In Predappio, nostalgia becomes ritual. Every year, a crowd gathers at the cemetery where Mussolini is buried, in a choreographed act of remembrance. There are salutes, banners, black shirts, and the language of a past that refuses to be questioned.

This series documents that persistence. Not to give it voice, but to observe its form—its repetition, its staging, its surface. I moved through the crowd without camouflage, recording the details: a band playing with solemn pride, T-shirts printed with slogans of exclusion, religious figures giving silent approval, or at least choosing not to object.

The photographs reveal an environment where ideology is not debated, but displayed—like merchandise in a shop window. Belief turns into posture, history into set dressing.

What disturbs is not the spectacle itself, but its normality. The ease with which it happens. The familiarity of certain faces. The silence around it.

This is not a work about provocation. It is about presence. And about the responsibility of looking—even, and especially, when we’d rather look away.