Between the Coney Island of WeeGee, the suburban America of Stephen Shore and the southern liturgies of William Eggleston, Percoco’s Puglia loses its geographical borders to become a place of the soul, a place that, for the photographer, is at the same time “home” and unexplored territory.
Writing in his visual language through video and photography, Percoco constructs a world of lazy Sundays, of bellies and butts, of pasta and sauce and clothes hung out to dry, of ripe figs that appear like alien creatures with their disturbing sensuality, from whose bodies fruits and colors overflow, without filters or half measures, in all their brutal, lush naturalness.