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Tropical Baroque
360x150cm
Natural dyes, acrylics, oil sticks, inks, pastels and graphite on raw cotton canvas
This very large piece emerged from a series of days and months working in an abandoned factory writing, painting and drawing listening to a sister composition by the composer Mathilde Marsal’s concerto on loop (track to be released). The music and the work were composed in tandem, inhabiting the same silence, the same space and time. The painting holds countless iterations, a painting made from addition, subtraction, pushing and pulling, spontaneity and constraint. This painting holds the energy, the anticipation, the highs and lows of the forest, the sounds of the land and the waters, the non-human lives that never live in silence.
Natural dyes, acrylics, oil sticks, inks, pastels and graphite on raw cotton canvas
This very large piece emerged from a series of days and months working in an abandoned factory writing, painting and drawing listening to a sister composition by the composer Mathilde Marsal’s concerto on loop (track to be released). The music and the work were composed in tandem, inhabiting the same silence, the same space and time. The painting holds countless iterations, a painting made from addition, subtraction, pushing and pulling, spontaneity and constraint. This painting holds the energy, the anticipation, the highs and lows of the forest, the sounds of the land and the waters, the non-human lives that never live in silence.
Gaea
170x190cm
Acrylics on raw cotton canvas
Gaea was composed listening to a track also in progress by composer Mathilde Marsal. The painting withdraws into an inner realm, drawing the viewer into a quieter, more concentrated space, following an inner call to descent into shadowed waters, where direction gives way to immersion. Gestures move freely between beauty and abrasion, led by instinct rather than design, with strokes that feel urgent, uneven, and responsive, unfolding with the logic of natural forces. Forms surface and dissolve without hierarchy, suggesting landscapes that shift between the physical and the psychological, recalling ancient mythic worlds where inner life and terrain were inseparable.
At its core is a search for generative ground, a sense of origin that feels bodily and grounded, a depth from which journeys begin and to which they return. The work carries a synesthetic quality that recalls the oral beginnings of myth, when meaning was shaped through rhythm and repetition, travelling through voice and shared resonance. Myth operates here as structure, giving the painting coherence without dictating its imagery, an unseen framework shaping its movement.
As Carl Jung described, myth speaks in a language older than the individual, drawing from a shared reservoir of images held in common. Gaea reaches into this depth without illustration or literal reference. It relies on forms already carried within the viewer, ideas of descent, return and origin.
Like Odysseus bound to the mast, resisting the pull of external song, the painting remains faithful to an inner call. It holds myth as a compass, guiding the gaze inward, toward fertile and unsettled ground seldom explored where meaning emerges gradually, uncovered through attention and time.
Acrylics on raw cotton canvas
Gaea was composed listening to a track also in progress by composer Mathilde Marsal. The painting withdraws into an inner realm, drawing the viewer into a quieter, more concentrated space, following an inner call to descent into shadowed waters, where direction gives way to immersion. Gestures move freely between beauty and abrasion, led by instinct rather than design, with strokes that feel urgent, uneven, and responsive, unfolding with the logic of natural forces. Forms surface and dissolve without hierarchy, suggesting landscapes that shift between the physical and the psychological, recalling ancient mythic worlds where inner life and terrain were inseparable.
At its core is a search for generative ground, a sense of origin that feels bodily and grounded, a depth from which journeys begin and to which they return. The work carries a synesthetic quality that recalls the oral beginnings of myth, when meaning was shaped through rhythm and repetition, travelling through voice and shared resonance. Myth operates here as structure, giving the painting coherence without dictating its imagery, an unseen framework shaping its movement.
As Carl Jung described, myth speaks in a language older than the individual, drawing from a shared reservoir of images held in common. Gaea reaches into this depth without illustration or literal reference. It relies on forms already carried within the viewer, ideas of descent, return and origin.
Like Odysseus bound to the mast, resisting the pull of external song, the painting remains faithful to an inner call. It holds myth as a compass, guiding the gaze inward, toward fertile and unsettled ground seldom explored where meaning emerges gradually, uncovered through attention and time.
Affectionate cartographies (and a forest called mother)
110x170cm
Acrylics, oils, oil sticks, pastels on raw cotton canvas
In this work I look into my individual and collective identity, exploring proto-Brazilian origins in a land where the coloniser arrived as foreigner, and where indigenous peoples were made foreigners in their own territory. As a diasporic woman myself, who increasingly finds it difficult naming a specific place 'home', the feeling of belonging strengthens itself through contemplation of ancestral cosmologies, and through painting.
The writer Darcy Ribeiro ethnographically claims that our nation comes from an indigenous mother and a Portuguese father. Most indigenous languages are no longer spoken by the majority, with the exception of a good number of words giving names to places, fauna and flora, words that survive as if pressed into the land itself.
Many places are named in kinship: the grandfather river, the mother forest. I look at women as carriers, mothers of the people and the culture, in affectionate cartographies: documenting ways of living with in close, familiar contact with the land. This geography of belonging came through the maternal line, through indigenous women who appear in no colonial record, who held the language and passed it in speech. I feel a strange affection for these women, this ancestry who signed nothing, yet mapped everything.
Acrylics, oils, oil sticks, pastels on raw cotton canvas
In this work I look into my individual and collective identity, exploring proto-Brazilian origins in a land where the coloniser arrived as foreigner, and where indigenous peoples were made foreigners in their own territory. As a diasporic woman myself, who increasingly finds it difficult naming a specific place 'home', the feeling of belonging strengthens itself through contemplation of ancestral cosmologies, and through painting.
The writer Darcy Ribeiro ethnographically claims that our nation comes from an indigenous mother and a Portuguese father. Most indigenous languages are no longer spoken by the majority, with the exception of a good number of words giving names to places, fauna and flora, words that survive as if pressed into the land itself.
Many places are named in kinship: the grandfather river, the mother forest. I look at women as carriers, mothers of the people and the culture, in affectionate cartographies: documenting ways of living with in close, familiar contact with the land. This geography of belonging came through the maternal line, through indigenous women who appear in no colonial record, who held the language and passed it in speech. I feel a strange affection for these women, this ancestry who signed nothing, yet mapped everything.
Anthropophagy (and other tales from the forest)
200x150cm
Acrylics, oil sticks, calligraphy inks and pastels on raw cotton canvas
Some paintings have a raw story to tell, and this is one of them. This large piece is heavily inspired by the idea of anthropophagy, drawing a parallel between the ritual practice of some Indigenous tribes in Brazil who, before European colonization, cannibalised their enemies not out of hunger or savagery, but to absorb their strength, courage and spirit; a ritualistic process of self-transformation.
At the studio, this particular work was incredibly difficult to navigate, going through countless mutations between addition and subtraction, devouring the parts of oneself that no longer serve, discarding what is empty while grasping with the somewhat beautiful yet disturbing, real identity of the Self. In this sense, it echoes Oswald de Andrade’s anthropophagic proposition that Brazilian art and indeed my own voice survives by consuming the foreign, digesting external forms and returning them transformed, unruly and local. Recalling what once horrified the colonial eyes is taking shape into a picture of resistance towards the outer noise of external voices in my head, in an ironic and defiantly autonomous pursue for personal expression.
Acrylics, oil sticks, calligraphy inks and pastels on raw cotton canvas
Some paintings have a raw story to tell, and this is one of them. This large piece is heavily inspired by the idea of anthropophagy, drawing a parallel between the ritual practice of some Indigenous tribes in Brazil who, before European colonization, cannibalised their enemies not out of hunger or savagery, but to absorb their strength, courage and spirit; a ritualistic process of self-transformation.
At the studio, this particular work was incredibly difficult to navigate, going through countless mutations between addition and subtraction, devouring the parts of oneself that no longer serve, discarding what is empty while grasping with the somewhat beautiful yet disturbing, real identity of the Self. In this sense, it echoes Oswald de Andrade’s anthropophagic proposition that Brazilian art and indeed my own voice survives by consuming the foreign, digesting external forms and returning them transformed, unruly and local. Recalling what once horrified the colonial eyes is taking shape into a picture of resistance towards the outer noise of external voices in my head, in an ironic and defiantly autonomous pursue for personal expression.
Savage
155x115cm
Acrylics, collage, pastels and oil sticks on raw cotton canvas
'Life is savage’, says the indigenous philosopher Ailton Krenak : ‘It is a call for an epistemological rebellion, an invitation to actively engage in the creation and sustenance of life. When I say that life is savage, I intend to draw attention to a latent potency of existence—a forgotten poetics—abandoned by schools that form professionals who perpetuate the logic that civilization is urban and that everything beyond the cities is barbaric, primitive, and disposable, something one can simply set on fire.’
Acrylics, collage, pastels and oil sticks on raw cotton canvas
'Life is savage’, says the indigenous philosopher Ailton Krenak : ‘It is a call for an epistemological rebellion, an invitation to actively engage in the creation and sustenance of life. When I say that life is savage, I intend to draw attention to a latent potency of existence—a forgotten poetics—abandoned by schools that form professionals who perpetuate the logic that civilization is urban and that everything beyond the cities is barbaric, primitive, and disposable, something one can simply set on fire.’
Everything that moves is sacred
130x80cm
Acrylics, spray paint, pastels and graphite on raw cotton canvas
According to native Brazilian cosmologies, time and space are inseparable and embodied by the landscape. This ethos positions pretty much everything in the moving universe as a resonant field which is never silent, layered with sound multiplicities that range from the most subtle to the most dense, perceptible only when one enters into stillness. This acoustic ecology is looked at from method and metaphor prospectives, challenging extractive logics that divide humans from nature and reduce the Earth to resource rather than force. By amplifying the more-than-human as a participant in dialogue, the work proposes a counter-archive of justice, listening and resilience - and sacredness.
Acrylics, spray paint, pastels and graphite on raw cotton canvas
According to native Brazilian cosmologies, time and space are inseparable and embodied by the landscape. This ethos positions pretty much everything in the moving universe as a resonant field which is never silent, layered with sound multiplicities that range from the most subtle to the most dense, perceptible only when one enters into stillness. This acoustic ecology is looked at from method and metaphor prospectives, challenging extractive logics that divide humans from nature and reduce the Earth to resource rather than force. By amplifying the more-than-human as a participant in dialogue, the work proposes a counter-archive of justice, listening and resilience - and sacredness.
Notes on time and space
65x85cm
Acrylics, inks, oils, oil sticks, collage, charcoal, pencils on raw cotton canvas
The work is a study of silence, pursued and measured. Silence in the literal sense - the absence of sound - is fleeting and relative in nature, yet within the painting it becomes tangible in short breaths: fragments of collage, moved from one place to another, act as cut-outs of silence. A red line traces across the surface, evoking the instruments used to measure silence, a physical trace of attention. I attempt to see time and space as a single dimension, as in pre-Columbian indigenous understanding, overlapping and inseparable, like time marked in layered landscapes.
Acrylics, inks, oils, oil sticks, collage, charcoal, pencils on raw cotton canvas
The work is a study of silence, pursued and measured. Silence in the literal sense - the absence of sound - is fleeting and relative in nature, yet within the painting it becomes tangible in short breaths: fragments of collage, moved from one place to another, act as cut-outs of silence. A red line traces across the surface, evoking the instruments used to measure silence, a physical trace of attention. I attempt to see time and space as a single dimension, as in pre-Columbian indigenous understanding, overlapping and inseparable, like time marked in layered landscapes.
A letter to myself as a forest
140x90cm
Acrylics, oil sticks, pastels and watercolour pencils on raw cotton canvas
In native Brazilian cosmologies the presence of
the natural elements in one’s life goes beyond the
relationship of reliance and subsistence. Rivers,
mountains and the forest often have family names,
and the relationship of the collective with the outer
world follows the principle of a big, universal family.
This painting seeks to materialise this concept,
in a pictorial expression that converses with the
landscape, especially the native Brazilian forest, in
an effort to seek belonging and to see the land both
as a mirror and a family portrait of my cultural and
natural heritage.
Acrylics, oil sticks, pastels and watercolour pencils on raw cotton canvas
In native Brazilian cosmologies the presence of
the natural elements in one’s life goes beyond the
relationship of reliance and subsistence. Rivers,
mountains and the forest often have family names,
and the relationship of the collective with the outer
world follows the principle of a big, universal family.
This painting seeks to materialise this concept,
in a pictorial expression that converses with the
landscape, especially the native Brazilian forest, in
an effort to seek belonging and to see the land both
as a mirror and a family portrait of my cultural and
natural heritage.
The most perfumed bouquet for my mothers
Diptych, two panels of 118x155cm
Acrylics, oil sticks, pastels and pencils of raw cotton canvas
We all have a debt. Historically, women have been weapons of war, at home or in the public arena of the civil conflicts. This bouquet is for you, woman, chained to a war you haven’t chosen, to a colour you sometimes wished you could take off your skin, to religion you cannot hide from your clothes, from the traces of your face, from the words of your language. The heavy hand falls with violence on your face, on your body, it chains you to modesty and to foreign rules of migration to places you never liked but mean survival. This is the most perfumed bouquet I could find, it carries the weight of our collective debt to you, it is light and perhaps for a few seconds when you breath it in, you might remember old moments of your place, where you came from and now it lives right inside your brain only - because this place no longer exists, it is long gone. So breathe that scent in, stay for a little while, take a rest into the soft perfumed memories of the past and sleep, dream of a better day, when freedom is no longer a remote place, but a permanent presence in every and until the last breath of you.
Acrylics, oil sticks, pastels and pencils of raw cotton canvas
We all have a debt. Historically, women have been weapons of war, at home or in the public arena of the civil conflicts. This bouquet is for you, woman, chained to a war you haven’t chosen, to a colour you sometimes wished you could take off your skin, to religion you cannot hide from your clothes, from the traces of your face, from the words of your language. The heavy hand falls with violence on your face, on your body, it chains you to modesty and to foreign rules of migration to places you never liked but mean survival. This is the most perfumed bouquet I could find, it carries the weight of our collective debt to you, it is light and perhaps for a few seconds when you breath it in, you might remember old moments of your place, where you came from and now it lives right inside your brain only - because this place no longer exists, it is long gone. So breathe that scent in, stay for a little while, take a rest into the soft perfumed memories of the past and sleep, dream of a better day, when freedom is no longer a remote place, but a permanent presence in every and until the last breath of you.
Living in Colour
140x100cm
Acrylics, pastels and pencil on raw canvas
Acrylics, pastels and pencil on raw canvas
The Breath of the Island
25x38cm
Acrylics and pastels on reclaimed wood panel
Part of the ongoing series Iconographies of Land and Fire, The Breath of the Island is a piece born from the remains of a wooden fishing boat here in Lipari Island, Sicily. The tortuous labyrinths of the old city centre remind me that, in medieval times, painting on wood was part of a sacred continuum linking a painter’s work to centuries of devotional image-making, representing permanence and sanctity in the practice of icon painters. From the divine to the elemental, from an object of worship to a meditation on survival, labour and the enduring dialogue between matter and spirit, I now look at the the sacredness of land and waters, and how reliable they are. Here in Sicily the fresh fish, the plants, the flowers, the fruit and the hearty vegetables are just flamboyant, coming out of this incredibly rich sea and soil. The geography itself is quite unusual: islands popping out of the water, like lands of dormant lava. I wonder if the violence of the formation of the land that leads to such fertility is an ancient pact between fire and abundance.
Alexandre Dumas in 1835 wrote of the people of these islands that they ‘live between the volcano and the sea, and take from each its character: from the one its fire, from the other its calm.’ - not sure if calm is the right word, but surely a faith in what the waters and the land will provide and resignation in acceptance of its impact in everyday life is real.
Acrylics and pastels on reclaimed wood panel
Part of the ongoing series Iconographies of Land and Fire, The Breath of the Island is a piece born from the remains of a wooden fishing boat here in Lipari Island, Sicily. The tortuous labyrinths of the old city centre remind me that, in medieval times, painting on wood was part of a sacred continuum linking a painter’s work to centuries of devotional image-making, representing permanence and sanctity in the practice of icon painters. From the divine to the elemental, from an object of worship to a meditation on survival, labour and the enduring dialogue between matter and spirit, I now look at the the sacredness of land and waters, and how reliable they are. Here in Sicily the fresh fish, the plants, the flowers, the fruit and the hearty vegetables are just flamboyant, coming out of this incredibly rich sea and soil. The geography itself is quite unusual: islands popping out of the water, like lands of dormant lava. I wonder if the violence of the formation of the land that leads to such fertility is an ancient pact between fire and abundance.
Alexandre Dumas in 1835 wrote of the people of these islands that they ‘live between the volcano and the sea, and take from each its character: from the one its fire, from the other its calm.’ - not sure if calm is the right word, but surely a faith in what the waters and the land will provide and resignation in acceptance of its impact in everyday life is real.
The death of water is to become air and the death of air is to become fire, and vice-versa
275x190cm
Acrylics, calligraphy inks, pastels, pencils, oil sticks, charcoal and graphite on raw canvas
Working in absolute silence in an abandoned factory reclaimed by nature, this large-scale painting was composed in alignment with the indigenous Tupí-Guaraní understanding of existence, where life and death coexist and creation flows naturally into decay, meaning they are mutually constitutive rather than oppositional. Silence was an important attribute for the contemplation of nature, providing a place in sound and space from which to archaeologically and painterly excavate, forming a ritualized record of these cycles through gestures of addition and erasure, composing and decomposing.
Acrylics, calligraphy inks, pastels, pencils, oil sticks, charcoal and graphite on raw canvas
Working in absolute silence in an abandoned factory reclaimed by nature, this large-scale painting was composed in alignment with the indigenous Tupí-Guaraní understanding of existence, where life and death coexist and creation flows naturally into decay, meaning they are mutually constitutive rather than oppositional. Silence was an important attribute for the contemplation of nature, providing a place in sound and space from which to archaeologically and painterly excavate, forming a ritualized record of these cycles through gestures of addition and erasure, composing and decomposing.
On Courage
110x125cm Acrylics, oil sticks and pastels on raw cotton canvas
‘On Courage’ is part of a wider body of work exploring regenerative processes across human and non-human lives. I contemplate how time is inscribed in the layered growth of biomaterials and how memory lingers in the scars of terrain and built fabric. Courage, both individual and collective, is shaped as much by social rituals, shared histories, and inherited knowledge as by ecological survival. This piece is a consequential exploration of persistence through material and gesture. Pigment, colour and marks bear traces of rupture, erasure and repair. Layers are applied, removed, and reworked, courageous in fragile conditions. I look at landscapes around me: Here in Sicily, wild Etna Volcano shows its mythical force in time and space, revealing how violent, yet lyrical, are the constant movements for survival of the land and its biological forces. Botanical forms act as evidence of endurance under pressure, responding to histories of extraction and violence. The canvas therefore holds collapse and regeneration in tandem, making visible the labor of attention, adaptation, and relational persistence. To persist is to surrender to that tension: to care for what endures, to allow what has emerged to guide what comes next - the next change, the next move.
‘On Courage’ is part of a wider body of work exploring regenerative processes across human and non-human lives. I contemplate how time is inscribed in the layered growth of biomaterials and how memory lingers in the scars of terrain and built fabric. Courage, both individual and collective, is shaped as much by social rituals, shared histories, and inherited knowledge as by ecological survival. This piece is a consequential exploration of persistence through material and gesture. Pigment, colour and marks bear traces of rupture, erasure and repair. Layers are applied, removed, and reworked, courageous in fragile conditions. I look at landscapes around me: Here in Sicily, wild Etna Volcano shows its mythical force in time and space, revealing how violent, yet lyrical, are the constant movements for survival of the land and its biological forces. Botanical forms act as evidence of endurance under pressure, responding to histories of extraction and violence. The canvas therefore holds collapse and regeneration in tandem, making visible the labor of attention, adaptation, and relational persistence. To persist is to surrender to that tension: to care for what endures, to allow what has emerged to guide what comes next - the next change, the next move.
There is no silence in the forest
160x200cm
Natural dyes, oils, enamel paint, acrylic, oil sticks, pastels and pencils on raw cotton canvas
There is No Silence in the Forest explores native Brazilian cosmologies, where time and space are inseparable and embodied by the landscape.
The work positions the forest as a resonant field which is never silent, layered with sound multiplicities that range from the most subtle to the most dense, perceptible only when one enters into stillness. This acoustic ecology is looked at from method and metaphor prospectives, challenging extractive logics that divide humans from nature and reduce the Earth to resource rather than force. By amplifying the more-than-human as a participant in dialogue, the work proposes a counter-archive of justice, listening and resilience.
Natural dyes, oils, enamel paint, acrylic, oil sticks, pastels and pencils on raw cotton canvas
There is No Silence in the Forest explores native Brazilian cosmologies, where time and space are inseparable and embodied by the landscape.
The work positions the forest as a resonant field which is never silent, layered with sound multiplicities that range from the most subtle to the most dense, perceptible only when one enters into stillness. This acoustic ecology is looked at from method and metaphor prospectives, challenging extractive logics that divide humans from nature and reduce the Earth to resource rather than force. By amplifying the more-than-human as a participant in dialogue, the work proposes a counter-archive of justice, listening and resilience.
My Head in Shambles
267x180cm
Acrylics, oil sticks, watercolour, ink and pastels on raw canvas
This large piece was created out of necessity. Necessity to express and make sense of the convolutions of thoughts in my mind. Intuitive improvisation and impulsivity shape bold, hard-edged voluminous forms and drawings in a raw expression of conflicting thoughts: Pressure to do genuine art, guilt, anticipation for the future and other personal wars are rendered in energetic broad gestures in genuine conflict and in battle with each other. Non-apologetic, raw expressions of joy and sadness, pride and shame, Brazilianity and regionality permeate through the canvas, with powerful contrasts of form, space and colour, forming a concrete expression of my head in shambles.
Acrylics, oil sticks, watercolour, ink and pastels on raw canvas
This large piece was created out of necessity. Necessity to express and make sense of the convolutions of thoughts in my mind. Intuitive improvisation and impulsivity shape bold, hard-edged voluminous forms and drawings in a raw expression of conflicting thoughts: Pressure to do genuine art, guilt, anticipation for the future and other personal wars are rendered in energetic broad gestures in genuine conflict and in battle with each other. Non-apologetic, raw expressions of joy and sadness, pride and shame, Brazilianity and regionality permeate through the canvas, with powerful contrasts of form, space and colour, forming a concrete expression of my head in shambles.
A Samba for Rio
178x140cm
Diptych
Acrylics, oil sticks, pastels and pencils on reclaimed cotton fabric
This one goes for my favourite city, this place of colours, curves and contradictions. Italo Calvino in Invisible Cities said ‘The city is a mosaic of impossibilities that somehow hold together.’ It’s the forests pressed against dense urban sprawl, the easy smiles despite of the deep inequities, the colours of the fruit at the juice bars, and of course, the flamboyance of Carnival. My memories are layered and unreliable, filtered through distance, imagination and desire. This work grows from those recollections, from the vivid flora and fauna that inhabit both memory and myth, forming a landscape of belonging, both personal and poetic.
Diptych
Acrylics, oil sticks, pastels and pencils on reclaimed cotton fabric
This one goes for my favourite city, this place of colours, curves and contradictions. Italo Calvino in Invisible Cities said ‘The city is a mosaic of impossibilities that somehow hold together.’ It’s the forests pressed against dense urban sprawl, the easy smiles despite of the deep inequities, the colours of the fruit at the juice bars, and of course, the flamboyance of Carnival. My memories are layered and unreliable, filtered through distance, imagination and desire. This work grows from those recollections, from the vivid flora and fauna that inhabit both memory and myth, forming a landscape of belonging, both personal and poetic.
Study for Tapestry
140x160cm
Acrylics and pastels on salvaged cotton curtains
Acrylics and pastels on salvaged cotton curtains
Iconographies of land and fire panel 02
140x90cm
Acrylics, oil sticks, pastels and watercolour pencils on raw cotton canvas
I am fascinated by the extremes of the Mediterranean, the volcanic-formed geographies which through fire and movement, violence and change, ironically provide so much life to these land and waters. Here at the Aeolian Islands in Sicily the fresh fish, the plants, the flowers, the fruit and the hearty vegetables are just flamboyant, coming out of this incredibly rich sea and soil. The geography itself is quite unusual: islands popping out of the water, like lands of dormant lava. I wonder if the violence of the formation of the land that leads to such fertility is an ancient pact between fire and abundance.
Alexandre Dumas in 1835 wrote of the people of these islands that they ‘live between the volcano and the sea, and take from each its character: from the one its fire, from the other its calm.’ - not sure if calm is the right word, but surely a faith in what the waters and the land will provide and resignation in acceptance of its impact in everyday life is real.
Acrylics, oil sticks, pastels and watercolour pencils on raw cotton canvas
I am fascinated by the extremes of the Mediterranean, the volcanic-formed geographies which through fire and movement, violence and change, ironically provide so much life to these land and waters. Here at the Aeolian Islands in Sicily the fresh fish, the plants, the flowers, the fruit and the hearty vegetables are just flamboyant, coming out of this incredibly rich sea and soil. The geography itself is quite unusual: islands popping out of the water, like lands of dormant lava. I wonder if the violence of the formation of the land that leads to such fertility is an ancient pact between fire and abundance.
Alexandre Dumas in 1835 wrote of the people of these islands that they ‘live between the volcano and the sea, and take from each its character: from the one its fire, from the other its calm.’ - not sure if calm is the right word, but surely a faith in what the waters and the land will provide and resignation in acceptance of its impact in everyday life is real.
FLORAFLORAFLORA
150X150cm
Acrylics, collage, oil sticks, pastels and pencils on raw cotton canvas
FLORAFLORAFLORA
This work explores music manuscripts, poetry and collage, using assemblage and everyday materials to unsettle the boundaries of the painting medium. Fragments of an earlier canvas are torn apart and reconfigured with notebooks, cardboard and tape salvaged from a derelict factory in Sicily. The surface welcomes discarded matter, rearticulated into a new order.
The composition reflects conditions of detachment, alienation and distant devotion to the presence of the non-human lives. Its fractured structure echoes a wider estrangement from the environment, exposing the fragility of our place within ecological and cultural systems. At the same time, the act of collecting and cataloguing fragments recalls a colonial drive to classify, catalogue and possess the flora, exploring the idea of cultural and environmental appropriation typical of extractive systems of thought, which are as historical as they are contemporary.
Language and textual traces appear as interruptions rather than explanations, operating as material fragments that blur the line between image and inscription. Through tearing, recomposing, and binding, the work confronts processes of disintegration and reassembly, situating itself within an ongoing body of work that explores radical decolonization, rewriting history and the poetic, non-utilitarian view of flora.
Special thanks to the composer Mathilde Marsal - our chat about writing music, translating the non-material to material in scores and manuscripts was a big inspiration for me in this piece
Acrylics, collage, oil sticks, pastels and pencils on raw cotton canvas
FLORAFLORAFLORA
This work explores music manuscripts, poetry and collage, using assemblage and everyday materials to unsettle the boundaries of the painting medium. Fragments of an earlier canvas are torn apart and reconfigured with notebooks, cardboard and tape salvaged from a derelict factory in Sicily. The surface welcomes discarded matter, rearticulated into a new order.
The composition reflects conditions of detachment, alienation and distant devotion to the presence of the non-human lives. Its fractured structure echoes a wider estrangement from the environment, exposing the fragility of our place within ecological and cultural systems. At the same time, the act of collecting and cataloguing fragments recalls a colonial drive to classify, catalogue and possess the flora, exploring the idea of cultural and environmental appropriation typical of extractive systems of thought, which are as historical as they are contemporary.
Language and textual traces appear as interruptions rather than explanations, operating as material fragments that blur the line between image and inscription. Through tearing, recomposing, and binding, the work confronts processes of disintegration and reassembly, situating itself within an ongoing body of work that explores radical decolonization, rewriting history and the poetic, non-utilitarian view of flora.
Special thanks to the composer Mathilde Marsal - our chat about writing music, translating the non-material to material in scores and manuscripts was a big inspiration for me in this piece
Holy tropics, Profane Lands
160x125cm
Acrylics, oil sticks, pastels and graphite on canvas
Holy Tropics, Profane Lands unfolds as a saturated field of memory—where colour operates as both residue and release, tracing the exuberance of tropical abundance and the deeper sediment of inherited histories. Form emerges through layered gestures: fractured outlines of flora, bodily traces, and architectural fragments converge into a chromatic terrain where pigment and texture overlap. Shapes shift, dissolve, and reappear—echoing a landscape in flux. The work describes a memorial realm, tracing the entanglements of identity, territory, and time, recalling the complex legacies of colonial occupation across tropical geographies. Inhabiting the dualities of devotion and desecration, visibility and erasure, it allows the sacred and the fractured to coexist in simultaneity. Memory here is chromatic and alive—not fixed, but atmospheric, unfolding, and sensorially charged.
Acrylics, oil sticks, pastels and graphite on canvas
Holy Tropics, Profane Lands unfolds as a saturated field of memory—where colour operates as both residue and release, tracing the exuberance of tropical abundance and the deeper sediment of inherited histories. Form emerges through layered gestures: fractured outlines of flora, bodily traces, and architectural fragments converge into a chromatic terrain where pigment and texture overlap. Shapes shift, dissolve, and reappear—echoing a landscape in flux. The work describes a memorial realm, tracing the entanglements of identity, territory, and time, recalling the complex legacies of colonial occupation across tropical geographies. Inhabiting the dualities of devotion and desecration, visibility and erasure, it allows the sacred and the fractured to coexist in simultaneity. Memory here is chromatic and alive—not fixed, but atmospheric, unfolding, and sensorially charged.
Carnvival evening, Saturday 10pm (the parade)
170x125cm
Acrylics, oil sticks, pastels and graphite on raw cotton canvas
Drawing from a transient moment of urban euphoria, this painting captures the charged simultaneity of spectacle and dissonance. Flickers of saturated light and erratic, layered mark-making suggest the vitality of a city in motion—streets swollen with presence, excess, and expectation. The canvas operates as a threshold between observation and illusion, where figures verge on abstraction, and social hierarchies blur under the glare of collective performance. Within this visual choreography, joy is rendered alongside tension, and the night becomes both a stage and a mask—a fleeting suspension of order, held in luminous contradiction.
Acrylics, oil sticks, pastels and graphite on raw cotton canvas
Drawing from a transient moment of urban euphoria, this painting captures the charged simultaneity of spectacle and dissonance. Flickers of saturated light and erratic, layered mark-making suggest the vitality of a city in motion—streets swollen with presence, excess, and expectation. The canvas operates as a threshold between observation and illusion, where figures verge on abstraction, and social hierarchies blur under the glare of collective performance. Within this visual choreography, joy is rendered alongside tension, and the night becomes both a stage and a mask—a fleeting suspension of order, held in luminous contradiction.
Saturday night in august (Panel 02 of diptych)
123x123cm
Acrylics, pastels and pencils on raw cotton canvas
The diptych ‘Saturday Night in August’ is another one of those pieces born in a hot summer night here at the Aeolian Islands, Sicily. With the studio doors open and a cold beer in the left hand, I had to let these paintings emerge as a celebration of the wonderful people who give life to the evenings in August in this corner of the Mediterranean.
Acrylics, pastels and pencils on raw cotton canvas
The diptych ‘Saturday Night in August’ is another one of those pieces born in a hot summer night here at the Aeolian Islands, Sicily. With the studio doors open and a cold beer in the left hand, I had to let these paintings emerge as a celebration of the wonderful people who give life to the evenings in August in this corner of the Mediterranean.
Flamboyant Lanscapes
240x100cm
Acrylics, oil sticks and pastels on raw cotton canvas
Flamboyant Landscapes is a work pitched high and unrelenting, laid out in an organic, yet flat panel of shapes and forms, solids and lines that recall the sensorial excess, the sensuality of the flora in the tropics. There isn’t a single straight line and everything is linked to everything. Memories of beauty, the gardens are carried in my mind through sound, distant and close, like reverberations of a busy forest. Nothing settles, everything shifts, collides and hides and then pushes forward. Landscapes that are flamboyant in their excess, in their almost theatrical colours, movements and sounds.
Acrylics, oil sticks and pastels on raw cotton canvas
Flamboyant Landscapes is a work pitched high and unrelenting, laid out in an organic, yet flat panel of shapes and forms, solids and lines that recall the sensorial excess, the sensuality of the flora in the tropics. There isn’t a single straight line and everything is linked to everything. Memories of beauty, the gardens are carried in my mind through sound, distant and close, like reverberations of a busy forest. Nothing settles, everything shifts, collides and hides and then pushes forward. Landscapes that are flamboyant in their excess, in their almost theatrical colours, movements and sounds.
The Poetics of Space
170x130cm
Acrylics and pastels on raw cotton canvas
‘The poetics of space’ revolves around the continuous construction and deconstruction of space—an exploration of how physical environments and mental landscapes intersect, shift, and reconfigure. Drawing from my architectural background, I engage with the materiality of painting to evoke the fluidity of space, memory, and time. Like architecture, my painting is not meant to be a representation but an environment that invite the viewer to experience them as places.
I am drawn to work in large-scale, often choosing sites of decay to work—ruins, abandoned construction zones, and overlooked areas of urban centers. These spaces, marked by history and impermanence, influence both the materials I use and the atmosphere I create. Raw canvas, layered paint, found objects, and photographs become integral to the work, their textures and fragments imbued with the traces of lived experience. Many pieces in this collection I’m developing began with photographs of urban sites that have been abstracted to the point where the sense of place outweighs the literal representation, evoking a more permanent, emotional connection to the space. This one however was born out of the need to create a space with solid colours and with empty negative spaces, in the simplest forms and hues and some minimal lines.
Ultimately, recently through painting I have been finding a space for reflection—a realm where meaning is not fixed, but constantly evolving. Just as the built environments we inhabit shape us, the current body of work in progress invites the viewer into a space that is not fully defined, one that shifts and transforms through engagement. In this process, I aim to construct painted realms for dialogue—not only between the viewer and the work, but also between the work and the world, where meaning becomes fluid, shifting as the work interacts with its context, in an ongoing negotiation between perception, experience, and space.
Acrylics and pastels on raw cotton canvas
‘The poetics of space’ revolves around the continuous construction and deconstruction of space—an exploration of how physical environments and mental landscapes intersect, shift, and reconfigure. Drawing from my architectural background, I engage with the materiality of painting to evoke the fluidity of space, memory, and time. Like architecture, my painting is not meant to be a representation but an environment that invite the viewer to experience them as places.
I am drawn to work in large-scale, often choosing sites of decay to work—ruins, abandoned construction zones, and overlooked areas of urban centers. These spaces, marked by history and impermanence, influence both the materials I use and the atmosphere I create. Raw canvas, layered paint, found objects, and photographs become integral to the work, their textures and fragments imbued with the traces of lived experience. Many pieces in this collection I’m developing began with photographs of urban sites that have been abstracted to the point where the sense of place outweighs the literal representation, evoking a more permanent, emotional connection to the space. This one however was born out of the need to create a space with solid colours and with empty negative spaces, in the simplest forms and hues and some minimal lines.
Ultimately, recently through painting I have been finding a space for reflection—a realm where meaning is not fixed, but constantly evolving. Just as the built environments we inhabit shape us, the current body of work in progress invites the viewer into a space that is not fully defined, one that shifts and transforms through engagement. In this process, I aim to construct painted realms for dialogue—not only between the viewer and the work, but also between the work and the world, where meaning becomes fluid, shifting as the work interacts with its context, in an ongoing negotiation between perception, experience, and space.
The Buried Village of Al Madam
267 x 180cm
Acrylics, charcoal, oil sticks and pastels on raw canvas
Florence Biennale 2023 finalist
This piece was conceived at the UAE desert at the abandoned village known as Al Madam Buried Town. This painting was rendered in two stages: Firstly, intuitive, non-planned layers were composed under the sound of live music. In a second stage, highly rationalised, memory-driven set of layers were added. The artist is fascinated with Al Madam village’s Spirit of the Place (or Genius Loci). How many memories are buried in this place, along with its architecture? Whilst the little town is indeed in ruins, surely for those who lived in the houses, had breakfast in the morning and went to the Mosque every day, their village is alive and whole, in their most treasured memories. The artist aims to stitch the residents’ fragmented identities through a multi-layered composition, overlaid with references to the late village, typical Bedouin patterns found in textiles and elements of Islamic architecture. Indeed, evocations of the current ruins, full of graffiti and houses in decay also find a place in the painting. This is the artist’s own memorial landscape claiming its territory, now part of her own private identity overlapping with the Genius Loci of this village. Layers are covered and uncovered, pushed out and pushed back, some sections are exposed and some are left totally hidden under many layers of paint. This is a tribute to the individual and collective memories buried deep inside our own private, inner landscapes.
Acrylics, charcoal, oil sticks and pastels on raw canvas
Florence Biennale 2023 finalist
This piece was conceived at the UAE desert at the abandoned village known as Al Madam Buried Town. This painting was rendered in two stages: Firstly, intuitive, non-planned layers were composed under the sound of live music. In a second stage, highly rationalised, memory-driven set of layers were added. The artist is fascinated with Al Madam village’s Spirit of the Place (or Genius Loci). How many memories are buried in this place, along with its architecture? Whilst the little town is indeed in ruins, surely for those who lived in the houses, had breakfast in the morning and went to the Mosque every day, their village is alive and whole, in their most treasured memories. The artist aims to stitch the residents’ fragmented identities through a multi-layered composition, overlaid with references to the late village, typical Bedouin patterns found in textiles and elements of Islamic architecture. Indeed, evocations of the current ruins, full of graffiti and houses in decay also find a place in the painting. This is the artist’s own memorial landscape claiming its territory, now part of her own private identity overlapping with the Genius Loci of this village. Layers are covered and uncovered, pushed out and pushed back, some sections are exposed and some are left totally hidden under many layers of paint. This is a tribute to the individual and collective memories buried deep inside our own private, inner landscapes.
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