I have always had a vivid imagination.

As a child, I lived in imagined worlds — layered, detailed, and ongoing — shared with a small circle of companions. These worlds grew over years.

When I entered art school as a teenager, something settled.
My imagination had found a language.

Later, studying at the Academy of Fine Arts in Venice, and discovering illustration, I didn’t feel as though I was learning something new.
It felt more like being given permission.
A place where what I had always been doing — how I saw, how I noticed — finally made sense.

Illustration remains central to my practice because it allows me to tell stories of belonging, memory, and shared experience. Stories that connect people to place, to one another, and to the emotional landscapes we carry.

Much of my studio practice begins with collage, colour, and play.

I often start by choosing a palette and painting large sheets of paper, immersing myself in colour and texture before there is any clear image in mind. These papers are then cut, layered, rearranged, and reassembled… it is a process that feels intuitive, physical, joyful.

I create my own marks and tools along the way, including hand-made stamps. Some of these are very simple (even potato stamps: my inner child loves them!) They speak directly to a part of me that remains curious, tactile, and playful. There is a deep satisfaction in working this way, letting the hands lead and allowing images to emerge rather than be planned.

Every detail in my illustrations carries a story.
Some are known to me.
Others remain open, changing as they are seen.

I love that viewers often notice different things, bring their own memories, and find meanings I hadn’t consciously placed there. The work becomes a shared space — something relational rather than fixed.

Alongside collage, cyanotype has become an important part of my practice in recent years. This light-sensitive, iron-salt process creates deep blue impressions shaped by sunlight, water, and time. I often layer cyanotypes with photographs, illustrations, and natural materials such as seaweed and leaves.

Cyanotype feels slower, more elemental.
It mirrors the way memory works — selective, layered, and partial. Some forms remain clear, while others dissolve into shadow. Chance is always present, and each piece carries the imprint of the moment in which it was made.

Both processes — collage and cyanotype — hold space for intuition, play, and emergence.
They ask for attention, presence, rather than control.