Conversations on Photography & Image-Making with Gaia Onofri

This series of interviews originates within my studio, a space that aims above all to be intimate and welcoming, where photography is only the starting point for a broader conversation. I am Sara Lorusso, a photographer and co-founder of Mulieris, and I imagined these encounters as moments of exchange in which to chat freely, without a rigid structure, in order to enter the world of those who make photographs today. I will invite different photographers to talk about their work and the stories that run through their images, starting from the images themselves to reach questions of identity, relationships, references, and everything that, more or less invisibly, contributes to shaping a gaze. The idea is to create a space for listening and sharing, where each meeting becomes a story in itself, but also part of a larger dialogue about making images.

Portrait by Sara Lorusso

Gaia Onofri (Cesena, 1999) studied film directing in Milan and has worked as a fashion photographer. From the very beginning, her main interest has been photographing people in intimate, everyday situations. Photography was a way to interact with her own individuality in the world and in relation to others: a way to make friends, sometimes an attempt to escape into the image of her subjects. Nudity and eroticism, often present in her work, contribute to a search for vulnerability. Today, for Gaia, taking pictures has become a way to focus on what she truly likes, on who she is becoming. A process of affirmation and reflection, through

the translation of her emotional alphabet into that of the photographed subject. Gaia Onofri has published documentary-style photographic editorials in Lampoon Magazine (2024), as well as self-produced zines such as Smalltown Boys (2023), Il mio diario (2024), and La chiusa delle donne (2024). In 2025, Image Culture Milan produced a photographic zine collection of her work titled Peak Peek Pics. In 2022, Gaia co-founded “Fata Roba,” a collective that organizes queer parties and events in provincial areas.

Hi Gaia, when and how did you first approach photography?

I think the first time I approached photography consciously was through a very important relationship in my life. It was my ex-boyfriend who introduced me to this medium. I had always had cameras at home, I took some self-portraits or photos of friends, but I didn’t take it seriously. With him, instead, I realized that photography could be much more: experimentation, light, expressive possibilities. It started as something we did as a couple—we photographed each other. From there I understood that, for me, photography is connected to relationships: I feel the need to photograph people I feel something for, in order to keep them close.

What did you study?

I studied film directing in Milan. I was interested in everything related to storytelling through images: how you build a story from a text and translate it visually. Actually, I enrolled thinking I would do cinematography, because I’m fascinated by the way a single image can tell something. But often a single image isn’t enough for me: I feel the need for a before and an after, a narrative continuity. Maybe that’s why I choose blurred, less perfect images, and sometimes pair texts or writing with photos: I’m always looking for a broader narrative.

Who are your subjects and what stories do you tell?

Mainly people. Often friends, but not just for memory: I like placing them in situations that tell something. Maybe also because of my directing studies and my passion for cinema, I tend to imagine stories. Even when I know someone well, through photography I can “rewrite” them, see them in different contexts, almost as if they belonged to another time or world. I have many visual influences, between cinema and pop culture, so I often connect what I see to images that already exist. Over the years I’ve also started photographing strangers, especially those less used to being in front of the camera: I’m interested in discovering their image together with them.

You’ve worked a lot on the figure of young men: where does this interest come from?

There are many reasons. It was certainly a way to get closer to the male gender, to understand it and connect with it. Photography allowed me to experience very intimate moments: boys I had just met opening up deeply. Being a trans girl, this work also helped me deconstruct masculinity and understand what belonged to me and what didn’t. It was a way to explore the male body not only erotically, but also as a form of knowledge. In general, there is a lot of me in my photography: I struggle to separate other people’s emotions

from my own, it’s as if I see parts of my story in others.

What role does print and zine-making have for you?

Printing photos means seeing them all together, giving them a unified meaning. They are no longer single images, but a sequence that builds a discourse. There’s also the need to make them tangible: on social media or hard drives they risk getting lost. Print makes them real—they truly exist. Zines also come from the need to tell something specific. For example,

one zine came out of a retreat with friends, a very important experience for me, also connected to feminist and queer themes. Bringing together images, readings, and experiences made me realize that story needed to be told.

So it’s also a personal need, almost like a manifesto?

Yes, first of all for myself. I need to give concrete form to the things I experience, otherwise they remain confused. Then, if they resonate with others, even better. But that’s not the main point: it’s more about bringing something into the world and letting whoever wants encounter it. There’s also a need for order, for control: sometimes photography helps me reorganize something that in life feels chaotic.

Who are your artistic references?

A fundamental figure for me is Nan Goldin. She was one of the first to make me understand that I could also make photography: in her images, trans people exist, there is vulnerability, authenticity, a rejection of technical rigidity. Lately, though, I struggle to find references: we are overwhelmed by images and sometimes I feel a kind of rejection. Also, the current context (between work and personal difficulties) has distanced me a bit from photography.

Are you working on other creative projects?

Yes, at the moment my energy is shifting toward a collective project: Fata Roba. We organize queer events and parties, especially in Romagna. It’s a way to create community and safe spaces where people can feel welcomed. Many things come together in this project: video, set design, performance, photography. It’s a different, more shared way of creating.

The idea is also to bring something to areas where opportunities are often lacking, especially for young people and queer communities.

Where do you organize these events?

Mainly in Romagna. We’re all from there and we’re interested in creating something precisely in the places people often feel the need to leave. We want to offer opportunities for meeting and connection, to bring to life a space that normally doesn’t exist.

Let’s end with a slightly challenging question: what would you say today to your past self who started this path years ago?

Today I would tell her not to lose motivation just because things don’t go as hoped. To be patient. To put herself out there without fear and try to silence that annoying voice that judges and keeps saying that, in the end, nothing really makes sense. I swear, meaning exists somewhere. I would tell her to take more risks, maybe to never stop.