I learned to love mountains because of my family, and mostly because of my granny.
Scrapping back through some pictures of the place she loved, Esino Lario, I found some of the earliest works with my starting reflex.
Here they are.
These are probably the first experiments with light painting, taken at the mountain house.
This last picture is kinda nonsense from the outside, but in this muddle of light-trails I see the lights of the street lamps, the town and the furthest glow of the opposing side of the valley. The green splash on the bottom is the reflection of the internal curtains lightened by the internal bulbs. And the shadow of the mountain on the left side reminds the essence of that place, a small town protected by the mountains from the rumbling cities below. Days in that place were always slow, but more than anything else, they were authentic.