In 1982, high up in the clouds, impressed by New York’s first skyscrapers, it was like photographing a dream of beauty elevated to the sky.

There was a contrast between the grandeur of the skyscrapers and the feeling of loneliness they inspired in me. In the viewfinder of the camera placed on the tripod, a distant and superb America stood out, making me feel small.

The Decò architecture that I looked for, map in hand, in the streets of Manhattan is full of figurative motifs in relief and the light, with its shadows, creates an atmosphere of sublime uselessness. A style and model with an aesthetic taste that, like many other influences, landed in New York from the Old Continent and was immediately incorporated, consumed and forgotten. I was therefore aware and heartened by the documentary value of this work.

Fantastic figures and decorations have now disappeared from the facades of the new architecture, all glass and steel. Today in New York there are more than six thousand skyscrapers; the last one stands out where the Twin Towers collapsed.