Looking at photographs of a past that seems more distant than it actually is is a particularly intriguing exercise, because it prompts us not only to analyse the photographic technique or the – admittedly impressive – quality of the analogue prints that have survived, but also to observe the world that De Biasi depicted. The photograph of the Milanese landscape, for example, tells us of a somewhat gloomy city with patched-up pavements and, surprisingly, just two passing cars and none parked at the roadside. Then, however, there is that couple next to the bicycle, talking to each other, and suddenly Milan seems less grey. The other photograph captures the station from a low angle, giving it a vigour that the little train lacked – a train the Milanese had nicknamed “gamba de legn” because it chugged along, puffing and panting, to connect the city with neighbouring towns and villages.