Do not photograph the ragged, jobless, hungry.
Do not photograph prostitutes, beggars on the steps of the churches, retirees on benches alone waiting for death as a train in the night
Do not photograph the humiliated blacks, their horrible dreams. Society took everything from them, do not take photography from them
Do not photograph handcuffs on wrists, those placed with their backs against the wall, those with arms raised,
Why can’t I fight you
Do not photograph the accused behind bars, entering or leaving prison,
the person who goes to the gallows
Do not photograph the jailer, the judge and nobody wearing a toga or uniform. They have already endured the violence, don’t add yours. They need to use violence, you can do without
Do not photograph the mentally ill, the paralytic, the humpbacks and cripples. Leave in peace who struggles with crutches and whoever insists to greet militarily with the heroic stump
Do not portray a man just because his head is too big, too small, or deformed in some way.
Do not persecute with the flash the girl disfigured by the accident, the old woman masked by wrinkles, the actress ugly with time. Mirrors are a nightmare to them, do not add your photographs
Do not photograph the mother of the killer or that of the victim.
Do not photograph the children of the person who killed her lover nor the orphans of the lover
Do not photograph those who suffered injury: the rapped girl, the smitten boy. The worst photographic infamies are committed in the name of “right to information”
If it is indeed the human solidarity that leads you to visit the old hospice, asylum, jail, try leaving the camera at home
Do not take photographs of those who photograph: you may only be satisfying a natural need
How would we judge a painter in a “bohemian” costume sitting with brushes, palette and easel to make a beautiful picture of a life sentence before the cage, swinging hangman, the bitch who is trembling with cold, a broken body that emerges from ruins?
Why assume that the freelance costume, a bag of accessories, with three cameras hanging around his neck and a flash shot in the face can excuse yourself?
by Ando Gilardi (1921 – 5 March 2012)
Enjoy your trip Aldo, “barefoot” and heretic photographer, a scholar and historian, your books have taught me to look at the picture with more mature eyes, and for this I will be forever grateful. For anyone who wants to approach the world of photography it is impossible to not consider your thoughts.