Fountains

We often notice an Italian fountain before we see it.

The sound arrives first. From around a corner or at the end of a narrow street comes the steady murmur of falling water. It softens conversations, masks the sounds around it and cools the air even before you reach it. A piazza with a fountain feels different from one without. It feels inhabited, even when no one is there.

For decades, I’ve photographed fountains in Rome, Florence, Assisi and elsewhere in Italy. At first I was drawn simply to the beauty of the sculptures or the sparkle of water in changing light. But over time I realized I was photographing something less tangible. These places aren’t defined only by stone or bronze. They’re shaped by movement and sound.

Gravity is one of the few constants in our lives. Everything falls, and most of what we build is designed to resist it. Bridges span empty space. Towers stand against it. Walls hold themselves upright despite it. Fountains do something different. They don’t fight gravity; they collaborate with it. Their designers imagined how water would rise, pause for a moment, and then surrender to its inevitable descent. Every basin, every carved mouth, every lion, mask, shell, and bowl exists to guide water through that journey.

What fascinates me is the different rates of change. The marble changes slowly over centuries. Bronze develops its green patina. Limestone softens at the edges. But every second the water invents a new shape. Photography freezes – or blurs – one moment of that endless performance—a pattern that has never existed before and will never exist again.

These fountains have always been practical. They provided drinking water, cooled crowded squares, and offered a place for people to gather. They still do. But they’ve also always been something more. They create atmosphere. They invite us to slow down almost without realizing it. Sitting beside a fountain, we find ourselves listening as much as looking.

Perhaps that’s why I keep returning to them with a camera. Fountains are reminders that cities are made of more than buildings. Stone gives them permanence, but water gives them life. One endures while the other is always becoming.

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I post my photographs and thoughts here to show that there is still beauty in the world and to promote the idea that there is grace, positivity and inclusivity in the everyday.

Throughout history, goodness most always wins, and the arts can lead the way in reflecting the good all around us. There is still light in the world.