There’s an intimacy here, but also a certain estrangement: faces half-lit, gestures caught in awkward half-beats, moments that resist narrative closure. Like the work of Moriyama or Petersen he admires, Gurciullo’s images compel not by spectacle, but by their haunted, searching quality. In his Sicily, we don’t find neat stories or postcard vistas; we encounter instead something far more honest — a living, breathing theatre, as restless and fragile as the human heart itself.
(M-Artlens mag, July 2025 )
