In the autumn of 2023, the Isola district in Milan was overtaken by floodwaters from the Seveso River, swollen by relentless rain. I had just moved to the neighborhood and, unlike the long-time locals, wasn’t ready to witness a version of Milan where streets turned to rivers and water replaced the pavement. It was my cat—perched on the windowsill, staring intently outside—who alerted me to the scene. I walked over and saw greenish water running down the street, blurring the lines between asphalt and sidewalk, submerging tram tracks.

It’s hard to say exactly what I intended to document. Perhaps it was that fractured layer of everyday life—a crack that locals seemed to have learned to tolerate, or perhaps to endure, without ever fully accepting.

I aimed for a palette of deep shadows and saturated tones, highlighting the tension between vibrant sunlight and flooded streets—a contrast that rendered the scene almost surreal.

I wanted to tell the story of a day shaped by discomfort, disruption, and paradoxes. Flooded restaurants stood next to sandbag barricades. Legs wrapped in plastic waded through murky water, while others lounged on benches with their feet soaking.

Some people complained. Some laughed. Some kept working, as if nothing unusual was happening.

Eventually, the water dried up, and everything returned to its place. Life moved on—even if, for a brief moment, it felt like something had stopped to watch.