Come "behind the shot" with photographers John Michael Rivera, Alberto Siesto, Cyril Mouty, and Giorgia Paleari as they share the stories behind some of their favorite photos from the upcoming release, Trope Rome.

Trope Rome is available now at Trope.com and will be available in stores September 23.

John Michael Rivera

I took this photo in the summer of 2023, just a few months after buying my first camera. It was during my very first photo walk with a group of other photographers—a simple idea, but for me it felt like a big step. I remember walking toward the meeting point in Borgo Pio with a knot in my stomach. I didn’t know anyone, and I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to photograph.

At the start, I found myself overthinking everything. As people stopped to take pictures, I kept wondering why. Sometimes the subjects looked so ordinary to me—just a doorway, a shadow, a street corner—and I thought maybe I was the one who didn’t get it, that maybe I was missing something essential. I hesitated with my camera, worried that my photos wouldn’t measure up.

But as the walk went on, I started talking with the others. Slowly, I realized that there was no single “right” way to see a place. Each photographer was chasing something different: a texture, a color, a memory, a mood. Everyone had their own philosophy, and that in itself was liberating. Once I understood that, I stopped comparing and started shooting.

That’s when I came across this scene. The faded forno sign, the bicycles leaning into each other, the old Vespa resting on the cobblestones—it all felt quietly timeless. Borgo Pio has that way about it: caught between the monumental presence of the Vatican and the small rituals of everyday Roman life. This corner wasn’t a landmark, but it told a story. And in noticing it, I felt like I had found a piece of my own way of seeing.

Looking back, this photo marks more than just the start of a series—it’s a reminder of the moment I began to feel comfortable with a camera in my hands, and of the friends I met that day who have since become a real part of my journey.

I took this photo on my way home from university, after one of those long, brain-draining study sessions that leaves you feeling somewhere between exhausted and wired. I’m a mechanical engineering student, and my campus is only a few steps away from the Colosseum. That might sound incredible to most people—and it is—but after spending years walking past it every day, it had started to feel more like a landmark I tuned out than one I truly saw.

What makes this even stranger is that I’ve been in this neighborhood for most of my life. My high school was just around the corner, so for more than a decade, the Colosseum has been part of my daily routine. I've seen it in every kind of weather, every time of day—sunrise light cutting through morning fog, harsh summer sun baking the stones, winter evenings when the sky turns electric blue. But when something becomes a fixture in your life, even something as magnificent as the Colosseum, it starts to blend into the background. You stop noticing the details. You forget to be amazed.

That day, I wasn’t out photographing or looking for anything special. I wasn’t chasing light or planning a shot. I just happened to take a quick snap with my phone for a friend of mine in England. He’s a photographer and had mentioned wanting to visit Rome someday to see the Colosseum for himself. I didn’t think much of it in the moment—it was a kind of "look where I am" photo, almost automatic.

But later that evening, while going through my photos, I stopped on this one. I looked at it longer than I expected to. For some reason, it hit differently. The light was soft and warm, the streets were calm, and the way the Colosseum sat in the frame felt... quiet, but alive. It wasn't just a photo of a monument—it was a photo of my routine, of a moment I almost ignored. And that made me smile.

It made me realize how easy it is to overlook the beauty in our everyday surroundings, especially when we've seen them so often. What we grow used to, others might see as breathtaking. I’ve spent so many years walking past the Colosseum, earbuds in, eyes down, caught in my own thoughts. But this photo reminded me to look up more often. To pay attention.

I think there's something quietly meaningful in that—how photography can help us see again. Not just new places, but old ones, familiar ones. Places we’ve stopped appreciating simply because they’ve always been there.

Sometimes, it takes seeing something through someone else's eyes—or even through the lens of your own camera—to remember how special it really is.

 

Alberto Siesto

The Trevi Fountain is undoubtedly one of the most beautiful fountains in the world, and if you want to admire it in all its glory, the best time is before dawn when people are still asleep.