In 1982, I decided to begin photographing the Italian coast, the places where I had been happy with my parents. Most were small holiday towns, built without pretension, with buildings in the purest 1960s architectural style, vacant lots, a shopping mall and an open-air nightclub. There was nothing particularly noteworthy about them, nothing that would earn them a place in a travel guide.

Later, I broadened my gaze to include legendary destinations, towns with such evocative names as Capri, Naples, Portofino, San Remo and Stromboli, places that had inspired songs or served as settings for neorealist films. I came to realize that the unique world of the coast, and the bustle of the beach in summer, was a concentrated expression of Italian culture — a social ritual that strongly conveys an entire art of living.

Freed at last from the obligations of everyday life, it seemed to me that skin revealed itself in every shade. Children building sandcastles, digging imaginary tunnels, burying themselves in the sand. Teenagers barely concealing their emotions on beach towels, in couples or groups. More cautious parents sheltering beneath beach umbrellas... The beach is a perfect playground for capturing movement. I found it easy to blend into it, both as part of the scene and as an amused observer.

In the end, I settled in Biarritz, by the sea. I was fascinated by the metaphysical quality of its Art Deco buildings and its ever-changing light. And by the power of the waves which, unlike those of the Mediterranean, force you to face them head-on and plunge into them.

As a photographer, the beach has become for me a kind of purgatory between heaven and hell, a conduit for creativity attuned to time and the changing seasons. I redefine its shifting contours and the memories that pass through it. I let myself be carried away by a torrent of images and by the songs of a summer that casts its spell, like those children who hold a seashell to their ear to hear the sea and relive their summer holidays.