When I was a child, we spent our summers in Sardinia, visiting my paternal grandparents and extended family. During that time, we would always visit my great aunt, better known as Zia Alfia. This remarkable, 5 feet tall woman with herculean strength owned a small shop in a tiny town called Seui. She sold pretty much everything -- from gold jewelry to bread. As a child, I would spend hours in that magical land, burying myself in its textiles, observing with adoration gems and silver, standing enchanted in front of colorful yarn, and looking at her while she'd weigh bread or salami on her old, large, beautiful red scale, which she promised one day would be mine (never was, sadly).

 

In that shop I learned tatting, stitching, and crocheting as well as the art of observing and serving customers. I learned to understand the importance of archiving and, importantly, I learned to love materials, colors and textures. At the end of summer I would bring home these practical, magical gifts and then spend hours in my bedroom... making stuff. Besides school and outdoor play, my childhood world was made of paper, glue, scissors, yarn, found objects, cardboard and colors.

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When I started college, I moved back to Milano in a shoebox apartment near the Duomo cathedral. Almost daily, I'd explore nearby streets and alleys somewhat randomly, following my curiosity. While my strolls were random, one stop never was: Fiorucci on Corso Vittorio Emanuele II. While on the main floor this historic shop housed the fashion label's clothing collection, its basement was a retail shop with the same magic of Zia Alfia's store. Their curator, with her incredible eye for the unique, the unusual, and the whimsical, managed over time to jam pack that basement with a somewhat ridiculous yet astonishingly perfect amount of homewares, textiles, art, decor, books, knick knacks, and furniture from... everywhere. It was an insane space, constantly buzzing with people and most definitely part of the daily promenading surrounding the duomo square. 

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In that basement I learned the importance of experience and how context plays a key role in it. I learned about curation, about storytelling and about the space that is created in one's soul when one object ends and a new one starts. It was pure magic.

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Everyone has a dream, mine was a childhood dream that lingered and kept calling my name. A dream about a creative, wondrous little space where everyone feels welcome and where everything inspires one's imagination. A space for emerging as well as established artists and one for the many designed artefacts that I have cherished and admired for so long. A place where I can elevate the work and voices of women and other underrepresented and undervalued artists. This was a dream that for decades I postponed, ignored or even ridiculed.

 

Then, suddenly, my superhero passed away in 2023 and everything changed. No more postponing, no more ignoring, no more ridiculing my own dreams. That day imperfecta was born. I am privileged to get an opportunity to make my long held dream come true.

 

I like to believe that my superhero approves this overdue life shift.