The Whimsically Macabre Scenes of @__remmidemmi
To see more of Sandro’s explorations of “bodies with no regret,” follow @__remmidemmi on Instagram.
In his macabre, tragicomic photo series, Italian photographer Sandro Giordoan (@__remmidemmi) explores the willingness of people to put the safety of material objects before their own well-being.
When conceiving the project, _IN EXTREMIS (bodies with no regret), Sandro drew from personal experience. “Last summer I had a small but tough bicycle accident,” he explains. “I lost 30% of my right hand’s functions because I never let go of the object I was holding as I fell.”
When, shortly after, a friend broke his leg to prevent his smartphone from falling in water, Sandro became concerned. “We live in a time where we risk material things becoming more important than our own lives, and this is really worrying.”
Sandro channeled his concern into crafting meticulous and whimsical photos. “I immediately felt the urgency to capture the moment of impact. I wanted to talk about obsessions, neurosis and frailties of our times through my personal experience.” The resulting photos are at once humorous and haunting.
Many think that the wildly contorted bodies in Sandro’s photos are dolls or dummies. Not so, says Sandro. “I work exclusively with professional actors who are able to position themselves in anatomically impossible poses because they are trained to use their bodies to communicate.”
"The first real inkling that you’re not ever going to be any younger than you are today, that you’re hurtling toward death and can’t put on the brakes and you still haven’t figured out what your high school relationships meant and now you have to reinvent your life again, and then again, or tumble down into a heap of decaying bones? Jesus!"
"A group of children broke into a radio station in Western Australia’s remote Kimberley region and put themselves live on air for an impromptu late-night show full of swearing."
"Denial is powerful. It can be a crucial coping tool when experiencing loss or trauma, but it also can unmoor you from reality. From the time I lost most of my left arm in February, I was living in that parallel universe, one where I’d power through, barely acknowledging the amputation—until I went for a run on the sunny afternoon of April 6. It was nothing more than a slightly uneven sidewalk that took me down. No problem for a runner with two arms. In fact, this particular sidewalk is right behind my home, and I had negotiated it uneventfully for years. But here are two things you need to know about life after an arm amputation: First, your center of gravity changes dramatically when you are suddenly eight pounds lighter on one side of your body. Second, while my arm may be missing physically, it is there, just as it always has been, in my mind’s eye. I can feel every digit. I can even feel the watch that was always strapped to my left wrist. When I tripped, I reached reflexively to break my very real fall with my completely imaginary left hand. My fall was instead broken by my nose, and my nose was broken by my fall. Lying on that sidewalk, moaning in pain, I reached the end of Denial River and flowed into the Sea of Doubt. It finally dawned on me in that instant that I was, indeed, handicapped. That may not be the term of choice these days—“differently abled” or “physically challenged” may be de rigueur—but as I touched my bloody face, feeling embedded chips of concrete in the wounds, “handicapped” sure seemed to fit. The woman I was passing on the sidewalk when I fell took one look at me and cried out in panic to her husband: “My God, what’s happened to his arm?” “It’s gone,” I said. “But don’t worry, that didn’t happen today.”"