Daniela Zedda, a Sardinian photographer, has passed away. The adjective is not limiting: Daniela was a great professional, known nationally and internationally. But Sardinia was in his gaze, in his images, in his accent, in the way he rejected vanity and indecisiveness. And in dealing with artists, musicians and writers he saw a lot. Mine too, I must say.
Daniela Zedda had sweet authority: she made decisions, mostly for the best, and communicated her decisions. We met in 1992 at a book launch in Cagliari. He made an appointment for me at Poetto Beach the next morning. sea in winter and cottages. He looked me up and down, “You don’t look good, but we can work something out.”
I liked it from the first minute; and then, when I saw the pictures, even more. I was in these photos: his portraits were honest mirrors. As. She was sweet and argumentative. There are great photographers who value empathy with the subject – for example Giovanni Gastel. Instead, Daniela adopted the model of the kindergarten teacher, fair but inflexible. You had to trust her, period.
Many of us trusted. Musicians and journalists, writers and artists, newspapers and publishers in Italy and abroad. The diamond in his CV was the affection and esteem he aroused in his countrymen (the Sardinians are not fooled and can read hearts). A rough sculptor like Pinuccio Sciola and a delicate artist like Antonio Marras put themselves in his hands. Basalt and silk, that’s what Daniela was made of.
If you remember a portrait of me in the Corriere or on the fold of a book, it’s probably by Daniela Zedda. I’ve known and worked with many good photographers, but something special happened with her. We hit it off right away: he worked fast and made fun of me. They met after a year, he looked me up and down: “You are old. So. I will photograph you tomorrow. Make yourself beautiful as far as possible».
Every time I passed through Cagliari I called her, wrote her and invited her. Daniela Zedda said not to waste time with her, instead she was happy. Our jobs are promiscuous, but he knew I meant business. I want to call her again this evening, on this beautiful May evening, from Santa Teresa di Gallura and make fun of her. I can not do that. I have to be content with recalling his monosyllabic and his recordings, both impeccable.