Interview by Erika Giulietti
All Images © Federico Possati
Federico Possati was born in Bologna, Italy in 1988. In 2016, he graduated in Film and Media Studies from Columbia University in New York. He worked in New York as a freelancer until 2020, when he moved to Milan with his family. His artistic work is developed in both photographic and video projects and always has a strong narrative dimension. It all starts from the idea of collecting visual fragments from the world, and then using them as pieces of a new story, a new truth.
His photobook Almanac of Forgotten Memories was published in 2024 by SKINNERBOOX and Leporello. It was shortlisted at FE+SK Award, Dummy Award 2024, SIPF 2024 and shown at Encontros da Imagem 2024.
Erika Giulietti (EG): Hi Federico! Let’s talk about your project Almanac of Forgotten Memories. I know it started to take shape when you returned to Italy after eight years in New York. How did it come about exactly? Was it the result of a concrete, well-defined idea that you had from the beginning, or did it develop more spontaneously, following the flow of events?
Federico Possati (FP): My studies in film in the United States and the different experiences I had there sparked a lot of curiosity in me about photography. I took about four or five courses in photography and visual arts, but at first, I had no idea what made a “good photo” or how to take one. So, for several years, I shot a lot, photographing everything I found interesting. My approach was almost like that of a collector —I was looking for things that caught my attention and tried to capture them. In the end, I was left with a huge pile of photos and wasn’t quite sure what to do with them.
I really like photo books as a medium because of the possibilities they offer to work with narratives. For me, it’s a great way to bring a project together. However, to make it work, I had to find the right approach. It seemed like every maquette was as good as the next one.
At that time, I was obsessed with Tarkovsky, the director, who said, “When I work on a film, it’s the only thing in the world that interests me; it’s the most important thing in the world to me.” I wanted to find a project that would make me feel the same way. Then, when I returned to Italy, to Milan— the city where I had lived before and where I studied engineering—I found myself with this pile of photos and kept reflecting on all that had changed. Coming back to Italy, transitioning from being a single engineering student to a creative father, felt surreal. So, I thought about telling this change through the photos as “artifacts” of those moments. The photos were what I had created day by day, week by week, and they felt like pieces of a puzzle that could come together into a project.
That’s when the idea of a diary came to me. At the time, I was really into regional almanacs, with horoscopes, recipes, and various writings. They really inspired me. I thought about making an almanac that would tell this period of my life. So, I started writing dozens of pages, creating diaries, and collecting reflections. When I started the first draft, it was a complete chaos—totally unreadable.
Over time, I became inspired by a book I really love, The Mushroom Collector by Jason Fulford, an American photographer whose work focuses a lot on editing. Fulford receives a box full of mushroom photos from a friend and mixes them with his own, creating an incredible visual journey with very little text to tie it all together. I thought my approach could be similar: simplifying, stripping away the excess, and getting to the essence. I decided to reduce everything to twelve months, each with a small story, trying to do as much as possible with the fewest words and images.
That’s how the final form of the project came together.
These are photos I’ve taken over the last ten years. Almost all of them are shot on film, except for one or two digital ones, but the majority are film-based. There’s a temporal element to the book: there are months, there are years, but the photos don’t correspond to those specific years. Each image tells a different period of time, but they’re not tied to a particular year. The photos range from New York to Milan, from trips to various situations—these are all things I’ve carried with me over the years.
(EG): So, if I understand correctly, in the photo book, the images aren’t strictly tied to the period you’re talking about, but rather you’re building a narrative that develops through context. You use the images almost like a code to express what you were feeling at a particular time, or would you describe your approach differently?
(FP): Look, the way I see it, this book is primarily a big book: 368 pages, a little more than one a day, and 189 photos. The book is about how these photos interact with each other, creating something new. The idea was to use the images as pieces of a puzzle. The goal was to build a narrative arc, also through the text, which would, through these stories, spark a reflection on love. The first photo depicts a gravestone with the word “Love” engraved on it. I think the first image in the edit is a bit like an establishing shot in a film: it’s the one that makes you understand what everything else is about. In this case, it’s about learning to love, learning to love yourself and the people around you. That’s the theme here, and the idea is to use both the photos and the text together, as two complementary elements.
At first, the editing follows a lot of visual associations, but for me, it’s crucial not to lose sight of the personal journey. It’s a long book, and sometimes, when you’re working on something this big, it’s easy to lose track and reach a point where you’re not quite sure where you’re heading. So, I tried to guide it step by step, dividing it into themes, working directly with the text, but trying to make them interact in a way that they’d be more than just separate elements. I see them almost like two instruments in a song: they work together, but never overlap, acting harmoniously. The main work, then, was on the image editing, their placement in relation to the text, and the rhythm with which they are presented.
(EG): It’s clear that you’ve given an interpretation both through the images and the text, which further enriches the photo book. Each individual image seems almost like a piece of an entire narrative, and that makes the project really fascinating. It also feels like a courageous exposure. Telling a period of your life, sharing your feelings, requires courage and self-awareness.
(FP): Thank you. When you work on personal projects, putting them out into the world is always a unique experience. It reminds me of 8½ by Federico Fellini, particularly the character of the critic. I’ve always interpreted that character as kind of the director’s inner voice, representing all his insecurities and doubts. In the end, the critic says, “Do you think anyone will be interested in your life?” For me, it was certainly a great experience.
It was a book I worked on a lot, something I really cared about. Then I sent it to several festivals, and I started working with some designers in Rome who helped me make it more readable, more accessible, and more in line with the world of photography. At first, I thought I could do everything myself, but I realized my limits, and that awareness eventually led me to achieve better results with the graphic design. In the end, the book was selected as a finalist for several awards.
(EG): Do you ever revisit the photo book, or do you feel that now that it’s completed, it’s time to offer it to the public without going back to your memories? Are there any particular moments or images that evoke special emotions for you or that you find difficult to experience as a “viewer”?
(FP):You know, it’s always a strange experience. As a creative person, I’ve always had this tendency to obsess over something, only to, as soon as it’s finished, never want to see it, touch it, or revisit it again—wanting to forget about it. But there’s also a process of growth. Creating a photo book isn’t the end of the journey. You also have to talk about it, show it around, and I believe that in order to do that, you have to still have some affection for the project.
I recently had some presentations with publishers and at a few festivals—an experience I’d never had before, a bit surreal. I think of my publisher at Skinnerboox, who said he finds it hard to talk about books because it almost feels like explaining a joke. I feel like it’s difficult to talk about something so personal. But in the end, there are many things I did instinctively, more spontaneously, and it’s interesting to stop for a moment, analyze them, and put them into words.
So, circulating the project, talking about it, showing it—has helped me see it more in its entirety. Over time, someone might point out things I now read in a different way than when I originally conceived them. But it’s beautiful, because I think there’s a special moment in the life of every photographer or anyone who makes photo books, and it’s when you sell it to people you don’t know. First, you give it to friends, to family, but when someone buys the book and tells you they liked it, it’s an experience that truly enriches you.
(EG): Earlier, you mentioned collecting. What are your main fascinations in photographic research? What interests you most about what’s around you? How would you define your gaze, if you had to describe it?
(FP):That’s a very interesting and well-phrased question. My wife describes it almost as bulimic, because I take a lot of photos very close to things, to places, until I feel completely drained, and then I step back a little. In a way, when I was photographing, I was really curious about bringing home as many different things as possible to include in the book.
I’m reminded of an exhibition that left a huge impression on me: the first major photography show that truly struck me was Garry Winogrand’s street photography exhibit at the Met in New York. What struck me was how vast the world he had captured was. He was someone who had done it all, and the sheer breadth of it all really impressed me. For me, it was a bit like trying to collect as many things as possible that communicated something. Often, it happens almost intuitively: I see something, photograph it for ten minutes without knowing why, and then when I get home I think, “Ah, that’s why.”
For me, it’s almost like entering a trance when I shoot, in the sense that I have a hard time being rational about it. It’s very much an instinctive, gut-level action: things I can’t explain but am fascinated by, even though I don’t always know what to do with them. They’re the things that make me stop, the things that make me think, “Wait, there’s something different here.” I really like a definition from a philosopher, whose name I unfortunately can’t recall right now, who wrote about cinema and photography. He described the camera as “a magnifying lens that draws attention to things that would normally go unnoticed.” That’s kind of my approach.
Right now, I’m working on a new project, taking a lot of photos in Emilia-Romagna, trying to shift direction and add a bit more focus. In this case, the challenge with the editing was that there were so many things I couldn’t categorize. That’s why, in the end, I found the idea of the almanac so interesting, without a doubt. I also really like that gut feeling, when you see something and are drawn to it, fascinated by it.
(EG): I find your approach interesting, especially when you talk about rediscovering the motivations behind a shot, looking at it from a distance over time. Although it may sound like a bit of a cliché in the context of creativity or art, it’s fascinating to think that what we create, even when following a sudden instinct, can give us something personally meaningful, allowing us to better understand ourselves through what we produce. Have you ever felt that what you’ve created has helped you understand yourself better?
(FP): I find that, for my sensibility, the works that impact me—whether it’s art, photography, or any other medium—always have one thing in common: there’s always a bit of gut feeling involved, something that comes from another level, something that speaks more deeply. This is also a therapeutic process. In fact, one of my psychotherapy processes ran parallel to the creation of some of the photos.
Certainly, the idea of using the photos taken over these years as testament of changes that occurred was fundamental. I found many things that happened to me, many reflections. You know, when looking at contact sheets, you realize there are periods with certain obsessions, recurring themes, different images. Some objects become more isolated, abandoned, while others are more structured, with a specific intention behind them.
I think that’s the beauty of working with an archive. My archive isn’t enormous, but it covers about eight / ten years, and that’s what’s been interesting: seeing the evolution of the images and then managing to bring together things from different periods and interests, still finding a thread that connects everything, even if the things are very different from each other.
It’s beautiful to learn to know yourself through a process like this.
(EG): We’ve talked a lot about the images, but now I’d like to ask you about the textual component. How did you approach this part, considering that, as we mentioned earlier, text and images work together harmoniously? Did you try to make sure the texts matched specific images, as if they were inevitably paired, or did you work with separate texts and then adapt them to the images?
(FP): I tried to create a diary that spanned ten years, attempting to collect texts about events that had happened to me. The idea was something like this: the book is called Almanac of Forgotten Memories, and my intention was to focus on small events, moments that might not be as spectacular as the birth of my son or a major victory, but still remain with you even if you think they’re destined to be forgotten. They’re many small things that, together, accumulate over time. I worked a lot to find stories that worked narratively, so there are many small texts that tell these moments.
Then, there was a lot of back-and-forth between the photos and the text. Sometimes I’d change the photo to fit the text, and other times I’d do the opposite. I believe one of the biggest differences between art and illustration is that illustration tends to explain, to provide answers, while art usually raises questions and invites reflection. So, the idea was to keep these pairs of images and texts as open as possible, and to use associations not to close an idea but rather to open it up.
The photos and the texts blended together. Sometimes it was clear what to pair, but I did it in a way that made the combination more complex, not simpler. Then, as always happens, the photos arrived… Up until the last week, I was still working on the design: the photo on page 110 had to go on page 190, and so on… I was trying to piece the visual elements together in a way that made sense. The idea was to simplify as much as possible because the simpler the editing, the more digestible the book becomes. But, you know, it’s all about finding a difficult balance. It’s a complex task: making it digestible, but at the same time staying true to what the book wants to communicate, maintaining narrative coherence. That was definitely the hardest part. How clear should it be? How much should remain ambiguous?
(EG): Almanac of Forgotten Memories. It seems like you believe it’s important to preserve certain memories, as if it’s necessary to keep a diary of one’s journey of growth and change. This is more of a personal question than one about photography: do you remember if this was a conscious choice or something that came naturally, almost as a genuine need?
(FP): Sure, but it came very much as a need to put these things out there. They were all very fresh experiences, moments I was still living through, processes I was going through at that time. So, the choice of texts was really simple, in the sense that it felt like there was nothing different from what I was living. It was a very quick process to choose what to say and how to say it because everything was so close.
If I had to do it again today, it would be a much more complicated experience. The book helped me close certain things. But at the time, the time I was describing was still something I was living through on a daily basis, so in that sense, it wasn’t hard to face. It was almost like a therapy session: putting these things out there, talking about them, reliving them, and trying to make sense of them.
(EG): Your project is extremely personal. Is there anything about the project that you think is important to share but hasn’t been addressed yet? Is there something you feel the need to express or that you wish I had asked you about?
(FP): You know, as I mentioned earlier: for me, “explaining my work completely would be like explaining a joke”. I think I’ve said enough.
