I’ve spent the past week with something that stains my hands. For the last few days, my kitchen has transformed into an impromptu studio. Surrounded by cardboard, brushes, chalks, acrylics, and temperas. There’s no workshop, no large windows letting in the light I’ve come to love more each day. Just this space, which Vittoria has generously allowed me to fill with my chaos and my creations. I’m grateful for it, as it makes this process of transformation much more manageable.
Creating an exhibition project is no simple task. Loneliness becomes a heavy yet necessary companion. Sometimes, I tell myself that this constant dissatisfaction, this bittersweet feeling, is the fuel that keeps the artist going. As Rilke once said, art is always born from having been in danger. And I understand those words better now. In those long hours, the silence grows oppressive, and my hands crack and rebel against me.
But then there are moments that justify everything. Even though I’m still in search of that elusive something. Moments when I feel incredibly fortunate for the gift I’ve been given, for the task entrusted to me. I take immense joy in the precise stroke, in the selection of the right tone, when you look and realise that intention has taken form, and the sfumato emerges effortlessly. The feeling takes hold of you. It’s as if the world pauses for a moment, giving you a brief respite to savour that one instant.
Eterna life was born four years ago, during an intimate and transcendent moment. While accompanying my great-aunt on her final journey, with Charon’s boat drawing near to claim its payment and carry her across the River Styx, I confronted the fragility of existence. I wondered what it would be like to let go of it, and whether, in some way, we remain part of this world after we’ve gone. My great-aunt didn’t want to leave, and in a sense, she didn’t. I realised then that we are eternal: in the memories, in the earth that nurtures and claims us, in the invisible threads that bind us to those we leave behind. Eternal life is about that: permanence, what we leave behind, the constant dialogue between life and death. It’s my way of trying to capture the ethereal, of asking a question that perhaps will never have a definitive answer.
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