In the heart of Abruzzo, there once was a lake: Fucino, an inland sea surrounded by mountains, shaping the life of its people for centuries. The Romans had tried to regulate its waters, but floods kept returning. Only in the 19th century, through Prince Alessandro Torlonia’s ambitious project, was the lake finally drained, giving birth to the fertile Fucino Plain. This transformation changed not only the landscape but also its inhabitants. Fishermen, deprived of the lake that defined their lives, became farmers. With the loss of the water came a loss of memory — of rhythm, of roots.

From this fracture between past and future emerges Anàphora — from the Greek anáphorá, meaning “to carry back with oneself.” It speaks of transformation, of the human ability to adapt and preserve what is essential. The collection unfolds through a series of essential elements — a table, a stool, a lamp, a mirror — alongside ceramic vessels, sculptural forms, and ritual objects, each designed to be assembled, disassembled, and carried. Their minimalist forms recall a monastic simplicity, while the meeting of wood and metal becomes a symbol of orientation and spiritual grounding.

Anàphora reflects our belief that objects hold meaning beyond function. They are vessels of memory — reminders of what we choose to keep as we move through changing landscapes.