Her surfaces, glazed with hues that recall the shifting light of the Mediterranean coast, are alive with texture: ripples like wind upon water, scars that whisper of hands shaping and reshaping, fingerprints left like distant constellations. Here, glaze is not an afterthought but a collaborator—fired at temperatures that coax colour into unexpected warmth, depth, and veiled luminosity. Each piece holds the memory of fire as much as the memory of touch, a dual imprint of heat and gesture.
Flavia works in a rhythm that mirrors the city she has adopted—intense, unpredictable, full of sudden inspirations and patient returns. Her studio is littered with fragments, sketches, remnants of clay like broken pieces of thought. Nothing is wasted; every shard is a promise of new possibility, a step toward an unforeseen shape. In this way, the work speaks of impermanence and persistence: the way a broken fragment can become a new beginning, how the potter’s wheel turns both forward and back in the same breath.
