{"id":30253,"date":"2025-08-10T18:00:38","date_gmt":"2025-08-10T16:00:38","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/martin-wieland-arts.com\/?p=30253"},"modified":"2026-01-25T13:22:34","modified_gmt":"2026-01-25T12:22:34","slug":"five-minutes-of-dolce-vita","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/martin-wieland-arts.com\/en\/five-minutes-of-dolce-vita\/","title":{"rendered":"FIVE MINUTES OF DOLCE VITA"},"content":{"rendered":"

My first photo trip to Sicily – with camera, chaos and a touch of cinema<\/h2>\n

A gift with its own title<\/h3>\n

It was a gift. Not a wellness voucher, not a city trip – but a week-long trip to Sicily, booked by friends, with the promising title: Shooting on the beach with rabbits without clothes<\/em>. I wanted to get away anyway. To take photos, clear my head, see new places, without a plan, but with a camera. Get up early, sleep late, be out and about. Taking pictures that will be remembered. The photo trip to Sicily came at just the right time.<\/p>\n

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Five models were booked. Two canceled at short notice – officially ill. Unfortunately, on the same day they both posted glittering party photos on Facebook. So we just had a day off. Also good. The money for the flights gone down the drain – hurts. Needless to say, they never got another job from me.<\/p>\n

In love in the bar, lost at dinner<\/h3>\n

The other three came – and that was enough. We were staying in a small dosshouse with cracks, charm and a bar next door where the first model had driven all the Italians crazy within hours. When I arrived, I was obviously the troublemaker in a romantic village script. The Ciao Ciao bar didn’t like me – at least at first. Later everything was perfect, especially because there were 2 other models with me;-)<\/p>\n

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We went out for dinner on the first evening. Warm outside, noisy inside. Everything smelled of fish, garlic, espresso and that mixture of diesel and sea salt that only smells good in southern Italy. I had all my cash with me – I didn’t want to leave it in the room. Instead of being in a wallet, it was in a fucked-up paper savings bag. And at some point it slipped out of my pocket and fell under the armchair. I didn’t notice anything. I fell asleep. Woke up at half past five in the morning – with this one clear thought: Shit. Where’s my money. <\/em><\/p>\n

I walked all the way back, with my cell phone flashlight, through the still dark Sicily. And there it was. Untouched. It was still in the same place – the cleaning crew hadn’t arrived yet. If I’d had a purse, it would have been gone. But nobody steals a crumpled paper bag. That too is dolce vita. Otherwise I would have had problems – I wouldn’t have been able to pay any modeling fees, no food, no accommodation.<\/p>\n

Dust, light and 40 degrees<\/h3>\n

We had two rental cars, a make-up artist and a guide with us, who greeted what felt like every second person in Sicily with a handshake. Together we drove through the area: Taormina, Castello Normanno, Savoca, Palazzo Biscari (where Coldplay once shot a video). It was hot, loud and dusty. And beautiful. We photographed from sunrise to sunset, just a few sandwiches at lunchtime. In between: Sea, rocks, sand, cigarette breaks. Limoncello in the evening – one too many, good food, tired legs.<\/p>\n

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The worst day? It came after the heaviest evening. At some point there was one glass too many, at some point the night was over – and suddenly it was six o’clock in the morning. And we were standing there again with the camera in our hands. The light was magical, our eyes small. And then, at midday, we went up to the Castello Normanno at almost 40 degrees. With full equipment. No shade, no wind, just sun, stones and sweat. It was a horror. And it was great. This is exactly how I had imagined my photo trip to Sicily: intense, unpredictable, full of pictures and stories.<\/p>\n

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We photographed in a ravine, on the beach, in alleyways, between dilapidated walls. I didn’t have a plan in the classic sense, but a feeling that I followed. And that was enough.<\/p>\n

Five minutes of eternity in Bar Vitelli<\/h3>\n

And then: Bar Vitelli<\/span><\/a>. A place as if it had fallen out of time, known from The Godfather<\/em>, with photos of Marlon Brando on the walls and tourist buses outside the door (apparently others had also booked a photo trip to Sicily;-)). Two of them were there when we arrived. I thought: This is not going to work. But my guide talked to the owner. “Five minutes? No problem.”<\/p>\n

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We waited until the buses left. The bar was empty. I said to the model: Quickly. Take your clothes off. Stand inside. <\/em> We had exactly five minutes. The cousin of my guide, who was assisting us that day, was hired as an extra. I also took the wooden rifle that was leaning against the door in the photo. We took photos in a frenzy. And when the next bus pulled up, everything was as before. Only the pictures were new.<\/p>\n

What remains<\/h3>\n

It was my first big photo trip. And perhaps the freest week of my life. No plan, no studio, no safety net. Just light, skin, heat and a bit of luck. Just dolce vita. In five minutes. And sometimes forever.<\/p>\n

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I still enjoy looking at many of the pictures today. Not just because of the models or the light – but because they capture that moment when everything was new, open, uncomfortable and honest. And because they remind me why I take photographs in the first place.<\/p>\n

And many of these recordings live on:
in the Collector’s Edition<\/a><\/span>,
in SIGNED.FRAMED.ICONIC.<\/a><\/span>,
in my two fine art photo books<\/span>,
and also in the Modern Madonnas<\/span> series – reworked, painted over, sometimes beyond recognition, but always with the look of yesteryear.<\/p>\n

And looking back, this photo trip to Sicily was perhaps the moment when pictures became a direction – and a gift became a beginning.<\/p>\n