Chiara Lera

What drives you to create?

Do you feel this pain inside? This fog that doesn’t go away until you sit down, turn on the light, and start drawing? Then nothing is clear, but everything shines, and you know it’s okay.

Painting is like breathing; it’s indispensable. If I don’t, I feel as empty as a chrysalis shell. Painting isn’t therapy, it’s substance. While I work, I feel something falling into place, and that it couldn’t be otherwise.

It’s a dance, a ritual. I move in an altered yet lucid state of consciousness, in which I let something flow through me, an energy greater than myself that I channel. It takes a lot of humility; it’s useless to pretend to be in control, because the moment you delude yourself into thinking you’re in control, everything slips away and you’re in crisis. Art is a small flame to be nurtured and shared. Because I’m not the only one who finds something good in it, you know? I feel it also benefits those who stop to observe. This is a very important point of contact.

What inspires you?

Sometimes it’s a detail that sticks in my mind, sometimes it’s a photograph or the trace of a dream. In my drawings there are no hugs, no smiles, no ideal worlds or clear skies. Only scraps, garbage, stuff that no longer works as it should and that watches enigmatically from below at your annoyance. I pick up what hurts and give it back to you with kindness. Don’t take me too seriously, don’t be afraid of my little provincial demons. They are yours too.

How do you bring your works to life?

I put on a record at high volume, one of those that dig deep, that take you where they decide, or more simply, wherever happens.

Then I set up the table, clean, neatly arranged paints and brushes, and some blank sheets of paper. Three is the perfect number; I never paint one piece at a time because that would be a death sentence. While I’m focused on a drawing, the others dry, the vision and materials settle, and I have time to see them in perspective. Three, five, seven—I love prime numbers; they can become many things or simply be themselves.

When I paint, chance plays a fundamental role. I don’t control, I let it flow. I create, destroy, set aside, then pick up again and gradually add details, not in a mechanical or decorative way, but radically and sometimes destructively. Daring, saving, enriching, waiting, destroying, recycling. These are decisive moments, never predictable.

Research follows a train of thought, not a structured project. There is no beginning or end, but a record of psychic events captured on paper, in the form of signs, images, and words, with the voyeuristic intent of being observed rather than understood. The materials used are mostly recycled, with a predominance of small, manageable, and user-friendly supports, ready to be distorted without respect but with much love.