And courage
Reflections on rising poverty in Italy, the silent struggles of the most vulnerable, and how art can awaken awareness in difficult times
The kindest of our enemies
The voice of a grandfather, World War II in Naples, and the threshold between past and present, stitched together with needle and thread
Rear window
From a creative coming out to a first contemporary embroidery, through the Valtopina Biennial and current projects
The power of discomfort
Art doesn’t grow from perfection: reflections on discomfort and the creative power of imperfection in embroidery and in life
There are more things in heaven and earth
Art is a wild creature, impossible to tame. Reflections on raw creative energy, impermanence, and the refusal to conform
Human, all too human
A raw reflection on art and identity: between stitches, wounds, and truth, the journey of an artist who has always lived outside the mold
Everything is embroidered
A reflection on control, chance, and the deep meaning held within embroidery art — threads that capture memory, emotion, and time
I wanted to create, but there was wind
The therapeutic power of embroidery: a journey through sustainability, imperfection, inner voices, and the urgency to create no matter what
Grounded
Welcome to this in-between place. Here I write about art — mine and others’ — and anything else that insists on surfacing
This chronicle explores the origins of my gaze and the foundations upon which my artistic practice rests. It is a space dedicated to memory, the past, and those layers of profound experience that define my current identity. Here, I gather personal reflections and stories of my formation, tracing the path that has led me toward specific visions and expressive necessities.
Language becomes an excavation, an inquiry into the human condition, and a search for meaning among the fragments of who I once was. These texts attempt to name the source of my gestures and the inner resonances that fuel every creation. For me, inhabiting one’s roots means recognizing in past experience the lifeblood that still flows—silent and necessary—through every image and every story