Your work floats between fluid, surreal, and otherworldly. What draws you to hybrid, alien forms? Is it a rebellion against realism?
No, it’s not a rebellion against realism. I’m not trying to escape reality, but to shift how we look at it. What we consider “real” is often just what we’re used to. Through hybrid and alien forms, I want to show how things we see every day, like our bodies, nature, and textures, can take on a completely different meaning when seen from another angle.
I want people to question reality, to let go of fixed ideas. There’s beauty in the unfamiliar. By blending the human and the non-human, I explore how these elements can coexist in strange, fluid, and unexpected ways. It’s my way of opening a door to other possibilities and other ways of being.
Growing up by the sea in Naples clearly left an imprint. How does the underwater world still shape your imagination and visual storytelling?
Growing up by the sea shaped a big part of how I imagine things. The underwater world always felt like something hidden, quiet, slow, and surreal. Completely separate and far from our reality. Especially when you start thinking about the deep sea, where sunlight doesn’t reach and where creatures live that we’ve never seen or even know exist. It feels alien. And yet it’s part of our planet. That contradiction has always stuck with me.
I love snorkeling, and every time I do it, I feel like I’m observing a parallel and fantasy world from above. There’s this sense of floating over a living landscape that’s completely different from ours – strange shapes, textures, movements. I get completely absorbed by it.
It’s peaceful, but also unpredictable and wild. Watching how marine creatures move and exist in relation to their environment makes me think about how many other forms of life and coexistence are possible. Ones we don’t normally consider.
This perspective feeds directly into my work. I’m not trying to literally recreate the ocean, but that sense of disconnection from the surface reality of entering a space that runs on different rules. It is something I always carry with me. It influences how I shape my forms, how I think about movement, and how I imagine new kinds of life.
Beauty in your work feels elastic and unknowable, creatures that are seductive and strange. What is your relationship to the concept of beauty?
Beauty for me is complicated. It’s not just about things looking “pretty” in the traditional sense that society tries to impose on us. I see beauty in things that are strange, unusual or even disturbing. That’s where I find the most interesting stories. When something doesn’t fit the usual idea of what’s beautiful, but still has its own unique power and meaning.
I’m interested in how beauty changes depending on how you look at it, how it can be something alive and flexible, not fixed. Using digital art, I try to show those hidden sides of beauty, such as the patterns, textures, and forms that we usually overlook or don’t think about as beautiful.
My work is really about pushing people to rethink what beauty means and to be open to all kinds of differences, even ones and especially the ones that might feel unfamiliar at first.
The digital realm is often dismissed as synthetic, yet your pieces feel deeply sensorial, tactile, and even emotional. How do you humanise the synthetic in your creative process?
Digital isn’t separate from the human experience for me. It’s another layer, a way to reveal what’s already there but often invisible. I don’t try to disguise the synthetic, but I work with it honestly, letting the artificial textures and forms coexist with organic shapes.
In my process, I pay close attention to how these elements interact. The tension between hard and soft, smooth and rough, real and unreal. That contrast creates something that feels alive, not because it’s mimicking life perfectly, but because it opens space for the viewer to connect on their own terms. To humanise the synthetic, I let the flaws, the rawness, and the strangeness be there. That’s where it feels real. In the cracks, in the unexpected edges where technology and nature meet.
Do you consider your digital beings to have stories/identities?
Yes, absolutely. Each digital being I create has its own identity – a name, a backstory, even a taxonomy. They’re not just shapes or forms; they’re characters with histories and roles within their own worlds. In fact, I’m building a whole ecosystem around them, where each creature fits into a larger web of life and meaning.
My goal is to one day release a book that brings all these beings together. Their stories, their relationships, and the world they inhabit. It’s a way to give more depth and context to the work, and invite people to dive deeper into this universe I’m creating.
There’s a spiritual quality to some of your work, almost mythic, like modern goddesses emerging from data. Are you inspired by mythology, and if so, which myths have found their way into your art?
Yes, I’m very inspired by mythology. Myths are powerful because they explore fundamental questions about existence, identity, and transformation. Themes that resonate deeply with my work. I see my digital creations as a kind of modern mythology, where ancient stories meet contemporary ideas about technology and the body.
Specific myths I draw from vary, but I’m especially interested in stories about transformation, hybrid beings, and otherworldly figures. Those that blur the lines between human and divine, natural and supernatural. For example, the Cecaelia – a creature that’s part human, part octopus – captures that sense of fluid identity and alien otherness I’m fascinated by. Its form challenges traditional ideas of the body and beauty, much like my work does. These myths help me explore how identity and reality are always shifting, and how new stories can emerge from the intersection of past and future.
If you could sculpt a full-scale immersive universe with unlimited resources, what would it feel like to step inside?
If I could create something like that, stepping inside would mean entering a space that’s infinite, unpredictable, and undefinable by time or the usual ideas of space. It wouldn’t follow any rules we know – it would stretch and fold in ways that feel both alien and familiar. In this universe, you’d encounter beings unlike anything seen before. Unique, strange, and constantly evolving. Nothing would stay the same for long; everything would be in flux, a place where the unexpected is the only constant.
It’s a space meant to challenge how we understand existence and identity. Where boundaries dissolve and new possibilities open up at every turn.
