About & Contact

CV:

2021 China international art photography festival, Lishui China / 05-09 Nov 2021

Story of my boobs, chance soho, Nyc / 17 aug - 19 aug 2021

Oeg, Milan Italy, Studio Arroyo / group show/ 19Jun - 26 Jun 2021

This is Us/ Group Show, Italy / 27nov 2020

 Print Swap, Blank Wall Gallery. Athens Greece / 26Nov - 2 Dec 2020

Lenzburg FotoFestival, Lenzburg, Switzerland / 12Sept-25 Oct 2020

Print Swap, BBA Gallery, Berlin Germany /   July 25 2020

Rotterdam Photo , Group Show / 6-9 Feb 2020

FCK the Exhibition / group show / Bushwick, NY, 2014

Rotterdam Photo , Group Show / 6-9 Feb 2020




Paolo Massimo Testa

My name is Paolo. I am from a city that sits on a hill between the plains and mountains. Open spaces and high spaces: from the former I have derived my passion for running, from the latter my passion for climbing. There is a hidden continuity between plains and mountains, a flow. This flow is the essence of my photography: I bring the high low, the low high. I am interested in becoming more than being. I am not a street photographer but I bring the streets into my photography. My attitude is religious, in the etymological sense of the word: re-ligio, linking the pieces together. Fleeting instants find their telos into a story. I make stories. I make up all sort of things. We are all liars. We humans, and especially we photographers. We are tricksters, we like to make you believe things. The thing I have discovered is: if you stretch the process enough the inversion becomes double, the lie becomes truth again. And in a world that has reached its carnival, follow the fools if you want to find out the truth. I am postmodern but past modern. I like mistakes. I like errors and glitches. I like when the Matrix breaks. Photography has been defined as a frame of lies surrounded by four sides of truth. My photography is a frame of truth surrounded by four sides of lies. This is how one must operate in an upside-down world. I don’t have Boogie’s focused anger. Eggleston’s maturity. Parr’s irony. I am myself. I am a 35-years old minus 30. Flawed, dirty. I used to like glamour. Light. Techne. Composition. I use to like winners. But when you’ve climbed the mountain, you start missing the freedom of the plain below. Descent, ascent. Over and over. They used to say that irony is the song of a bird who has come to love its cage, but it is also the song of a cage who has come to love its bird. Sometimes I am the cage, sometimes the bird. And in the process I sing. Of ridiculous things. Ridiculous things like you, ridiculous things like me. Outside of things, inside of things. “It’s all a trick”—you may come ask yourself—to which I reply: “Is it?” Come see my America. Find out.