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All my life, I’ve felt pulled in two directions — classic cusp of exposure energy.

Finding a balance between public and private life has never been easy for me. Over the past six years, I’ve tucked myself away in my work—art can be all-consuming. But today, the sky feels a little clearer. Maybe it’s the joy practice I’ve been working on. Either way, I want to open a window and share a bit of past and present.

Back in 2018, I left behind what I’d been doing for ten years to dive into embroidery art. I thought I could finally show my strangeness to the world without too much judgment. Artists live outside the fabric of everyday life. They’re allowed to be different, even eccentric. And for the first time, I felt a freedom I’d never known. Before that creative “coming out,” to those who barely knew me, I was the sociopath—or in Gen Z terms, the neurodivergent one.

After stitching and stitching and stitching, early in 2023 I met Barbara Pavan, who decided to bet on me unexpectedly, who, out of the blue, decided to take a chance on me. I showed my first piece of contemporary embroidery, L’uomo elefante, at Sansepolcro. I haven’t stopped since. In early September, I brought seven embroideries to Umbria for a modular installation. They were displayed at the entrance of the International Biennial of Contemporary Fiber Art in Valtopina — outdoors, way beyond my comfort zone. (Thanks, Barbara.)

There’s a lot of energy in the world of contemporary embroidery right now. Incredible artists are out there doing amazing work. It’s still a semi-hidden world, but in my sweet summer child hopes, it will win the hearts of many new small-scale collectors—ordinary people who give art to loved ones or themselves instead of rushing to buy meaningless commercial stuff.

In October, I started a project I’m deeply excited about. I’m embroidering on photographs taken by a Neapolitan friend whose poetic vision I share. They’re shots of Roman housing projects, taken with a large-format camera at 5 a.m. on Sundays—when the outside streets are empty, but the buildings are at their most alive inside. Through embroidery, I want to express the pulsing energy they radiate into, and through, the spaces that surround and hold them.