When I went back to Italy everyone was thrilled. Three days later, they published a full page of my photographs entitled: “Preparing for the 1980 Olympics.” When a journalist asked me about being a woman photographer, I got quite annoyed Who do I go to?” Fortunately, nothing was happening that day. I got on a plane to London and, without an appointment, walked into the foyer of the Times and said: “I’ve got some photos. When people saw my pictures, they’d say: “They’re great.” But I didn’t believe them – it was too easy to say. A friend of mine was head of the Italian Olympic committee and he asked me to document sports centres he was setting up across the country. My husband created a dark room for me in the basement and I started fiddling about with his old Rolleiflex. I remember sitting beside him in the hospital thinking: “My God, but for a few seconds, I would be a widow. My children were five and seven when my husband had a car accident. In the late 1960s, I was living in Rome with my family. I’d hide behind people and avoid wearing bright colours, so as to pass unnoticed. ‘I was more interested in Alain Delon’ … Burton as the Russian revolutionary in the film.
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