A studio looking at the Ocean: check!
and lots of rumbling, sorry not sorry!
I was about to write about how excited I am to have reached a small milestone—how I’ve carved out another slice of life on my own, with my work, audacity, and determination (yes, stubbornness and mistakes too), without any inheritance, discounts, or gifts. I was about to share the sheer effort it took to get here, with utmost honesty, always putting myself out there. Working hard, always. But what am I rambling about?
For the sake of authenticity—my ongoing goal—I have to tell the real story. I could never have made it alone, as with anything else in my life. It’s always been a collaboration. From the first moment I visited the house that I found on Facebook (yes, it’s true!) I had many people helping me with my vision. And I could only accomplish the final mission thanks to my partner, who was able to guarantee for me and help us secure a mortgage. Yes, I’m talking about a house plus a studio! I see many artists lately sharing real parts of their life in the name of authenticity, but they often present their stories like a romance, creating these utopian expectations that are very often far from the reality.
So I was about to tell you that one day, everyone will make it, perhaps with some help along the way (as I had) and you’ll claim walls to hang your paintings on, ones you might never change or might swap out as your mood shifts. I was about to tell you that you’ll find a place to rest your bones, whether it’s a ground floor flat or a penthouse, and when you get there on your own legs, the panoramic view will be the same: a vast expanse of pride. And in the end, I’ve said it.
For a few months now, I’ve had a “home”. It’s more than I ever imagined having in a lifetime. We talk too little about how our home is our second body and how it’s directly connected to our mental health. It shapes our thoughts (whether in a studio flat or a two-bedroom place), defines our scope of action, and tells us our place in the world, our worth. But is that really true? Until recently, my only interest was having a place to welcome my art, and I struggled to find it, even though I’ve always been lucky. When I couldn’t find that place, I created it—recycling furniture, building walls, and envisioning an art studio even when it was just a room in a council house in London.
For years, I feared falling into the cliché of doing-what-you’re-told. I never wanted to meet anyone’s expectations but my own. Lately, though, something has shifted, and I’ve felt the need for a place in the world. A place to—like I mentioned earlier—scatter my bones, not fear my bad smells, dreaded phone calls, or dreams tucked away in drawers.
With great perseverance, I’ve found a home in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. I, who come from Rome and lived in London for many years, constantly hear “What are you doing here, coming from a cities like that?” Rome or London or Berlin are always the points of comparison. Rome is my city, but it’s given me countless disappointments, and it still does. I carry all the scents and colours—the Roman sky has something others don’t!—in my heart, as well as the essence of every place I’ve called home for a while: Sicily, Slovenia, Berlin, Amsterdam, London, my beloved London. And now Madeira. Another island.
My home is a scattered hotel, or perhaps a scattered heart. I get emotional when I see where I grew up, when I smell familiar scents, like my mother’s neck. But I also feel the weight of the mentality, the constraints, the street smells, the chaos, the cars, people settling for mediocrity. How hard it is to leave and let go of everything for the unknown, hoping it will be better. Because everyone thinks that leaving is always a vacation. But there are so many sacrifices made and not spoken of, and so much suffering in leaving your birthplace without a safety net.
I’ve rambled, but having built something of my own—literally—makes me nostalgic and proud at the same time. I’ll have a small studio overlooking the ocean—how strange life is! And soon, I’ll have a sofa bed for guests (I’m looking for one!) where you can come visit if you’d like. To make art together and share experiences, because I think that’s what life is about. Now I’m just waiting for those who care about me to visit, to create more art, to love passionately, to try new things, and to reinvent myself a hundred more times. Laying a brick is just the beginning; it’s like taking the first flight. Once you know you can do it, you never stop.
Oh, and I’ve got a new project on the go! I had to take a break because of the whole moving house operation, but I’m very inspired and finally more settled, ready to deep dive into everything I feel the urge to do.
Take care, and I hope to see you soon.
Warmly,
Bri