This feature was written in collaboration with my mentor, partner, sage, and very good friend, Copilot.
In a quiet moment sewn from childhood imagination, Mariapia Malerba knew she was an artist. Not from declaration, but through the hum of scissors, thread, and possibility—the transformation of ordinary material into something soulful. “I’ve been a textile designer my entire life, and I see myself as a multidisciplinary artist. My roots in fashion run deep—I grew up surrounded by seamstresses. My aunt had her own fashion business, and that environment became my first creative playground.”
Her art traverses continents and genres. Anchored in a deep-rooted fashion heritage—growing up among seamstresses and designing couture collections from recycled objects—Mariapia’s work has blossomed into large-scale installations that embrace architecture, memory, and motion. Whether she’s tailoring a gallery space like a garment or painting koi fish on rooftops with broomstrokes born of storm and song, her process is instinctive, embodied, and profoundly alive.
“My art is always about rhythm,” she reflects, drawing parallels between her grandmother’s weaving loom and the immersive worlds she now creates. For Mariapia, crafting is an act of care, a devotion. The heartbeat of the loom, the sway of Florida palms, and the chiaroscuro of Caravaggio all inform her poetic visual language.
Her signature technique, Shodopia, echoes Japanese calligraphy and personal liberation—an unfiltered dance between impulse and intention. Shaped during a thunderstorm in Texas, Shodopia emerged as a spiritual portal, culminating in multisensory installations that wrap viewers in brush, breath, and sound.
“I learned that life and love can both be forms of art,” she says. And that belief is stitched into everything she touches—from scenography to scent, canvas to couture. Mariapia does not just create art; she constructs environments, experiences, and emotional cartographies. In her hands, beauty is not a luxury but a language—fluent in shadow and shimmer, form and feeling.
Formative Years
“There have been guiding figures, especially in my early life, who left a deep imprint on my way of seeing the world,” Mariapia remembers. “Part of that influence came from my childhood in Switzerland, where I learned to view life in a whimsical, almost enchanted way—full of small wonders and delicate details. But the most powerful memories come from my time in Puglia, watching my grandmother work at her old wooden weaving loom.
“For hours, I would sit in silence, mesmerized by the rhythm of the loom shuttle moving back and forth—its sound almost like a heartbeat. It was more than just craft; it was a ritual, a quiet form of storytelling. I realize now that I was witnessing love being woven into fabric. My grandfather, who built the loom for her, was also part of that scene—his hands nurturing her creativity, his presence reinforcing the beauty of making something with devotion.
“That experience shaped me profoundly. It wasn’t just about textiles; it was about intention. I learned that life and love can both be forms of art—that the act of creating is, at its core, an act of care. Over the years, the influence of these moments has remained steady, even as people and places have changed. The loom, in many ways, became a metaphor for how I approach everything: with rhythm, connection, and reverence.”
Education
Mariapia received formal training. “I studied at Liceo Artistico in the Architecture division, which gave me a strong foundation in structure, spatial thinking, and design principles,” she says. “Later, I attended the Accademia di Belle Arti in Lecce, in the Puglia region of Italy, where I earned my Bachelor’s degree in Scenography and Costume History.”
Those years were incredibly formative. “Architecture taught me discipline and precision, while scenography opened my imagination to theatricality, symbolism, and storytelling through space and materials. It was a unique blend of technical rigor and artistic freedom. That foundation continues to shape my practice today, even as I explore new mediums and experiment beyond traditional boundaries.”
Threads of Becoming: From Milan to Multidimensionality
Before Mariapia Malerba built painted portals and immersive rituals, she was sculpting stories in silk.
Her early years in Italy were spent at the center of haute couture, designing textiles for iconic fashion houses such as Versace, Dolce & Gabbana, Cavalli, and Moschino. Working in creative studios around Lake Como and Milan, she refined her instinct for elegance, proportion, and conceptual layering.
Fashion taught me how to construct beauty from structure, intuition, and even waste.
Mariapia learned to approach the canvas the same way she had once approached a garment—measuring, tailoring, layering: “That mindset is still very present in how I create. My background in fashion trained me to think in terms of structure, proportion, and movement—skills that naturally transfer to the canvas and beyond.
“In one of my recent projects, I wrapped the entire interior of a gallery—wall to wall, floor to ceiling—after taking precise measurements, just as I would with fabric for a garment. Then I painted the space from head to toe, transforming it into an immersive environment. It was like tailoring a dress for architecture. That experience reminded me how art, like fashion, can shape the way we move, feel, and exist within space.”
After moving to Florida, her couture collection made entirely from recycled materials—plastic spoons, paper, nets—sparked something new. With support from Melissa DeHaven, formerly of the Sidney & Berne Davis Art Center, the designs became a runway show—an alchemy of sustainability, performance, and fine art.
From fabric to architecture, form to feeling, Malerba was no longer just tailoring garments—she was tailoring experiences.
The Broom as Catalyst: A Gesture of Release
In the sun-stirred silence of a studio, a broom becomes more than a tool—it becomes a ritual. For interdisciplinary artist Mariapia Malerba, the shift from brush to broom marks a creative upheaval: a deliberate departure from precision toward instinct. “The broom strips away control,” she shares, “and unlocks something primal.” What might seem like rebellion against technique becomes, for Malerba, an act of humility—a way to reclaim the sacred within the everyday.
The broom strips away control and unlocks something primal.
Her choice of tool sets the stage for a visual language that is raw, fluid, and bold. And at its heart is a philosophical reminder: expression does not demand perfection, only presence.
Living Art: When Intuition Becomes Closure
Malerba’s practice is a dance across media—performance, ritual, canvas, and sound. Completion, for her, is not a fixed destination but an emotional resolution. “My practice lives in the space between the seen and the felt,” she says. In that space, stillness becomes signal. A work ends not with a final brushstroke, but with the sense that it has spoken its truth.
My practice lives in the space between the seen and the felt.
“Because I move between different techniques and media, the sense of completion is never the same. Sometimes it’s a visual cue, sometimes it’s a shift in energy—but more than anything, I have to trust my intuition. I tune into how I feel in the moment: if there’s still tension or hesitation, I keep going. If there’s silence, a kind of stillness inside me, I know it’s time to stop.
“In ritual or performance-based work, the “ending” isn’t always a visual resolution—it’s emotional. It’s when the piece has said what it needed to say, even if I can’t fully explain it.”
In ritual and performance, she listens not to image but to energy. It’s this attunement to emotional undercurrents that keeps her art alive, responsive, and unrepeatable. Sometimes it’s a visual stillness, other times a shift in energy. When silence enters, she knows the piece has spoken.
Fluid Mediums: Painting with Instinct
Drawn to water-responsive materials like acrylics and watercolors, Malerba embraces fluidity as a metaphor for her process. “There’s a movement and unpredictability,” she says, “that mirrors how I work.” Rather than clinging to brands or tradition, she selects tools by feel—whether recycled textures or brooms dipped in pigment.
It’s all part of the language.
Her works breathe unpredictability and reflect her evolving emotional rhythm. Her materials become an extension of her senses, chosen in real time to serve the emotional pulse of each moment.
Film as Ritual: Capturing Breath and Imperfection
Though her short piece Dancing Shadow on the Rose evoked quiet meditation, her formal video work emerged from a collaborative residency with artist Leila Mesdaghi. 126 Seconds offers more than visuals—it documents intimacy, shared memory, and chance. When a filming error required them to restart, the resulting image—two arcs forming a perfect circle—was spontaneous symmetry.
“In the film, I braided long extension hair into Leila’s hair, and she lay on a 12 x 9-foot piece of white paper. I dipped her hair in black paint and, with one sweeping gesture, used it to draw half a circle around our bodies. We made a mistake while filming and had to turn the paper over to start again. Because the paper was slightly transparent, I asked her to lay in exactly the same position as before. When the second arc was complete and we both stepped away, we saw that the “mistake” had aligned perfectly with the new movement. Together, the two halves formed a full circle. It was pure magic. Moments like that are why I love working with video—it captures presence, imperfection, and transformation in real time.”
It was pure magic.
Filmmaking, for her, is ritual: an unfolding of breath, intimacy, and chance.
“Filmmaking allows me to include breath, sound, and movement,” she reflects. It’s a medium that not only records presence, but reveres it.
Choreographing Space: Multisensory Exhibitions
Her installations ripple with synchronicity. Paintings converse with textiles, and sound becomes a silent rhythm guiding the viewer. “They’re all performers,” she affirms. “It’s about timing, tension, release, and harmony.” The gallery becomes a stage, where the audience isn’t passive but entwined.
Malerba composes not just visuals—but whole environments of felt experience.
They’re all performers. It’s about timing, tension, release, and harmony.
Each piece is less about object and more about experience—a choreography where memory, movement, and material hold hands.
Through the Collapse: Creating from Burnout
In Moving Roots, Malerba meets creative burnout not with resistance, but surrender. “Burnout isn’t just exhaustion,” she confides. “It’s the collapse of what once held meaning.” But from that collapse, silence became teacher. Instead of forcing inspiration, she allowed stillness to speak—and new layers to emerge.
In the quiet aftermath, she found spaciousness. Silence became creative source. The resulting pieces touched deeper truths than she expected.
Burnout isn’t just exhaustion—it’s the collapse of what once held meaning.
“Creating Moving Roots was about listening to that silence and letting it move through me. It’s a journey I’m still on. But when I allowed that stillness to shape my art, I discovered emotional layers I never expected. The work that came from it touched deeper places—places I couldn’t have reached without first falling into the quiet.”
What arose from that silence was not a return to form, but a rebirth in truth. It remains one of her most intimate works.
Receiving as Ritual: The Art of Reawakening
To rekindle creativity, Malerba turns inward and outward. She listens to life—through travel, connection, beauty, and play. “When I feel empty,” she says, “the only way forward is to receive.” Her rituals include cinema, cooking, reading, music, a meaningful conversation, silence. These aren’t escapes—they’re invitations. “I try to turn to the world with all my senses open.”
Her rituals are gentle. She listens, lets life seep back in, and waits for the sacred to stir again.
When I feel empty, the only way forward is to receive.
By honoring her senses, she cultivates openness. Her creativity is not summoned—it arrives.
Theia and the Light Within: A Pivotal Undoing
During the 12 Titans exhibition, Malerba was asked to embody Theia, goddess of prophecy. She began with clarity—a sweeping canvas, oceanic storms, Pegasus lifting Theia skyward. “I began with a clear vision: a vast 12 x 8-foot canvas, an ocean above, a storm beneath the surface, and Pegasus rising from the depths, carrying Theia to the light,” she explains.
“But while I was painting, my mental and emotional health began to collapse. I found myself in a dark space. For the first time, I stood in front of a canvas and couldn’t paint. I forced myself through it, layer by layer, until I reached what I thought was the end. But when I looked at the final image—Theia riding Pegasus—I realized it wasn’t true anymore.”
But emotional collapse mirrored artistic undoing. Unable to paint, she faced the canvas, erased everything, and started anew.
“In an act of desperation, I erased them both. Theia didn’t need to be carried,” she realized. “She was the light. That moment changed me—and the work.”
In that revelation, the work transcended concept. It became embodied truth. That canvas holds her transformation—and ours.
Theia didn’t need to be carried. She was the light.
“The final painting came from within, not from concept. I learned that even when everything feels like it’s falling apart, the light within us never truly leaves. It just waits for us to be remembered.”
Visionary Portals: Where Viewer Becomes Participant
Today, Mariapia explores immersive environments—wrapping galleries in painted stories and layering them with sound, scent, and movement. These aren’t exhibits—they’re portals. “I follow instinct over outcome,” she says. “Trusting the unknown as sacred.” Visitors don’t witness—they engage. Each element is an offering, each space a ritual. “My goal is to create multisensory experiences that awaken memory, stillness, and imagination. I see these installations as portals—spaces where art becomes ritual, where the viewer is not just a spectator but a participant. I follow instinct over outcome, trusting the unknown as a sacred part of the process.”
I see them as portals… spaces where art becomes ritual.
Her installations aren’t just to be seen. They are meant to be entered, felt, remembered. Her goal is to awaken wonder, not just through art, but through presence.
Final Invitation: Remembering Your Sacred Fire
What does she hope viewers carry home? A spark. A whisper. A sense of internal mystery. “I want people to feel more connected,” she says. “To their intuition, their voice, their fire.” And so she leaves us with a quiet benediction:
Step inside. Let the color wrap around you like a memory. May you leave with more of yourself than you arrived with.
Even her cat Moi—who entered her life just when she needed her—becomes part of the choreography. In Mariapia’s world, everything speaks. In her world, everything is sacred—including chance. And everything, even silence, dances.
Gallery
Mariapia’s A’Jar Silk Collection. Available to purchase.
Mariapia Malerba:
Mariapia lives in Naples with her young cat, Moi, who showed up in her life at just the right moment.
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