luminous and material qualities of the original works.
We experimented with different paper stocks, printing processes, and layering techniques. For the Inferno section, we used a printing method that could simulate the density and metallic greys of pseudo-solarization. The Purgatorio section involved techniques that could hint at the transparency and blue tones of cyanotypes. For Paradiso, we explored printing techniques that could capture the mercurial, shifting quality of daguerreotypes.
The book became more than a documentation of the project—it was an extension of the project’s core concept: the impossibility of perfect reproduction, and the beauty of that very impossibility. As Carlotta herself noted in the interview, these images can truly be experienced only when viewed in person. Our publication was an attempt to create a parallel experience, a kind of visual echo of the original works.
(CV): The publication was a complex experiment in how to convey the materiality of the processes used for the 27 works. Any attempt to faithfully reproduce photographic objects like those in The Mimetic Observer—whether in print or digital form—is inevitably unsuccessful, or rather, only partial. These images can truly be experienced only when viewed in person.
