Stefano De Luigi, Doubt, Vision and Power of Photography
Interviewer
Marylise Vigneau is an award-winning documentary photographer and author, often based between Austria and Pakistan. Raised in a secretive Parisian family, Vigneau developed an early passion for investigation and a deep sense of justice. Her intellectual curiosity led her to La Sorbonne, where she completed a Master’s in Comparative Literature, focusing on cities as characters in Russian and Central-European novels—places where clear narratives dissolve into haunting, elusive uncertainty.
Though literature was her first love, photography became her primary mode of expression—perhaps because of the unique blend of precision, immediacy, truth, and ambiguity inherent in every image.
Her work is driven by a fascination with the impact of borders—both physical and psychological—on the human experience. She seeks out these liminal spaces, where fleeting acts of courage or glimpses of freedom emerge.
Vigneau prefers to work on long-term projects, delving deeply into themes of memory and place, often in regions rich with history and fraught with socio-political tensions. Her lens captures the fragile, in-between moments that reveal the complexities of the human condition.
Interviewee
Stefano De Luigi is an award-winning documentary photographer known for exploring social and cultural themes, particularly through long-term projects on marginalized communities. His notable work, Blanco: Visions of Blindness, published in 2010 by Trolley, was supported by WHO/Vision 2020 and the W. Eugene Smith Fellowship. This project earned him the World Press Photo second prize in 2011, showcasing his impactful storytelling.
Beginning his career in Paris, De Luigi documented the Louvre’s renovations in the early 1990s, which shaped his immersive approach. From 2003 to 2008, he collaborated with CBM and WHO on Vision 2020, highlighting individuals with blindness. His 2006 project, Cinema Mundi, spotlighted global cinema outside Hollywood, premiering at the Locarno Film Festival in 2007.
De Luigi has won the World Press Photo award four times and was recognized by the Soros Foundation’s Moving Walls in 2009. His TIA project on the African continent earned top prizes from Days Japan and the Getty Grant for Editorial Photography in 2010. Published in Stern, GEO, Le Monde Magazine, and The New Yorker, his work has been exhibited worldwide, solidifying his place as a leading voice in documentary photography.
Throughout his career, Stefano has published 7 books and been a member of the VII Foundation since 2008.
Marylise Vigneau for Hot Mirror: First, could you tell us how you became the photographer you are today? Could you describe the journey and some turning points in finding your photographic self? Which moment of exaltation, discouragement, rage, or questioning did you encounter?
SDL: The journey you ask about visualises my life, spent imagining how to translate emotions, experiences, and ideas into images.
It is the creation of a voice—my voice—filtered through all this living in contact with others. By 'others,' I mean cultures, societies, and individuals far removed from my own way of seeing things. The driving force behind this continuous action, the central and constant element that has accompanied me all along, is curiosity—curiosity for what I do not know, what I do not understand, and what is foreign to me.
The idea that there could be moments of discouragement or key moments along this path seems to me disconnected to a constant growth of the individuals who, in the light of their experiences, encounters, and clashes, evolve. That’s what has happened to me. It is difficult to identify what exactly is a moment of exaltation or discouragement.
Questioning is also a sport I do practice a lot. What determines your photographic individuality is self-awareness—at least, that’s how it has been for me.
To say with certainty that I decided who I am at a specific moment seems highly improbable if I reflect through the prism of my experiences. Thus, being born into an unconventional family that always gave me plenty of room to express my personality, growing up in a tough neighbourhood during the years of terrorism in Rome, and leaving at a young age to live in another country may be key moments that have gradually helped shape who I am today, although I find this a bit reductive.
That said, my career has evolved over the years. I began declining assignments from magazines more and more frequently. In 2015, following the Paris attacks at the Bataclan and earlier in January with the Charlie Hebdo attack, I turned down many requests from newspapers that naturally needed coverage of the events. Living in Paris, it was only normal that I would be approached. The reason for my refusal lies in the growing gap between my desire to fully dedicate myself to my projects (including those related to current events) and the timeframes, budgets, and space magazines offered. Therefore, I chose a different path, seeking resources elsewhere that would allow me to continue working over longer periods to produce work that at least attempted to explain the complexity of Islamic terrorism in Europe. (Babel 2014/2018).
Later, in 2018, when I was on board the Aquarius ship of the NGO SOS Méditerranée, due to the events I experienced firsthand (see Doc "Mare Amarum" on my website), I no longer had clear answers about my role as a photojournalist. As a result, I decided to establish a new criterion for my projects: to increasingly focus on the theme of vision and perception.
MV: What struck me is that many of your projects revolve around the power of vision. The vertigo it can provoke. The absence of it in "Blanco", its ambiguity in "Pornoland", and its manipulative power in "Televisiva." Have you ever come across an image in childhood or adolescence that somehow 'blinded' you, consciously or unconsciously at the time? An image that would have generated a kind of leitmotif later on.
SDL: I would also add “Babel” the project that I did in collaboration with the artist Michela Battaglia to the list of works you mention, as it reflects on the manipulative power of propaganda that permeates our lives.
I believe you’ve touched on a crucial point of my research, which can be summarised as: “Is what we see exactly what we think we’re seeing?”
This is a question I constantly ask myself because, in the end, my personal works revolve around it.
The project on blindness was sparked by a quote from Saramago book “Ensaio sobre a cegueira” that says, “I don't think we go blind, I think we are blind, blind but seeing. Blind people who can see but do not see.”
This phrase undoubtedly summarises, more than any other, the essence of my research since I began working on Television universe in Italy in 1994, and perhaps even earlier in the world of fashion in Italy and France.
How a thought, how a way of representing oneself in service of economic or political power, transforms into an image that conveys a message not immediately decipherable.
This is why my works, I think, have a dreamlike component, because they must shift from what we immediately see, to raise the doubt that what we are seeing is not exactly what we think it is—because, in the end, we are 'looking at it with “different eyes.” There’s a funny film by John Carpenter called “They Live” that expresses more or less the same metaphor.
MV: You often work on long-term projects across years and continents. "Blanco" and "Cinema Mundi" come to mind. What triggers your choice of project? How do you navigate such a journey mentally and technically? Of course, it varies according to the project, but generally, do you have a project plan or proceed step by step, letting yourself guide you through encounters and gradual discoveries? How do you build your narrative and shape your projects? In other words, how do you transform an idea into a story?
SDL: All of my projects stem from a personal urgency that drives me to express my perspective on something specific. I need to feel this engagement that mainly is political I should add. Televisiva was about the political rise of the populist Berlusconi and the defeat of critical thinking in Italian society. Pornoland and Cinema Mundi are reflections on the representation of cultures through cinema.
Blanco was about discovering and describing the world of the visually impaired, which theoretically—but only theoretically —should mirror the work photographers do, which is to see and, through seeing, try to understand. In fact, I’ve discovered very often, that the visually impaired can 'see' much better than those with normal sight.
Babel is a reflection on the power of propaganda in Western societies, contrasted with that of the Islamic State, leading up to my latest work Il Bel Paese, which is a reflection on the common idea that Italy is the most beautiful country in the world, thanks to the work of landscape painters from the 17th and 18th centuries and the Grand Tour.
All these ideas intrigue me, and I’ve found balance in exploring these worlds made of images, which I try to dissect through my photography in order to provide, I hope, a more complex reading picture that makes viewers reflect on the layers of interpretation that a somewhat cliché concept can deceptively create as an idea.
Then I develop the theme step by step, first by studying texts on the subject and reading essays that can give me a general overview. At the same time, I begin to think about what aesthetic can support the idea that drives the project, experimenting with different shooting methods. Finally, like every photojournalist, I make contacts and start working.
MV: May I insist about the aesthetic aspects of building a project? In our conversation you mentioned an “aesthetic cage” that you impose on yourself.
SDL: When I think of aesthetic frameworks for my projects, I mean that every idea that develops and is translated into a photographic project (and not all ideas can become a photographic project) requires an aesthetic that defines the project, supports the underlying concept (the message), and aligns perfectly with the situations being represented. I constantly reflect and experiment a lot before starting a new project. I ask myself why I feel this need, why I need to express myself on that particular topic, and why I have an urgency to speak about it in my own voice. I also ask myself how I envision the project—under what form—and whether the aesthetic form I want to give it detracts from or reinforces the concept. These questions can only be answered once the project is complete. All of them need to have a convincing answer for me. I am the first and harshest critic of my work.
MV: Some of your projects are in colour, other in black and white. You alternate and there must be good reasons for this.
SDL: It's undeniable that colour adds a layer of complexity when conveying an idea. Black and white creates an immediately dreamlike or hyper-realistic atmosphere, often facilitating the dramatisation of situations. Colour, on the other hand, grounds us directly in reality...theoretically. Because if colour is used, I would say, organically within the project, it can become a major strength. At least, that's been my experience. However, colour needs to be studied—not only in photography but also in cinema and painting. Understanding how to use different colour palettes means knowing how to evoke emotions. It's much more complicated but far more rewarding regarding aesthetic results. It's a challenge that walks a fine line; a misinterpretation of light can compromise the result. You observe differently, and for me, seeing in colour demands more complexity because the parameters to control are much more numerous. It is not a technical question but adds a layer of complexity to your storytelling.
MV: You are never part of the communities you photograph, yet you manage to render an intimate and insightful narrative. How do you enter these alien worlds at first? How do you assess and later find the right distance? How do you build proximity to invite the viewer into the story later?
SDL: It's partly due to my personal story that, considering myself a wanderer, I've never had difficulty entering the worlds and lives of the people I photograph. There is a genuine curiosity (I'm very radical in choosing my personal projects; the subject must genuinely interest me, and I have to feel from the very beginning a personal attraction that consumes and inhabits me, becoming a kind of obsession). The right distance, maybe, is also part of my personal story. Having lived in more than 50 homes and multiple lives within one, I tend never to fully attach myself to any single universe because I feel comfortable only in multiplicity and complexity. Distance is also a matter of experience and protection; if you're not sufficiently involved or let yourself be overwhelmed by individual stories, your ability for analytical interpretation fades, and without empathy, you can miss the essence of the universe you are exploring. I know it is a delicate balance, and I am glad I could get to this point within my work because it is a constant challenge. I know which side I've chosen to stand on in life, and I make that choice every day in the real world, but if I fail to develop an analytical ability in my work, I will break the silent pact that binds me to those who view my photos. I don't do propaganda; I'm not an activist, but a witness trying to describe what propaganda and complex communication are to those who want to see my work and understand its message.
MV: How do you deal with doubts that, I suppose, occur along the way?
SDL: Doubts are a gift of life—how else could we move forward, progress, or choose? Without doubts, we would be poor creatures trapped in a doctrine, a religion, a prison of thought. Isn’t the condition of being human, endowed with free will, both the most rewarding and the most terrifying? Doubts are inherent to the very meaning of life. I must value them; I ask myself why I do something, and if the answer doesn’t convince me, I must dig deeper to find the true reason and see if it aligns with the idea of the project for instance. To seek and seek again— I truly believe that only doubts can help us listen to our own obsessions.
MV: Do you have any kind of personal censorship? Things that you consider should not be photographed?
SDL: It's not me who censors myself, but rather the societies that increasingly impose limits on photographic storytelling. Today, all sensitive topics are subject to control. Just think about the term "embedded"—how ironic it is for someone who wants to bear witness to the 'truth' in a conflict zone.
We live in complex societies that have based their management of power on two fundamental elements: image and communication, at the expense of freedom of thought. We don't live in dictatorships, but in faltering democracies that have found in communication and image a substitute for sincere and thoughtful reflection. The time for reaction and reflection has become fragmented. Censorship happens upstream. Personally, I don't favour the two-dimensional representation of nationalist and far-right movements because I find it simplistic and lacking depth and could in the end be a positive propaganda when they are told as troglodytes. It does not explain the resurgence of extreme right in Europe and nationalist movements. This visual simplification of those who approach these subjects is at great risk of manipulation, much like documenting a war while embedded with an army. You get a partial, controlled, and overly subjective vision that often borders on propaganda.
Our role should be to awaken consciousness and explain the causes. If we can no longer do so with the traditional methods of photojournalism, we must find, through the evolution of our language, a space to continue making people reflect on fundamental issues such as the defence of rights, freedom, and democracy. It is both a great privilege and an enormous responsibility. There are brilliant photographers who do that for a decade. I think specifically to Mathieu Asselin, Laia Abril and Debi Cornwall among others.
MV: On the contrary, are there any images you have dreamt of, that you had prepared in your mind or encountered in the field and that you could not make? (Too late, too slow, some technical hiccup, an imagined choreography that never happened).
SDL: Yes, there are many, but I’ve learned to let them go. In truth, I think the images we fail to capture are the fertiliser for the images we will capture in the future. A vital fertiliser that helps create the powerful imagination, which is the filter through which we see and decipher the world. When I was younger, I used to feel frustrated not having them in my roll of film, but now I tell myself that they remain within me and will help me see other moments more clearly.
MV: Your work often addresses political themes, yet it transcends them in a way with images standing on their own, sometimes without needing captions or context. Despite being documentary photography, your images often carry a surreal quality. How do you achieve this? Is it because your projects are documentaries while often nevertheless having a link with fiction? Or does it stem more from your photographic approach and visual style? Or perhaps a combination of both?
SDL: I feel like I’ve partly answered this question when you asked if my projects revolve around the power of vision. To be clearer, I would say that the dreamlike quality of some of my images or their sense of temporal suspension stems from a cultural background (I grew up in Federico Fellini’s country ) and from my desire to isolate a constant flow of images to construct a more complex universe. This helps me understand what I’m seeing and relate it to real life. Inevitably, since my work revolves around representation, my photography often creates a dissonance, a discomfort that can sometimes be more or less intense. It depends on how grotesque, false, or manipulative the representation is. That’s where I think my photos work—when there’s an epiphany created by the paradox that what we see, though real, seems impossible.
MV: What, in your view, constitutes a meaningful image? Could you give us one or two examples from your own work?
SDL: A meaningful image makes you think. It isn’t two-dimensional. Its role doesn’t end with showing you what the photographer saw but continues by showing you what the photographer experienced. It goes even deeper, asking what you’ve experienced when seeing that image. It takes you on a journey through your universe. In other words, it questions you profoundly—it shakes you, strikes you, makes you angry (for good or bad reasons), catches you off guard, annoys you, moves you—it never leaves you indifferent. As for my images, I invite you to name two that have provoked these emotions in you. If they exist, it means I’ve done a good job.
MV: Your photography raises questions. In my view, the main one is "How is it possible?" How do you manage to combine in one image all the elements that explain or give direction for thought?
SDL: I try to relate the enormity and the paradox of what I’m seeing with a bit of common sense.
MV: Do you have other passions that inform and nourish your photography practice?
SDL: I can honestly tell you that cinema and literature have been my greatest friends since I was young, and more recently, painting and undoubtedly gardening have joined them. If I were to be reborn, I believe I would choose this profession, because I see in gardeners a wisdom and serenity that I have never had and probably will never have, even though I strive to cultivate a deeper relationship with plants. I have so much to learn that two lifetimes wouldn’t be enough.
MV: You are part of the VII agency as a photographer and as an educator. The statement on the VII Foundation website reads: "The VII Foundation's mission is to transform visual journalism by empowering new voices and creating stories that advocate change. In a world where beliefs and actions are increasingly ou-of-sync with facts and realities, transforming visual journalism is an urgent task."
SDL: At VII, I found a balance and learned to live in a collective of my peers. I believe that at VII, there is a freedom of expression that encourages evolution for the better through dialogue. There are very intelligent people who ask a lot of questions, and this is very stimulating.
Moreover, being able to teach young photographers for free—those who wouldn’t have the means to afford this type of training—seems ethically right to me. This phase of knowledge transmission is essential for each of us in shaping our own identities. VII has built a vast network of teaching across all five continents, which I find to be its greatest achievement since its inception.
MV: What can you say about this experience? Could you let us know what you observed? And, more generally, what advice can you give to young photographers about finding their own voice or unique style in visual storytelling? Could you also say something about the issue of balancing personal projects and managing a living without getting lost.
SDL: I would say that for every young photographer, as for every young artist, it is essential to learn from the classics to then surpass them with their individual work—perhaps not to destroy them, but to strive to go beyond them because that's how things work in the world. The search is constant, but in light of our discussion, you will have understood that the main driving force is curiosity and courage. Curiosity to seek new languages to discuss the things we care about and the courage to question oneself and cultivate doubt as a discipline constantly. The life of a photographer is monastic and solitary. It's better to know it right away.
I don't have an ideal recipe when it comes to finding a balance between personal work and paid work. In my experience, it has always been a struggle between having too much paid work, which frustrates me because I have money but no time for my personal projects, and when I have a personal project, I often find myself in significant financial difficulties. I believe it's a matter of character; some people are better at finding balance and thinking about their future, while others consume themselves with the present and live it to the fullest. I belong to the second category. But there's one thing I've understood over the years: one's talent is not determined by one's bank account. It may sound silly, but it took me many years to understand this, just as I realised that money is necessary only in relation to my work because it gives me the freedom to work on what I want without compromises. Beyond that, I'm not interested. But I recognise that I'm very extreme in saying this and that it's truly a personal belief.
MV: During our email exchange to prepare this interview, you mentioned that you wanted to discuss not only documentary and photojournalism but also the actual place that photography, as a form of expression and language, still has in our lives and whether there is such a thing as a photographer's identity today. At the dawn of AI-generated images, what does it mean today to be a photographer, to speak, live for, and with photography as a human being? Can you elaborate on this? I personally believe the rise of AI might underscore and strengthen the relevance of in-depth, investigative, on-the-field documentary photography and photojournalism. Nothing can replace a photographer going places with a perspective and a vision. Is it an over-optimistic stance, in your opinion?
SDL: I have been asking myself this question for a while; I don't have a definitive answer, but my thoughts turn to those who will be born in twenty years. How will they conceive the very idea of photography? How we experience photography today and how we've lived it since its inception hasn't changed much. For many years, it was the transposition of photons onto a sensitive material, a partial and subjective fraction of reality. Then, with pixels, the discussion changed somewhat, but not enough to deviate from this mechanical creative process. AI raises the question of the relationship to reality that completely vanishes in the photographic act, which no longer requires reality to represent an idea. This dimension, this relationship to the image, brings us back to representation, painting, and fiction, but it interrupts photography's mechanical relationship with reality. This assumes that images produced with AI will become common currency in future societies. What, then, will our relationship to reality be? Will there still be a need for an indisputable connection to some form of reality to look at an idea? I don't know; these are open questions, but I'm just trying to put myself in the shoes of a resident of Earth in 30, 40, or 80 years. I'm not sure this need will be as pressing as it has been for us, so I ponder photography's fate as a means of expression. Perhaps this is how I'd like to conclude—with an open question that cannot be answered, only conjectures.
MV: Several of your major projects have been turned into books. Do you consider the book format to be the final destination for your work? Does it bring new emotions and understandings?
SDL: Yes, I believe that the book, as an object, is the ultimate recipient of photographic thought because it allows for the slowness and reflection inherent to the characteristics of the object itself. But precisely because of this, once created, books exist and survive beyond the photographers, so there should be the necessary attention to the things we want to outlive us and define us in the future.
MV: Finally, what are you working on these days?
SDL: Deeply concerned about the exponential growth of populist and nationalist movements in Europe, which now threaten the democratic principles that have enabled the continent’s peace, economic development, and social progress, I feel an urgent need to work on a project that explores symbolic sites across the "Old Continent." These sites, bearing witness to Europe’s modern and contemporary history across various countries, aim to provoke a visual impact and inspire reflection—a chance to consider what we risk losing if our fragile memory fails to pass these lessons on to future generations.