On the top floor of my grandparents’ house in Udine, in the far north-east of Italy, is a library. On childhood visits, my grandfather would lead my brother and me through a door hidden in the bookshelves. It opened into a secret attic, dominated by an enormous model railway.
The secret attic is embedded on my memory as a place of charm and wonder, but it is a later experience that defines my relationship with my grandfather. One day when I was about 16, he revealed one of his less secret passions — his enduring love of photography — and he began to share with me his archive of more than 8,000 photographs.
The large body of work created by my grandfather, Alberto di Lenardo (1930-2018), reflects a joyous cross-section of 20th-century middle-class life: one of beaches and bars, mountains, road trips, strangers, lovers and friends, captured in vivid colours. Photography was his way of communicating emotions that his generation rarely expressed in words. His images also hint at his constant search for stolen glimpses — he preferred his subjects to be unaware of his camera, so that they were unguarded and a pure reflection of the moment.
These pictures, and his excitement while sharing them with me, made me fall in love with photography and would shape my whole working life. Photography was something that he and I shared and jealously guarded for the two of us.
Looking back, his love of model railways was in keeping with his love of photography. Dioramas are nothing more than the attempt to stop a moment, crystallise it and fix it in an unchanging memory — just like a beautiful photograph.
Carlotta di Lenardo, London/Udine, 2020. “An Attic Full of Trains” by Alberto di Lenardo, edited by Carlotta di Lenardo, is published this month by MACK; mackbooks.co.uk
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