More directly, Pietropaolo has acknowledged the aesthetic influence that Paul Strand and Eugene Smith have had to his work. Smith’s A Spanish Village reminded Pietropaolo of his own village in Italy.10 In 1953, by then already acknowledged as a photographer, Paul Strand joined forces with Italian, Neo-realist screenwriter Cesare Zavattini to create a book about a small town in Italy that would reveal its true essence. Luzzara (the birthplace of Zavattini) in the Po Valley was chosen to illustrate the collaboration of Strand’s photography and Zavattini’s text. Together they portrayed all aspects of the Luzzara townspeople’s realities, hopes and fears. Originally published in Italian in 1955, Un Paese, Portrait of an Italian Village became available in English in 1997.11 John Berger, writer and art critic commented on the book jacket of the Aperture edition that “The photographic moment for Strand is a biographical moment, whose duration is measured not by seconds, but its relation to a life time.”12 Unconsciously perhaps, Pietropaolo would like to provide the viewer with a glimpse into the real essence of Toronto’s Little Italy as a reverential gesture. Visually inspired by his surroundings, Pietropaolo could not help but notice his father—the worker’s attire each night after a long hard day as a laborer. He recounts this memory logically “One of my earliest recollections of my father, the contadino (peasant farmer) now turned construction worker, was of his arrival home at night during the summer months. Haggard, sweaty, and tired, he always entered through the back door that opened onto one of those minuscule backyards that are typical of Victorian semi-detached houses of Toronto’s historic Little Italy. He put down his black, dusty lunch box and removed his hard hat. Then, sitting in a low chair in the kitchen, he proceeded to remove his mud-encrusted work boots.”13 Pietropaolo continues to describe the scene, while the viewer is struck by the visually detailed blow-by-blow account of such a mundane moment, but is it?



Not for Pietropaolo, as this is where he gets his meaning in the passage of little minutes and seconds, as do the visual records he processes. He deciphers his visual world for the viewer to see logically, subjectively, and Pietropaolo loads the images with the opposite of logic—his heart. Providing text for some of his photographs Pietropaolo reminds us of his humanist values, his Italian ancestry, and interest in socio-political reform.

Just as Lewis Hine coined the term “photo story” to define his work as a social commentator, Pietropaolo gives us the ordinary story while making it into something extraordinary. Perhaps, the early struggle of watching his father, a laborer existing within a new land toughened Pietropaolo’s resolve to make the struggle easier for future generations of his family and extended family. His ability to see the potential for a powerful photograph expresses his extraordinary talent while continually allowing the viewer insights into socio-political realities of that time.



Within Pietropaolo’s series Not Paved With Gold are images that venture into the realm of the symbolic. Stieglitz focused on Georgia O’Keefe’s hands as the subject of his work “A Portrait,” in 1920. In this photograph, O’Keefe’s hands become the defining symbol of her personality. “Speaking with Hands,” photographs from the Buhl Collection, 2004, shown at the Guggenheim Museum explored this theme further. The survey show included works from the past as well as contemporary photographers equally obsessed with the expressive qualities contained within such a small part of our anatomy—the hands. The photographs on this and the following page speak to the viewer by providing a window into a deeper understanding of the human condition.

The timeless quality captured by Pietropaolo when photographing his grandmother will awaken the viewer to memories of our past and hint at our inevitable future.