Cortona On The Move 2025. Exhibiting is no longer enough. It’s time to start creating

The fifteenth edition of Cortona On the Move photo festival stems from a reflection by art director Paolo Woods, in the aftermath of the result of the 2024 US elections, which moreover coincided with the closing of last year’s edition: “we are in a world that is increasingly divided” Woods reflected at the time, “ with fractures widening into open wounds, and extremisms feeding off polarization, where opposing sides do not communicate but shout“. From that reckoning emerged a question: in an era where conflict prevails, what can be the role of photography festivals? The answer comes in the form of this year’s title, ‘Come Together’, part call to action, part provocation. It invites us to reflect not only on what reconciliation truly means, but also on the often complex non-linear paths that leads to it – a process that shapes collective political, social, and cultural dynamics as much as it influences one’s relationship with oneself. 

The 2025 edition resists the lure of easy answers. There are no sentimental shortcuts. Instead, the festival charts a clear-eyed exploration of the tensions between rupture and repair, distance and rapprochement. Reconciliation is observed in its many forms: as an act of courage, as a deeply personal challenge, as an imperfect work of mending what has been damaged – or lost.  That vision seems to have struck a chord. During the opening days, the festival welcomed a steady flow of visitors – 7,200 in total – a 44% increase from last year.

If you ask me what the festival is like, I can’t give you a definitive answer- nor would I presume to. The excitement that once defined the early years has long since faded. I will therefore limit myself to a few considerations, with the hope they’ll be received constructively and might contribute to a more measured debate. The first point I’d like to raise concerns the sheer number of projects on display: quite simply, there are too many. When this adventure began – and I’m speaking here of photography festivals more broadly – there were few places where photography, the kind that mattered, could be seen. By that, I mean strong, intentional work, whether in the form of reportage or structured visual storytelling. The audience was small but deeply engaged- not just the casually curious, but true enthusiasts. Back then, traditional publishing – print media in particular – was already in a deep crisis, waiting for a renewal that never came. New media, on the other hand, gave people access to a different kind of photography – less deliberate, more instinctive, often associated with leisure and immediacy. In that context, festivals played an essential role – as spaces of both discovery and critical dialogue.

They thrived because they were rooted in the best of photojournalism, which was never just about the photographers. It was also about the photo editors, who played a crucial role in shaping stories, and the journalists, whose work of analysis and critique helped bring images into the realm of public discourse. Back then, it made sense to showcase many projects, albeit with a limited number of images per show, because there was a shared understanding of the narrative, of the urgent themes at stake. There was also a commissioning body, or at least a solid understanding of the editorial world, capable of filtering, guiding and shaping the work. Projects came to life because there were structures in place to nurture, publish, and spread them. Most importantly, the photographs reflected the news of the moment- prominently featured across the media.

In the midst of the ongoing editorial crisis, we’ve been experiencing for several years now, “the photographic vocabulary becomes simplified and predictable, turning images into a collection of genres and stereotypes“, writes Fred Ritchin¹ in his latest and highly recommended book, The Synthetic Eye. It’s a dynamic I’ve observed for quite some time at festivals- works that increasingly resemble one another- from the subjects portrayed to the lighting, from the settings to the themes, and especially in the post-production. Ritchin returns to this idea with precision: “There are many such cases, where preconceptions get the better of us, and so people are portrayed as types without any complexity – the sad poor, the disheveled homeless, the powerful rich, and so on – so that commissions of photographs can become an exercise in illustrating prejudice.” It is no longer easy to appreciate individual projects. None is given the breathing room it needs. A handful of selected images, meant to offer a glimpse, often fail to do justice to the complexity of the work, which instead deserves to be experienced in its entirety.

So here is my first unsolicited proposal: reduce the number of projects and allow more space for each. Which brings me to the second: why not imagine the festival as a commissioner? Rather than collecting an array of personal stories- often difficult to follow or interpret- commission a limited number of photographers to develop work around a shared annual theme. Such an approach would allow photo editors to be involved from the outset. It would also open a direct line of communication with journalism- and with publishers- who, bolstered by the visibility offered by a festival, might be more inclined to publish those projects. Perhaps even commission others. The third unsolicited proposalhas to do with print quality. A festival with ambition should also be an occasion to experience photography in its material dimension. Seeing so many images printed – not all, but many- on blueback paper, the kind used for advertising posters, and pasted up as such, completely flattens their expressive power. The photographs lose their depth and nuance. Finally, a word on exhibition design, my fourth unsolicited proposal. No museum would mount a photography exhibition without a layout that brings it to life. Yet at festivals, this aspect seems increasingly neglected. The lack of a cohesive exhibition design- not necessarily for each individual project but at least tied to the overall curatorial vision- only reinforces the perception that all works are interchangeable. And that is a loss, for everyone.

I mention Fred Ritchin’s latest book because he, too, reflects on Alfredo Jaar – specifically on the work presented at Cortona On The Move 2025: Inferno and Paradiso. His interpretation of the piece, which plays with the polarities of hell and paradise as suggested by the title, is insightful and worth reading in full in his book. What makes this project interesting isn’t so much the photographs themselves – 40 in total, selected by 20 photojournalists invited by Jaar to each choose two images from his archive: the saddest and the happiest – but the installation: deceptively simple, quietly ingenious. In my view, this exhibition alone, is worth the price of admission. We live in a fast-paced world where time- even for emotions, whether painful (hell) or joyful (paradise)- is continually compressed.  Yet we should pause more often to ask ourselves how we feel, what we’re experiencing, what we long for. This installation urges us to do just that. It creates space for emotion, and above all, reclaims the value of time.

Many see the study of ancient languages, like Latin or Greek, as pointless. And yet, I remember fondly the day I learned that in Greek, the past tense of the verb “to see” is translated as “to know.” It’s a perfect tense rendered in the present: “I have seen, therefore I know.” It is a powerful concept, because the time we spend observing shapes what we come to understand. The more closely we look, the deeper our comprehension.  

Alfredo Jaar’s installation offers exactly this kind of experience. The forty photographs are projected on a wall, not printed, not framed. The room is dark. When the ‘Inferno’ images appear, ‘Paradiso’ disappears entirely, and vice versa. Each group of photos is shown for a long time- long enough to adapt to the light, to sit with the images, to notice details, to let emotion rise. In that stillness, something singular happens: one discovers a photograph- not just an image, but a moment of clarity. And with it comes a reflection on existence- your own, the subject’s, the photographer’s. It also becomes an exercise in memory: remembering the unprojected image in order to compare it with the one being projected.

Another exhibition that left a mark was by Christopher Anderson and Marion Durand. Not by chance, one of their photographs was chosen as the festival’s 2025 cover image. Family Trilogy, created specifically for Cortona On The Move 2025, is an intimate response to this year’s theme: Come Together. The project was developed collaboratively.  Christopher Anderson took the photographs; Marion Durand, his partner in life, curated the selection and shaped the narrative, reordering the archive with a fresh gaze. It’s a testament to the power of editing and curatorial insight- two roles that have too often been underestimated in recent years. What emerges is a deeply felt story that weaves together the memories of a shared life- a life repeatedly tested by the presence of photography itself, which at times functioned like a silent rival.  The exhibition is structured around Anderson’s well-known editorial trilogy: SON, an intense reflection on fatherhood; PIA, an exploration of the delicate balance between father, daughter and camera; and MARION, a visual love letter, both closing and opening the circle. Taken together, these three chapters form a moving reflection on family ties- seen not only through the camera lens, but through each other’s eyes. It is a personal work with universal resonance. And for all the intimacy it suggests, very little is actually shown, though at first glance it may seem otherwise.

Aside from these two exhibitions, however, this edition doesn’t quite excite. It may well impress first time visitors, or those returning after many years. But for those who attend faithfully year after year, there is little that feels truly new. I regret saying this, but the thematic focus this time feels superficial. Once again, the projects, in both content and style, seem to echo those of previous editions.

This impression is confirmed by the recurrence of certain thematic and visual elements.  Take for example, the striking work Supersosia by Ray Banhoff. It’s full impact is best appreciated when expereinced through Banhoff’s own words. Conceptually it recalls They Don’t Look Like Me, the project on cosplayers presented last year by Niccolò Rastelli. What made Supersosia particularly engaging for me was Banhoff’s decision to accompany each photograph with the story of the person portrayed, offering an intimate and in-depth view of each subject. A photograph alone would not have been able to convey the depth of the idea.

Similarly, Jan Banning‘s² project, Blood Bonds: Reconciliation in Post-Genocide Rwanda, closely mirrors the tone and approach of Jonathan Torgovnik’s 2021project , Disclosure – Rwandan Children Born of Rape, which itself echoes Pieter Hugo’s 2014 portraits for the New York Times Magazine (https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2014/04/06/magazine/06-pieter-hugo-rwanda- portraits.html).

This sense of repetition is further reinforced by Atlas of the New World, a project by Edoardo Delille and Giulia Piermartiri. Described by the authors as “an analogue version of synographies”, it consists of projecting slides of imagined future landscapes onto real-world settings. Yet I remembered seeing a conceptually identical project, albeit with a different title and images, at Voghera Fotografia³ in 2023. This is just another example of a growing trend: festivals circulating the same projects, occasionally rebranded, rather than investing in genuinely new work. This is a widespread practice that ultimately dilutes the richness of the overall offering.

One potential direction for festivals to explore is the opportunity to show, within the exhibitions themselves, the distance that often exists between a photographer’s original vision and the editorial version that ends up in print. Periodicals are, by nature, constrained by space, format, and the need for brevity.  Highlighting the tension between authorial intent and editorial execution would not only help the public better understand how a project is transformed for publication but would also offer a more nuanced, less idealized view of photography. A compelling example of this approach was presented at Fotografia Europea 2024 in an exhibition dedicated to Susan Meiselas. There, viewers were invited to compare her original narrative intentions with how her work had been interpreted and adapted by the press over time. If carried out with rigor and transparency, such exhibitions could shine a light on the role of the photo editor and serve as a valuable learning experience- for both those who create images and those who consume them.  

Another promising direction taken by Cortona On The Move in recent years is its growing attention to photographic archives.  A prime example from the 2025 edition is ORDER/CHAOS, a curated selection of photographs from the W.M. Hunt / Collection Blind Pirate collection, spanning the first hundred years of photography, from 1865 to 1965. It is a valuable work that reaffirms the importance of archives, restoring their centrality in photographic discourse and allowing them to engage meaningfully with the contemporary. The decision to integrate archival materials into the festival’s program was both bold and necessary. It dignified a foundational part of photographic history, giving it space to enter into dialogue with present-day works. However, even here, a more differentiated approach would be welcome. Presenting archival prints with the same display format as contemporary projects risks flattening their distinctiveness. Wherever possible, the historical and material qualities of these images – from the original media to the printing techniques – should be highlighted. This would allow audiences to appreciate not only the evolution of photographic vision but also of photographic technology. To tell the story of photography is, after all, to tell the story of how it has changed over time in tools, on context, and in meaning.

In 2011, at its first edition, Cortona On The Move presented just eight projects. A small, carefully curated selection – each given its own space, its own time. Over the years, that number has steadily increased – likely supported by a growing budget. But perhaps now is the moment to take a step back. Not to scale down ambition, but to refine direction. Returning to a more limited number of exhibitions would mean restoring value to each individual project – to the photographer’s work and to the viewer’s ability to pause, engage, and truly feel. It might also be time to reexamine the model of the “diffused exhibition”, which, while commendable for activating the entire territory, tends to fragment the visitor’s experience and makes it difficult to construct a coherent narrative. Imagining a single, permanent, well-designed space – carefully curated and clearly identifiable – could help bring photography back to the center and lend unity to the festival’s curatorial vision.

Similarly, portfolio reviews could evolve into something more meaningful than a ritualized checkpoint. Today, they are almost a required step for emerging photographers seeking exposure, but all too often they lead nowhere concrete. Why not offer, at least to the top three selected portfolios, the opportunity for publication – whether in news outlets or photography magazines? This would honor the commitment of the authors and the work of the reviewers, while also creating a tangible bridge between the festival and the editorial world. Engaging the press is crucial, not just to promote the event, but to foster deeper conversations, to circulate ideas, to build a collective memory, and to reaffirm that photography is not a static object to be displayed, but a living language to be interpreted, discussed, and shared.

Above all, it would be desirable, and necessary, for festivals to take the responsibility, and the risk, of commissioning new work. To invest in unpublished projects, to nurture them beyond the timeline of the event. The festival could become not only a place of presentation, but a true laboratory of cultural production – a space where new, more conscious, freer, and less derivative photography can emerge.

 It is no longer enough to simply exhibit. The time has come to start creating.

Federico Emmi

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Cover Image: From the series Family Trilogy © Christopher Anderson & Marion Durand

1. The quotes from Fred Ritchin are based on the translation of the Italian edition of his book [Ritchin, F. (2025). L’occhio sintetico: La trasformazione della fotografia nell’era dell’intelligenza artificiale (C. Veltri, Trad.). Einaudi. (Piccola biblioteca Einaudi). ISBN: 9788806269494], so they may not exactly match the original English version. Since I only have the Italian edition available, the English quotes might not perfectly reflect the original. I apologize to the readers and the author for any discrepancies and am ready to correct the quotes as soon as I have access to the English edition. ↩︎
2. Caption Image: Epiphanie lost eight siblings, both parents, and nearly her own life in the genocide. On the first day of the killings, a mob including Jean Baptiste set fire to her grandmother’s house, where her family had sought refuge. At just six years old, she also survived a brutal attempt at rape. Years later, through a sociotherapy group, Epiphanie crossed paths with Jean Baptiste, who had served 12 years in prison for his crimes. After hearing his heartfelt apology, she found the strength to forgive, and they reconciled.
   From the series Blood Bonds: Reconciliation in Post-Genocide Rwanda © Jan Banning ↩︎
3. Voghera Festival 2023’s press release said: The growing authority of Voghera Fotografia is underscored by four important partnerships: with the international photography festival Cortona On The Move, which presents the exhibition “Diving Maldives” by Giulia Piermartiri and Edoardo Delille… ↩︎