What is the best thing that I love about my work? The best thing I love about my work is the moment when the invisible begins to breathe. I love the way creation forces me to stay porous: to receive, to negotiate, to transform. It is a continuous dialogue with what exceeds me, a practice of attention that keeps me honest, awake, and ethically aligned. I am drawn to research as a generative act: I delve into literary and poetic texts that become the conceptual architecture of my works. I study the naked body — stripped of identity, freed from narrative — as if it were an unopened book, a surface of pure potential. I translate the body into art as a communicative threshold, a medium through which knowledge becomes intimacy, and intimacy becomes respect. I
continually explore new paths and frontiers, both in the materials I choose and in the themes I confront, allowing experimentation to remain the engine of my practice.
What is my idea of happiness? My idea of happiness is not a peak or an explosion; it is a subtle, continuous unfolding. It is the moment when my inner rhythm aligns with the world outside, when I can move without forcing, listen without defending, create without rushing. Happiness, for me, is a kind of lucid softness: a space where thought and sensation coexist without competing. It happens when I am fully present in what I am doing — painting, writing, walking, observing — and the boundary between myself and what I’m touching becomes thinner, more permeable.
Picture credits: Adriano Cataldo
What is my greatest fear? My greatest fear is the moral disfigurement of humanity: that dark, corrosive force that appears when those in power forget the weight of responsibility and act only to feed their own ego, greed, and hunger for control. I fear the violence that hides behind institutions, the coldness of decisions made without compassion, the way entire lives can be bent or broken by the arrogance of a few. What terrifies me is not humanity itself, but what humanity becomes when empathy is silenced — when the powerful treat people as numbers, obstacles, or instruments. That is the true ugliness: the loss of dignity, the erasure of tenderness, the triumph of indifference.
What is the trait that I most deplore in myself? I don’t think I have a trait I truly detest. If anything, at times I ignore my intuition and act on impulse — and that’s when I slip into error.
Which living persons in my profession do i most admire? Among the living artists in my field, I admire those who defend integrity over spectacle — creators who remain faithful to their inner truth, who resist the seduction of power, and who keep beauty aligned with ethics. They are few, but they exist, and they remind me that art can still be an act of courage.
What is the thing that I dislike the most in my work? In reality, I like everything about my work. Of course, there are more serene moments and others that are less so, but I love both. Perhaps the only thing I do not like is the discrimination — still quite present — toward women’s work. Even in the arts.
Picture credits: Adriano Cataldo
When and where was I the happiest, in my work? I have been happiest in my work whenever I felt that what I was doing was necessary, true, and neither negotiated nor negotiable. It is not a place, but an alignment. And I have been even happier when I felt the response from young people: small seeds scattered that have blossomed.
If I could, what would I change about myself? I wouldn’t change anything, not even the wrinkles on my face.
What is my greatest achievement in work? My greatest achievement in my work is having remained faithful to my inner movement — creating without compromise, without shrinking, and without betraying the truth of my gesture.
Where would I most like to live? I love the sea, but I also love cities rich in culture — and even large metropolises. If I’m honest, I would like to live by moving from place to place.” I seek a mobile ecosystem, metamorphosis, culture, and relationships with different people.
What is my most treasured possession? Possession refers only to objects. So I consider myself fortunate to have a treasure of love and affection from the people who surround me — friends, loved ones, and even animals.” Another treasure I cherish is the entire world of Nature.
What is my most marked characteristic? My most marked characteristic is my inner clarity — a quiet, steady force that guides me, keeps me aligned, and allows me to remain true to myself and to my work.
Picture credits: Adriano Cataldo
What is my most inspirational location, in my city? “The places that inspire me are many. In truth, there isn’t one specific location. Inspiration often arrives unexpectedly, like a flash out of a clear sky. It can happen while I’m walking through the streets of the city, on a path in the woods, or sitting at a café. Wherever I am, it is a place where my inner dynamism is active and awakened by stimuli in movement.
What is my favorite place to eat and drink, in my city? I don’t have a single favorite place to eat or drink in my city. I choose places based on the atmosphere, the moment, and the kind of movement I feel inside. Sometimes it’s a quiet café, sometimes a lively spot, sometimes a place surrounded by nature. What matters to me is the energy, not the address.
What books influenced my life and how? Several books have influenced my life, each in a different way. Some have opened inner landscapes, others have shifted my way of seeing the world. ‘Il talismano di Fedro’ by Davide Susanetti has been especially important to me — its poetic and philosophical depth shaped my artistic research and helped me translate thought into gesture. Books on mythology, philosophy, and the origins of the human body — such as Neil Shubin’s
reflections on our marine ancestry — have expanded my sense of connection with nature and with the long history of life. These books did not simply inform me; they transformed me, offering new languages, new images, and new ways of understanding myself and my work. Among all the books, one remains my lifelong companion: Ovid’s Metamorphoses.
You Only Die Once. What music would I listen on my last day? There is only one song I would listen to on the day of my passage to the North-West: Gli Uccelli by Franco Battiato.
Who is my hero or heroine in fiction? To tell the truth, I have neither heroines nor heroes. Identifications don’t belong to me. I love differences too much. Nor do I see myself reflected in extraordinary feats or exceptional exploits.
Picture credits: Adriano Cataldo
Who are my heroes and heroines in real life? In real life, I don’t have heroes or heroines. What I admire are the people who move with integrity, tenderness, and courage in their everyday lives — friends, loved ones.
Which movie would i recommend to see once in a lifetime? I believe that recommending a single film to watch once in a lifetime is like suggesting a single meal. And I also think that my tastes often differ from those of others — unless one truly knows the person they’re recommending it to. A film or a book is like a perfume: there’s always the risk of choosing the wrong one.
What role play stories in my life and work? Stories in my life and work are not escapes or narratives to imitate. They are thresholds. They help me understand transformation, difference, and the invisible movements that shape the body and the world. I don’t use stories to identify with characters, but to explore the spaces between them — the tensions, the gestures, the metamorphoses.
What do the words ‘You are the storyteller of your own life’ to me? For me, being the storyteller of my own life means shaping the inner movement of my experiences, not turning them into anarrative. I don’t create a story — I reveal its structure. Being a storyteller isn’t an act of invention — it’s an act of listening to what moves beneath the surface.
Who is my greatest fan, sponsor, partner in crime? My greatest fan, sponsor, and partner in crime is not a single person. It’s the constellation of people and beings who have stood beside me with affection, trust, and freedom. It’s the one who walks beside me, who gives me space, who supports me with affection, who accepts me as I am. True complicity is silent, far from spectacle.
Which people or companies would I like to work with? I would welcome the opportunity to collaborate with art magazines such as Espoarte, Artribune, and even Vogue, whose editorial sensibilities resonate with the conceptual and poetic dimensions of my practice. I would also be pleased to establish a dialogue with galleries such as Tornabuoni and Dello Scudo, whose curatorial vision aligns with my interest in research‑driven, materially attentive artistic processes. Equally meaningful to me would be the chance to interact with the Museum of Contemporary Art in Cavalese, a context capable of hosting practices that explore the body, language, and the thresholds between the visible and the invisible.
What project am I looking forward to work on? I am currently working on several projects at once and creating the cover artworks for the new album of an Italian musician, while continuing to write art articles for a specialized magazine. I am curating the VIII Biennale of the regional artists’ association FIDA – Trentino Alto Adige, shaping its direction and critical framework. At the same time, I am developing performance art workshops for high‑school students, scheduled for next autumn. Looking ahead, my main project for next year is to present my entire body of works dedicated to Plato’s Phaedrus in a gallery in Milan. Other projects are already taking shape, as my creative forge is, fortunately, in full and vibrant activity.
Where can you see me or my work? You can discover my works and performances through art galleries, and you can read about my work in some magazines. You can find me on my website or follow me on social media: http://www.barbaracappello.com
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What do the words “Passion Never Retires” mean to me? How could one ever “retire” passion? How could one send creativity into pension, or silence the movement that generates art? It would be like stopping life itself — like denying a profound gift that I have received. My passion is not a task, a job, or a phase. It is an inner movement, a way of perceiving, thinking, and breathing. It is the force that keeps my work alive, that keeps me in relation with the world, with the body, with language, with others. To retire passion would mean to betray myself. And that is something I cannot do.
Which creative heroines should Peter invite to tell their story? I think Peter could contact the following artists: Barbara Grossato, Laura Marcollini, Cassia Raad, Annalisa Filippi, and the writer-poet Annachiara Marangoni.
How can you contact me? Write to: barbara_cappello@yahoo.com