“If you have never wept bitter tears because a wonderful story has come to an end and you must take your leave of the characters with whom you have shared so many adventures, whom you have loved and admired, for whom you have hoped and feared, and without whose company life seems empty and meaningless.
If such things have not been part of your own experience, you probably won't understand what Bastian did next.” Michael Ende, The Never Ending Story.
My grandmother has always been imbued with a certain mysticism, two of his children died after birth at the begin of last century, when the darkness of the countryside, the popular beliefs and fears gave birth to "monstrous beings", fantastic creatures guilty of all misfortunes and miseries. I grew up with his stories, which are slowly dying with her, with the streetlights that debunk the nights and the cynicism of the modern world. Shoot these photographs was a way to show to my son how to have afraid of the dark, of the wind's sound or others "little things". The fears of my grandmother, written as she not could.
