It was November 2024 when we first entered the studio of artist Gabriella Siciliano. Born in Naples in 1990, Siciliano continues to surprise with her ability to blend sweetness and bitterness in her work, where pop aesthetics serve as a glue for the dreams and fears of an entire generation. One of the most followed artists of recent years, Siciliano keeps carving out her own unique and recognizable space in the Italian art scene. Today, we find her featured in the group exhibition Our Souls at Night at the Umberto Di Marino Gallery in Naples. We met Gabriella and her cat Paulina to reflect on the past year, revisit some of her most significant moments, and speculate about the future. As of February 2025, her studio remains unchanged, still covered in glitter and colorful little monsters.
Gabriella Siciliano, “Easter ‘97”. Colored aluminum foil chocolate wrappers, glue, wooden panel, painted wooden frame, 80x120x3cm, 2024. Courtesy of the artist
Concetta Luise: Hi Gabriella, how about we go backward and start with your recent collaboration with Umberto Di Marino? Some of your most famous site-specific works are included in the exhibition, along with lesser-known ones, such as Easter ‘97 (2024). How did these latest pieces come about?
Gabriella Siciliano: They actually emerged last year when I was invited to participate in the CONAI Prize, a competition focused on circular art. I wanted to depict a still life – a traditional theme in painting – but made of chocolate wrappers, which always carry a kind of melancholic aftertaste. You know, chocolates eaten at the end of a love story, when you’re feeling down. I wanted to propose, in such a cheerful image filled with colorful flowers, both the symbol and the discarded material that these wrappers represent.
This bittersweet essence is a distinctive trait of your work, which often appears visually appealing and captivating but is filled with deep, dark fears. However, these pieces also make me think of something else: we are not used to seeing you work on canvas. In your practice, sculpture and physicality have always played a predominant role. Can you explain how this return to a “canvas” relates to your artistic research, where dance and sculpture take center stage?
Well, there is a connection because, although it’s two-dimensional, it is not a canvas. It is a wooden panel where the image is broken down into color fields and then reconstructed through materials. I think it’s closer to sculpture or weaving, as it shares a meticulous, slow, and meditative manual process. It also relates to physicality and performance, where one must have the ability to stay focused for long periods, performing precise, repetitive tasks while entering a meditative, almost looped state.
The action is repeated endlessly, over and over – something you had already explored with your tapestries. In performance, you often find yourself teetering between two extremes: cathartic release or frustration. Can you tell us about your performance Da casa mia non si vede il mare (2024)? And what do you consider to be the purpose and function of performance art?
This work, and my performances in general, hold a potential function — somewhere between liberation and a state of stillness. The feet remain firmly planted on the ground, confronting all limits, comforts, and a whole series of experiences— past traumas that ultimately shape both me and everyone’s present. I believe that everyone has a desire to free themselves from something. At the same time, I’ve learned that to do so, you first have to accept your limits rather than fight them. In the past, I would always try to push against them, but that led nowhere. For me, this also relates to the paradox of our Western society, where many objects are considered essential, but if we stopped to reflect, we’d realize they’re completely unnecessary. It’s a movement neither inward nor outward. The same applies to the entertainment industry, a machine designed to fill empty spaces. But sometimes, by sheer coincidence, those spaces remain empty, forcing people to confront their inner world. That can be terrifying. To me, the purpose of performance is to externalize an ongoing inner conflict that I experience and try to exorcize.
Gabriella Siciliano, “Da casa mia non si vede il mare”, installation view, courtesy of Museo Madre, Naples. Ph. by Amedeo Benestante.
What does “pop” mean to you? And when did you realize that pop materials were the right medium to bring your ideas to life?
When I hear “pop,” I immediately associate it with Pop Art, conceptually speaking. But what does “pop” mean now, in 2025, in Naples? To me, it’s walking into a Chinese store and finding absurd, hyper-colored objects that, at the same time, exude a deep sadness.
Would you say that your installation La Casa di Wendy also has a pop aesthetic? Among all your works, it seems to be the most restless and somber in addressing generational malaise.
That’s true — perhaps there’s nothing pop left in it, except for its ironic component, since it’s made of soft blue rubber embedded with glitter. Then there’s the photo of the young monster on the mirror… But yes, in reality, it’s my least colorful work. At first glance, it almost appears black and white. I think this shift happened because times have changed. We are in a state of war, and the artwork responded to this change in our era.
Gabriella Siciliano, “La Casa di Wendy”, installation view, courtesy of Fondazione Made in Cloister, Naples. Ph. by Maddalena Tartaro.
Your work always invites us not to take ourselves too seriously while also urging us not to ignore our doubts and fears. What role do irony and humor play for you?
When we manage to look at a problematic situation from the outside, we might surprise ourselves by laughing about it, encountering a dual reality. This is why I try to maintain balance in my work… I think that if I fall too far on either side, I won’t be able to do what I do anymore.
How do you think your work would change if you weren’t in Naples?
It would lack that touch of sadness, that introspection. If I had studied outside of Naples, I would have received more structured guidance, been taught a more specific way of making art, and perhaps had less freedom to work on self-reflection.
Finally, if you had to pair your work with music…
It would be an album by Lucio Battisti featuring Britney Spears.
Concetta Luise
Info:
Our Souls at Night
Umberto Di Marino Gallery
22.02.2025 | 05.04.2025
Via Alabardieri 1, 80121 Naples
Hours: Monday to Saturday: 11:00 AM – 1:00 PM / 3:00 PM – 7:00 PM
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