The Fishermen’s Nets Repairer

When your job is more than a passion it’s impossible to stop even because of age. That’s what happened at Salvatore, he worked all his life as a sailor man and now at more than 80 years old, too old to be boarded on a ship, he walks every morning helped by his cane through the village to his dark and fresh cellar,  where he fixes fisherman’s nets. With the only company of the radio’s music he sits there during hours repairing, assembling, reinforcing fishermen’s nets.  He’s one of the last persons in the village that still has the knowledge of how to knit a net, as I was taking the photos, he explained to me, he even asked me if I wanted to try, but the apparently simple gestures he showed me, were in reality far too complicated to repeat, I was better in taking pictures.  What is certain is that I will never forget him, and each time I’ll look at the piece of net hanging on my study wall that that morning he cut for me and offered me as souvenir, I’ll remember the most important lesson he gave me. It isn’t how to repair a net, but it’s  his passion and his patience, it’s NEVER ABANDON YOUR DREAMS, but continue pursuing them, because age is not an excuse, be faithful and LIVE YOUR PASSIONS.

PLEASE FIND ALL THE REPORTAGE PHOTOGRAPHIES HERE.

November 13, 2015December 27, 2015 by lucyjhamilton Categories: A Story, Inspiration, Interview, photographyTags: attualità, disappearing jobs, fisherman, photographer, photographie, photography, photos, reportage photo, sea, seaside, story Leave a comment

Mon vieil homme et la mer – Version Française-

Il s’appelle Mimmo.

Il a les mains rugueuses, la peau tannée, les yeux sombres sur un visage fatigué mais encore plein d’espoir.

Mimmo boite suite à une opération du dos, mais il ne peut se détourner ni renoncer à la mer bien qu’il ne sorte plus quand la mer est trop agitée parce que ses jambes ne peuvent plus le soutenir. Il n’a plus la force de sa jeunesse quand il remontait à main nue ses lourds filets gorgés d’eau et poissons.

Une fois encore,  Mimmo se lève avant l’aube, et avant que la montre n’indique cinq heures il est déjà prêt à quitter le port pour relever ses filets. Aujourd’hui je l’accompagne.

Mille metres de filets, un bout à la fois, remplissent la poupe du bateau tachant de boue son vieux t-shirt déchiré et la salopette jaune rafistolée avec du scotch adhésif. Le ciel est encore sombre, le soleil est sur le point de se lever juste derrière la côte de San Remo en colorant le bleu d’un rose pâle et en dorant les reflets des vagues. Je suis assise, immobile prête à cueillir l’instant.

Les filets sont vides, parfois un morceau de plastique, des algues ou un merlu. Mimmo remonte : du filet, des déchets, encore des algues. Mais certaines sont de bon augure me dit  Mimmo: «Si les algues sont en vie, cela signifie qu’il y a encore la vie là-bas”. Puis, armé d’espoir et de passion il continue à relever. Je suis assise devant la petite cabine de pilotage, les jambes croisées, je ne peux que regarder. Je suis le témoin de la pauvreté de la mer que nous connaissons aujourd’hui. Témoin de ces eaux tristes et vides, et de ce pêcheur qui ne renonce pas, et qui d’un pas instable, minute après minute,  mètre après mètre, continue de récolter des gouttes d’eau, un calmar esseulé, les  restes d’un poisson mordu, d’un crabe, ou encore des ordures. De temps en temps, Mimmo lève la tête et regarde la mer au loin, derrière moi. Il contrôle où nous en sommes, il y a encore de l’espoir, il reste plusieurs dizaine de mètres de filet sous l’eau, nous n’avons pas encore terminé. Voici que soudainement le filet semble plus lourd. En effet, Mimmo s’arrête prend une pause. De l’eau émerge une forme sombre : un pneu. Voici le plus gros poisson qu’il a pêché aujourd’hui ! D’un plastique noir de noir, un beau pneu où loge un groupe d’étoiles de mer. Mimmo sourit et  continue à relever les filets. “Ne pas désespérer, il y a toujours une surprise à la fin !” me dit-il. Pour moi, c’était le pneu la surprise, pour lui, c’est la prise d’un beau poisson, d’une belle pièce à vendre, un signe lui disant que la pêche mérite encore de se lever à quatre heures du matin.  La remontée du filet s’achève par une tête de merlu (le corps avait été mangé par les calmars), deux calmars, des algues, du plastique, un poisson moine et d’autres plus petits dont je ne me rappelle pas les noms.

Le bateau est plein de filets étincelants sous les chauds rayons du soleil qui éclairent à présent la mer et le ciel qui se disputent le plus beau bleu. Il reste pour Mimmo à peine une place dans ce bateau débordant, mais en se tenant sur les bords ici et là, il redémarre et fait routre vers sa prochaine étape. Un matelas pneumatique crevé en guise de bâche placé sur le bastingage pour le protéger et il est à nouveau  prêt à jeter les filets dans la mer. Ses mains ridées guident d’un geste précis, le filet qui glisse lentement dans l’eau et disparait dans le bleu profond, tandis que poussant la barre avec sa jambe, il conduit le bateau en slalom régulier, “Il faut des virages, c’est là, dans les courbes que le poisson reste emprisonné », “Quel poisson?”  me demandai-je silencieuse.

Le bateau vide à nouveau, la cale remplie des deux seules douzaines de poissons capturés, des déchets et de moi-même toujours assise entrain de déclencher mon appareil, essayant d’enregistrer ces moments qui resteront à jamais dans ma mémoire, nous rentrons au port.

Demain, Mimmo sera là, à cinq heures sur son bateau, prêt à relever une fois encore ses filets. Qui sait ? Peut-être cette fois il y aura-t-il une surprise…

Si vous désirez voire les photos prises ce matin là, vous les trouverez ici

July 6, 2015January 24, 2016 by lucyjhamilton Categories: A Story, Interview, photographyTags: documentary photography, nature, peche, photographie, reportage photo, sea Leave a comment

Il pescatore e il mare – Versione Italiana –

Mimmo é il suo nome.

le mani intagliate, la pelle vissuta, gli occhi scuri in un viso stanco ma pieno di speranza. Mimmo non esce più quando il mare è  troppo agitato perché le sue gambe non lo reggono più, non ha più quella forza di quando giovane  tirava su con l’aiuto delle sue sole mani quelle pesanti reti inzuppate ma piene di pesci.

Anche oggi Mimmo si alza alle quattro della mattina, e prima delle cinque é già al porto di Bordighera pronto a raccogliere le reti che lo aspettano al largo e oggi, io sono con lui.

Mille metre di rete, un pezzo alla volta, riempiono la poppa della barca sporcando di fango la vecchia t-shirt scolorita e la sua salopette gialla aggiustata con dello scotch. Il cielo è ancora scuro, il sole spunta appena dietro la costa di San Remo colorando il blu di un leggero rosa e dorando i riflessi dell’acqua mentre io sto li seduta pronta a cogliere l’attimo.

Le reti sono vuote, ogni tanto un pezzo di plastica, qualche alga e poi un nasello. Ancora reti, rifiuti, alghe, alcune di queste sono buon segno mi dice Mimmo, “Se le alghe sono vive, vuol dire che c’é ancora della vita là sotto”, allora armato di speranza e passione continua a raccogliere. Io sono seduta davanti alla cabina di guida con le gambe incrociate cercando di occupare il meno posto possibile, posso solo guardare, testimone di questo povero mare che abbiamo oggi. Testimone di queste acque tristi e vuote,  e di questo pescatore che non si arrende, che va avanti e con un passo instabile dopo l’altro tira a se gocce d’acqua, un totano, quello che resta di un pesce mangiato, un granchio e ancora spazzatura. Ogni tanto Mimmo alza lo sguardo e guarda dietro di me, il mare, guarda dove siamo, c’é ancora speranza, ci sono ancora parecchi metri di rete sott’acqua non abbiamo ancora finito.

Ecco che la rete sembra più pesante, si in effetti, Mimmo si ferma un attimo … e dall’acqua emerge una forma scura, un copertone, ecco il pesce più grosso che ha pescato oggi, un bel copertone nero di plastica dove un gruppo di stelle marine a trovato rifugio. Sorridendo Mimmo continua a  raccogliere, e mi dice ” Non disperare c’é sempre una sorpresa alla fine.” Per me la sorpresa era stata il copertone, ma lui sperava in un bel pesce, un bel pezzo da vendere, un indizio che gli diceva che ne valeva ancora la pena di alzarsi la mattina alle quattro per pescare. Nulla, una testa di un nasello ( il corpo era stato mangiato da totani) ancora uno o due totani, alghe, plastica, una rana pescatrice e qualche pesciolino di cui non rammento il nome.

La barca era oramai piena di reti luccicanti sotto i caldi raggi  del sole che illuminavano l’azzurro del cielo e il blu del mare, a poppa non c’era quasi più spazio per Mimmo, ma lui tenendosi ai bordi qui e là, la mise in moto e si diresse  verso la prossima tappa. Con un vecchio materassino di plastica sgonfio piazzato sul bordo della barca, Mimmo era pronto a gettare le reti in mare ancora una volta, le sue mani rugose la guidavano mentre piano piano scivolava nell’acqua sparendo nel profondo blu, e con la gamba dirigeva la barca creando degli slalom, “Perché nelle curve il pesce resta imprigionato ed è là che se ne prende di più”, mi dice, “Quale pesce” mi chiedevo io?

La Poppa di nuovo vuota con soli testimoni quelle due dozzine di pesci pescati, i rifiuti trovati e io sempre seduta lì scattando foto, cercando di dipingere quegli attimi che rimarranno eternamente nei miei ricordi, torniamo al porto.

Mimmo è pronto a ripartire l’indomani mattina per raccogliere ancora una volta quelle reti e chissà, magari stavolta avrà una sorpresa. (Se avete voglia di guardare il resto delle foto prese quella mattina, le trovate qui)

July 6, 2015October 22, 2015 by lucyjhamilton Categories: A Story, Inspiration, photographyTags: attualità, documentario, documentary photography, foto, reportage photo, sea 2 Comments

My Old man and the Sea – English Version-

Mimmo is his name.

Carved hands, lived-in skin, dark deep eyes in a tired face but still full of hope. Mimmo limps because of a back surgery, but he doesn’t give up its sea.

Mimmo doesn’t navigate when the sea is too rough because his legs no longer hold him, he has no longer the strength like when young he used to pull up the nets with the only help of his bare hands; those heavy soaked nets full of fish. Today, one more time, Mimmo gets up at four in the morning and before five he is ready on his boat  to pick up the nets and I am with him.

A Thousand meters of nets, a piece at a time, filling the stern of the boat messing with mud his yellow overalls adjusted with some tape and his  faded t-shirt  that he only use for fishing.

The sky is still dark, the sun is rising behind the Italian coast of San Remo colouring the deep blue sky of a warm pink and gilding water reflections, I sit there with my camera ready to catch the moment, what moment? I don’t really now, but I feel ready.

The nets are empty, occasionally a piece of plastic, some algae and then a nose. Still networks, even waste, algae, some algae are good sign me Mimmo says, “If the algae are alive, it means that there’s still life down there”, then armed with hope and passion he continues to collect. I am sitting in front of the cockpit with my legs crossed, I can only watch, as a witness of this poor sea that we have today. I can see the sadness of those empty waters that we call sea, and this fisherman who does not give up, that goes on and with an unsteady step after another pulls in drops of water, a squid, parts of a eaten fish,  a crab and more garbage. Sometimes Mimmo looks up after me, the sea, he checks where we are, there is still hope, there are still several meters of nets under water, we have not done.

Here, the net seems heavier, is in fact, Mimmo stops ….. and from the water emerges a dark shape, a tire, that’s the biggest fish he caught today, a good black plastic tire where a group of starfish found refuge. Smiling Mimmo continues to pick up, and  sais “Do not despair, there is always a surprise at the end“. To me, the surprise was the tire, but he was hoping for a nice fish, a beautiful piece to sell, a sign telling him that it was still worth getting up at four in the morning to go fishing.

But nothing, a head of a hake (the body having been eaten by squid) two squids, seaweed, plastic, a monkfish and a few others that I can not remember the name. the boat is now full of networks glittering under the warm rays of the sun that lit the sky and blue sea, on the boat there was hardly room for Mimmo, but holding himself on the edges here and there he started the engine and headed for the next stop. A thick cloth placed on the board and he was ready to cast the nets into the sea again, the wrinkled hands of Mimmo lead the net that slowly slid into the water and disappeared into the dark deep waters, while his leg drives the boat creating a slalom, ” The curves is where the fish remains imprisoned and it is there that we take more “,” What fish “I wondered?

The poop empty again with only witnesses those two dozen fish caught, the waste found and myself, always sitting there taking pictures trying to paint those moments that will remain forever in my memory, were back to the harbour.

Mimmo is ready to get up at four and leave again the next morning to gather the nets, and who knows, maybe he will have a surprise.

If you are interested in looking at all the photos taken that morning, you’ll find them here.

July 6, 2015January 24, 2016 by lucyjhamilton Categories: A Story, Inspiration, photographyTags: documentary photography, people, photo, photography, portrait, real, reportage photo, sea 2 Comments