loredana denicola
l'oscurità, ma io ho una luce
| autobiographical photography project | digital & mobile photography |
| ongoing since 2018 | book in progress |
L'oscurità, ma io ho una luce is a therapeutic, autobiographical photography project born from a sudden and deeply transformative experience of illness, pain, and personal change. It all began in September 2017, while I was living in London - without warning, without preparation.
At first, I thought it was just a passing phase, a difficult moment that would eventually fade. But over time, the pain became something I could no longer express in words: a story of physical suffering, emotional distress, loneliness, and social isolation. A story that, in many ways, still continues today.
This body of work is my visual and narrative testimony. It is my way of resisting, but also of being reborn. After my first hospitalisation in 2018, which lasted 55 days at Saverio De Bellis Hospital in Castellana Grotte (Puglia), I finally found the strength to get out of bed. I looked at myself in the mirror of the hospital bathroom and didn’t recognise who I was. I had lost 17 kilos in two months - and I already weighed very little.
My body had changed completely, but it was my soul that carried the heaviest burden. In an instant, after 26 years, my life turned upside down.
I had to leave London - my job, my friends, my home, photography, my entire life. I returned to Puglia, empty, exhausted. I was so dehydrated and weak that I couldn’t open my eyes or lift my head from the pillow. I was skin and bones, powerless, unable to walk, to be independent—a piece of flesh left on a bed. There were moments when I thought it would be easier to die. But there was a voice inside me, quiet but insistent, asking me not to give up. That’s when I began to write. On scraps of paper, on napkins - anything I could find. Words helped me stay out of the darkness.
Then I started taking photographs - at first, with great difficulty. The same images, again and again. With my compact camera or phone, whenever I had a bit of energy. Photography became my anchor to reality. A way to protect what little was left of me.
Over time, I realised that photography, self-portraiture, and writing had become essential therapeutic tools. They were my refuge and my mirror. They helped me give shape to the pain, to confront it, and, day by day, to live with greater strength, awareness, and presence. I also began to keep a journal, hoping that one day, things would get better. But life kept challenging me. Every day brought a new obstacle.
The complications never really stopped - but neither did my faith.
This project became more than documentation. It became a path of inner exploration - a journey of healing and light within the darkness. Sharing it now means reaching out to others who may be going through similar experiences. I know how hard it is to live with pain, to face something invisible yet all-consuming. And yet, I truly believe there is always a light inside each of us.
Even when we think we’ve lost it - it’s there.
Quiet, but constant. Ready to guide us, if we are willing to listen.
That light is us - our inner strength, our courage, our resilience.
We all have the right to shine, even when it feels impossible.
Even in our darkest moments.
Installation of the autobiographical photography project L'oscurità, ma io ho una luce, presented at Gallery X in Dublin.
The work explores themes of illness, pain, and resilience through digital photography, self-portraiture, and therapeutic writing.
What’s the meaning of all this? Fear. Dizziness. Pain. Darkness. The criminal complicity of thoughts and emotions. Fragments of Being, shattered. A blade of light pierces the darkness of my existence. Pain. Dizziness. Darkness! A wound... Behind it: more darkness... and more pain. I move towards it; it approaches, looming large - the dull planet of my past years. Where will we land? There is no space, no escape, no trace of sincerity in the rocky desert of my thoughts. A tunnel swallows me. Darkness. Pain. Dizziness. A small room in a provincial hospital, the smell of creolin, the stench of illness and helplessness. A broken figure kneels before a motionless, lifeless being. I draw closer. That terrified woman is me. The room is suffocating, the air thick with despair. The walls close in, pressing on my chest. Memories flood my mind—each sharper, more painful than the last. The echoes of past mistakes, regrets that cut deep. I am trapped in a whirlwind of emotions, unable to break free. The cold tiles beneath my knees, the sterile environment contrasting harshly with the chaos inside me. Reality slips away, leaving me in an abyss of confusion and sorrow. What’s the meaning of all this? The question echoes through the void, unanswered.
Fear. Dizziness. Pain. Darkness. The cycle repeats, an endless loop of torment. The criminal complicity of thoughts and emotions. I am a prisoner of my own mind. Yet, amid the chaos, there is a faint glimmer of hope. A distant memory of a time when things were different - when life held promise. This memory is fragile, like a delicate flower in the storm, but it offers something to hold onto. A reason to fight, to search for a way out of the darkness. I take a deep breath, steeling myself against the weight of despair. The journey through this dark tunnel is not over, but I will not give up. I will find the light, however faint it may be. I will reclaim my existence from the clutches of fear, dizziness, and pain. I am not alone in this struggle. The terrified woman I saw is me, but she is also a part of me I can heal. What’s the meaning of all this? It is the struggle, the pain, and ultimately, the growth. For now, I take it one step at a time. Fear. Dizziness. Pain. Darkness - they are shadows that cannot withstand the dawn.
The adult is a child who has lost the ability to dream and rejoice. This loss carries with it a message of healing from what we call the disease of being: unhappiness. Like many others, I have experienced it deeply, and it eventually manifested outwardly in the form of illness. But what is illness, if not the fruit of unhappiness? Negative emotions govern the world we live in - unreal, yet profoundly pervasive. Can destiny be changed? Can the events of our lives take a different course? Perhaps, but to "change our destiny" we must make a radical shift: transform the psychology that underpins it - the system of beliefs and convictions we have gradually built throughout our lives. The most fearsome disease in the world resides in our conflicting thoughts. True power lies in our ability to fully possess ourselves while simultaneously surrendering to who we truly are. What we call reality is nothing more than an appearance, one that must be completely overturned, for none of it will truly accompany us. We must learn a new way of thinking, breathing, acting, and loving. It is time to abandon the conflicting vision of the world that poisons us from within. It is time to let go of everything that does not bring life so that we can be reborn. It is time for a new freedom - the greatest adventure a human being can imagine: the reconquest of one’s integrity. Every event in our lives, even the smallest, faithfully reflects our will. The world around us withers because we are withering inside. What thoughts govern us? What emotions do we direct toward ourselves and others? What do we tell ourselves each day? Our being shapes our existence. I, too, have been the sole architect of every event in my life, the cause of every suffering and misfortune. Lightening one’s being requires effort, sacrifice, and courage. It means shedding all that parents, educators, prophets of doom, and teachers of misfortune have imposed upon us since birth. From them, we learned countless ways to die. So why not choose life? The first step toward freedom - and perhaps the most difficult - is to recognise that fear tyrannizes our days, our thoughts, and our silences. To achieve that special state of being, made of freedom, knowledge, and power, years of work on oneself are needed. It is essential to learn to forgive oneself, with gentleness and patience. This means going into the deepest folds of one’s existence, where it remains torn, and finding the courage to touch those wounds, to cleanse and heal them, to finally allow them to close.In the end, healing is nothing more than a return to ourselves, not a search for perfection, but a deep acceptance of who we are, of our imperfections, and of the beauty we hold within. Perhaps we cannot change everything, but we can change how we choose to live. We can choose to be kind to ourselves, to truly listen, and to make space for what makes our hearts beat. We can return to dream, to rejoice, and to live with the luminous freedom that belongs to those who allow themselves to be reborn.
What is pain? It might seem like an easy question, but the answer depends on who you ask. Some say pain is a warning signal, an alarm that something in the body is damaged. Others describe it as the body’s way of telling us that something is wrong. For some, it’s a relentless, brutal tormentor, unyielding and unforgiving. For others, it’s a reminder of their fragility, a sign that their spine is "out of place," a disc is "slipped," or a leg is "broken." Some see it as punishment for their sins, or as a test of faith. For me, pain is what forces me to stop and look inside myself. It’s when I shut out the world, leaving it to run its course as always. That external world becomes distant, almost irrelevant, as if it no longer exists - or as if I no longer belong to it. It’s difficult to explain where pain takes you. It’s a dark place, an abyss where suffering becomes an incessant cry, a melody that plays through the night. There’s no peace, no rest. You feel immobilised even though you think you’re sleeping. But you cannot sleep… because the pain, like a knife stabbing into your flesh, continues to wound you. You feel the blood flow, and the pain becomes an endless wave. And yet, pain is also a mechanism of protection. We remain blissfully unaware of everything else that happens within us to shield us.
The immune system releases inflammatory molecules to destroy invaders or repair damaged tissues. The autonomic nervous system heightens our state of alertness, preparing us to act. The endocrine system stimulates healing and recovery. The motor system adjusts movements to minimise mechanical stress on vulnerable areas. It’s our sensations - fear, pain, hunger, thirst, fatigue - that engage our whole being in the task of protecting and preserving ourselves. So, is it all in the brain and not in the body? Of course not. Danger detectors are distributed throughout almost every tissue in the body, acting as the "eyes of the brain." When there’s a sudden change in the tissue environment, these receptors form our first line of defense. They alert the brain, mobilise inflammatory mechanisms, release immune molecules to increase blood flow, and trigger the repair of damaged tissues. And pain? For me… you don’t truly know pain until you’re staring at yourself in the mirror, tears streaming down your face, begging yourself to hold on and be strong. That is pain.
text and photos © Loredana Denicola