“Credo che l’atto creativo non si esaurisca nell’oggetto e che la sua forma più compiuta sia da ricercarsi in qualcosa di più largo, di più vivo. Diciassette anni fa ho costruito un sistema produttivo. Oggi so che quello era solo il primo passo per costruire un modo di stare al mondo che racchiudesse tutte le mie parti.
Negli anni ’20 il filosofo sudafricano Jan Christiaan Smuts coniò il termine “olistico”, dal greco holos - tutto, intero. L’idea di fondo è questa: un sistema non può essere compreso scomponendolo nelle sue parti. Sai quando si dice “stai guardando il dito, non la luna”? Quella cosa lì.
Da due anni riunisco, nel mese in cui sono nata, nel paese dove sono nata, persone che hanno un patrimonio dentro: di danza, di corpo, di memoria. Vengono da posti lontani, portano qualcosa che qui non esisteva, e qui lo lasciano. Il luogo si lascia trasformare dalla bellezza della relazione: mani, sguardi, passi si intrecciano e non saranno mai più gli stessi.
Il linguaggio cambia, il gesto è lo stesso con cui faccio le borse. Questo gesto è il mio intero.” Benedetta Bruzziches
Video: @manto_studioproject
C’è una pista da ballo grande quanto un paese intero. Ci sono passi che intrecciano piedi, sguardi, pensieri.
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Caprarola Balla
Caprarola (VT)
7-10 maggio 2026
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Every now and then, someone brings you something you weren’t looking for. It happened during the second review of the Industry Project with the students of the Master in Accessories Design at @accademiacostumeemoda . I looked at the research, the images, the connections each of them had chosen, the way they had laid out their own world in front of them. There is a privilege that runs through the years when you are still deciding who to be, that space where only ideas and possibilities exist. Where the market has no voice yet. here expectations don’t weigh on you yet. That freedom has a rare quality. You feel it in the references you choose. And the way you read reality says more than any finished project: it tells where you come from, what you feel, what you’re searching for. A review is never a destination. It’s the moment a story decides to exist. I’m savouring my front-row seat, watching them become.
Millvina Dean survived the Titanic at nine weeks old. She never remembered a second of it. For 97 years, she could not hear water running in a bathtub. The amygdala records before memory forms. Stored in muscle and nerve; before language, before self. The body inherits what it never lived. She died on May 31, 2009, the same day the Titanic was launched. The body keeps the score. Long after the mind has let go.
Photos: @zoenatalemannella
Can humans live on light alone?
In 1995, an Indian man named Hira Ratan Manek claimed he could. He said he stopped eating entirely, surviving on water, occasional tea, and sunlight. Researchers reportedly monitored him for over 400 days of fasting. Brain scans allegedly showed an enlarged pineal gland, elevated serotonin and melatonin, unusual neural activity. His body didn’t collapse. It seemed to adapt. The full report was never published. The project was quietly shelved.
Plants do it every day. They turn light into life. Why not us? Well, in 2011, Manek was filmed eating a full meal at a restaurant in San Francisco.
We still like to think the answer is yes.
I was looking for a goldsmith who would let himself be guided by a vision and never say “it can’t be done.” In a small town in Tuscany I met Lucia and her husband Stanislao. I wanted to bring the light of Cistercian cathedrals at the solstice in a bag. The kind that enters from a single point and crosses the nave in twenty minutes. I wanted that light on me, moving as I walked. Lucia was sceptical. She said: “Let’s try.”
I have never arrived at Lucia’s atelier and found her without the torch. She looks up, greets you, and the flame goes back to the piece. She stops only for coffee, and even as she pours it, you sense that in her head she is already soldering.
The oxyacetylene torch in her hands is a paintbrush. She stitches crystal threads soldered in silver onto a brass jig, one by one, in alternating stages, building an aura of crystals. At a certain point during the work, something happened that happens when someone puts into an object more attention than you think it can hold. And yet its capacity to be loved surprises you.
Let’s try, Lucia always says. As if it were a small thing. It isn’t. This bag carries her name.
