“Every time I cross the threshold of a place in ruins I convince myself that that emptiness has something to do with me, with my life, my visions, my deepest fears, my origins.”
Fragments of Memory, Traces of Time
When Nicola Bertellotti first stepped into a derelict amusement park at the age of eight, he encountered more than rusted steel and forgotten rides—he stumbled upon a visceral connection to decay that would shape his artistic vision for decades. That experience, uncanny and unexplainable, etched itself into his memory not with fear but with an eerie familiarity. It wasn’t until years later, while visiting a similar site with a camera in hand, that this early fascination began to crystallize into a purpose. For Bertellotti, capturing abandonment through photography is not merely documentation; it is a personal excavation. Each deserted place he enters feels like an encounter with something ancestral, a confrontation with vulnerability and unease that feels oddly intimate. His work invites viewers to recognize their own associations in these spaces—fragmented, forgotten, yet somehow known.
The artistic foundation of Bertellotti’s practice is rooted in his academic background in history, which greatly influences how he interprets architecture and its inevitable decline. To him, every structure mirrors the lifecycle of a living organism—it is conceived, inhabited, and eventually relinquished. His photographic subjects are suspended in that ambiguous phase between utility and oblivion. This transitory state—abandonment—serves as a metaphorical and visual focus for his work. The layers of dust, peeling walls, and silent rooms all narrate the nuanced process of neglect. He’s particularly drawn to the untouched—buildings left behind with their contents intact, not desecrated by human interference. Once a space is altered by graffiti or vandalism, it loses the silent narrative that time alone can inscribe. Bertellotti’s pursuit lies in preserving that original character before it is rewritten or erased.
His commitment to aesthetic purity sets him apart. His photographs are not vehicles for social commentary or political critique; they emerge from a desire to showcase a particular vision of beauty—one defined by disuse and impermanence. Rather than seeing decay as something to be mourned or reversed, he embraces its power to evoke reflection. Bertellotti admits he would often prefer these locations remain hidden from restoration efforts, allowing the scars of time to continue whispering their stories. In these abandoned shells, he finds a visual poetry—an elegance born not of design but of entropy. His camera does not impose a narrative but waits for one to surface, guided by texture, shadow, and the hushed echoes of human absence.
Nicola Bertellotti: The Echo in the Architecture
Bertellotti’s creative process is deeply influenced by solitude and the physical interaction with space. Working exclusively outdoors, he relies on natural light, architectural composition, and the stillness of his surroundings to compose his shots. His toolkit remains minimal—just his reflex cameras and a tripod—favoring a method that prioritizes presence over equipment. This simplicity allows him to immerse himself fully in each environment, responding instinctively to the nuances of the site. The post-production phase happens later, back in his studio, where he fine-tunes the visual mood without compromising the raw authenticity of what he first encountered. For him, distractions are not eliminated through seclusion but transcended through a focused engagement with the subject.
The emotional resonance of his imagery often draws comparisons to cinema, and it’s no surprise that one of Bertellotti’s most cherished artistic influences is Andrei Tarkovsky’s film Stalker. Though a work of motion picture, Bertellotti regards it as a profound visual artwork. The film’s exploration of inner longing, existential questioning, and the metaphysical pull of a forbidden zone aligns closely with his own artistic motivations. The Zone, in Tarkovsky’s narrative, is not unlike the forsaken spaces Bertellotti photographs—a place where past and present blur, where meaning is both elusive and compelling. What fascinates him is not the answer these places might offer but the emotional and philosophical questions they stir. The film’s slow, meditative pacing mirrors the patient stillness in his own photographic compositions.
While his visual style is self-contained and distinctly personal, Bertellotti acknowledges a wide range of artistic inspirations. He draws from the emotional fervor of Vincent van Gogh and the surreal dimensions of Salvador Dalí, admiring how both artists translated inner intensity into visual form. Contemporary digital creators also capture his interest—especially those who expand the vocabulary of storytelling through experimental techniques and stylized imagery. Though his own work remains analog in execution, these modern influences push him to continually reevaluate how a story can be told without words. His evolving voice, anchored in still photography, speaks a language that remains open to reinterpretation with each new location he uncovers.
Abandonment as Aesthetic Philosophy
Bertellotti’s approach to photography arises not from a technical choice but from an emotional imperative. Other mediums—drawing, painting—failed to provide him with the immediacy he sought. Photography, in contrast, offered a direct conduit to observation, allowing him to frame not only the physical but also the psychological atmosphere of a place. The lens became an extension of his awareness, translating intuition into form. This decision was less about selection and more about instinct; he often says that photography chose him, not the other way around. Through it, he is able to freeze the subtle interplay of light, decay, and silence into moments that speak volumes.
A defining characteristic of his work is its resistance to intervention. His photographs are unpopulated, free from the clutter of contemporary life or artificial staging. The absence of human figures amplifies the presence of what once was—faded wallpaper, crumbling staircases, forgotten furnishings—each detail laden with invisible history. Bertellotti is not interested in nostalgia but in unearthing the visual evidence of time’s slow erosion. It is the honesty of deterioration, not dramatized ruin, that he seeks. In every frame, he captures the paradox of emptiness—how it can feel both hollow and densely alive with suggestion. He does not chase beauty in spite of decay, but because of it.
Among his long-held ambitions, one stands out with particular clarity: documenting the abandoned structures of Japan. The Japanese concept of haikyo, or ruins, aligns closely with his own philosophies about space and memory. These forgotten sites, rich in atmosphere and reverence, represent to him a new frontier for exploring the aesthetic of abandonment. Their quiet solemnity, often untouched by graffiti or looters, offers an ideal environment for his visual narratives. Bertellotti sees this project not just as an expansion of his portfolio but as a continuation of his exploration of time, identity, and the spaces we leave behind. He imagines walking through those Japanese ruins with his camera, once again entering that intimate dialogue between decay and meaning.
Nicola Bertellotti: Between Silence and Story
Through his body of work, Bertellotti reveals a fascination not merely with structures but with the emotional texture that lingers after their use has ended. His art offers no grand declarations; instead, it gently unsettles, whispering memories through peeling paint and dusty floorboards. Each photograph is a quiet confrontation—a chance for viewers to reflect on their own impermanence, their own attachments to places once filled with life. He views his practice as incomplete without the audience’s participation. To him, every frame is a doorway that others must finish walking through, bringing with them their associations, longings, and recollections.
That participatory quality speaks to why Bertellotti avoids overt narratives in his work. He resists the temptation to impose meaning, preferring instead to create open-ended images that provoke personal interpretation. There is no story pinned to each location—only traces, atmospheres, and unanswered questions. This intentional ambiguity allows his photography to resonate across cultural and personal contexts. His buildings could belong to any country, any century; what matters is how they reflect the viewer’s internal architecture. In this way, his art becomes a kind of visual archaeology—not uncovering artifacts, but excavating emotion.
Ultimately, Bertellotti’s artistry thrives in the spaces we forget, in corners where life has quietly withdrawn. These are not haunted places in the traditional sense, but they do harbor something spectral—a presence felt rather than seen. His images ask us to look again at what we usually pass by, to consider the dignity in disrepair and the eloquence of silence. He does not demand attention for his subjects but offers them with reverence, as if introducing old friends whose names we’ve long forgotten. In doing so, he transforms decay into dialogue, abandonment into invitation.
