On the occasion of her exhibition at Galleria Continua in San Gimignano, Marta Spagnoli delves deeper into her exploration of the relationship between image and movement, order and chaos, figuration and abstraction. Her pictorial practice draws from philosophical and mythological references, giving rise to works that evoke the dynamism of dance and the depth of emotional landscapes. The concept of Fantasmata, understood as the suspended image of a choreographic gesture, becomes for her a key to interpreting painting itself—an ongoing process of layering and transformation.

In this conversation, the artist guides us through her visual universe, discussing the importance of mark-making, the grid as a space of tension between structure and freedom, and the presence of organic and animal elements as symbolic mirrors of the human condition. With a sensitivity open to accident and intrusion, Spagnoli reflects on her working method and the possible future directions of her artistic research.

Fantasmata explores the concept of movement and transformation within the image. How did you develop this idea, and what does the term “Fantasmata” mean to you concerning painting?

For me, it was both a visual and conceptual coincidence. The term Fantasmata, primarily used in philosophical contexts, is applied in dance to describe the “image” of a movement—an instant in which the energy of an entire choreography is concentrated yet remains suspended, waiting to be released. I found a parallel with my work, recognizing affinities in the way I conceive space, move through it, and explore the balance between fullness and emptiness—a suspension charged with potential. I wanted to deepen this connection not only conceptually but also formally, composing images according to a choreographic logic: the subjects, often repeated within the composition of the canvas like a form of writing, evoke the dynamics of a dance ensemble in motion.

Your works often feature organic and animal elements, such as floating algae and clawed creatures. What symbolic meaning do you attribute to these forms?

For a long time, I have been questioning the relationship between human beings and what surrounds them and has always accompanied them: the landscape with its organic elements, but above all, the “other” animals. I feel connected to the symbolic value that has been attributed to them over time, particularly through myth. Myth is not only an attempt at understanding but also an act of projection: through its images, we recognize ourselves, differentiate ourselves, empathize, or distance ourselves from what surrounds us. The choice of my subjects does not always follow a rational logic; it is often guided by less evident, more intuitive impulses.

The grid in Fantasmata II seems to suggest both structure and limitation. What role does this tension between order and chaos play in your work?

This tension likely reflects an inner restlessness in reconciling precision and balance with more instinctive and exuberant freedom. It is almost a dialogue between what I need and what I want to express. The grid suggests an apparent order, but it is immediately subverted by the movement of the painting and its subjects, transforming into a space that is both structure and openness—a stage or a musical score on which to improvise. Moreover, order and chaos are not opposites but different phases of my painting process: one introduces movement, while the other defines its contours and enhances its tensions.

In your works, there is room for accident and intrusion—unexpected elements that disrupt the composition. What function do these elements serve in your creative process?

Two types of presences coexist in my works: those that develop within the choreographic movement and those that are more foreign, almost disruptive, breaking the balance and opening new spaces for interpretation, connecting to recurring themes in my visual imagination. I am interested in freely embracing any element that can enrich the image, allowing myself to be guided by its internal logic. I alternate between fullness and emptiness, more or less figurative elements, and follow the irregular intervals that characterize my creative process. This approach reflects a nomadic vision, influenced by the multiplicity of visual and cultural references that we can now traverse and reinterpret without defined boundaries.

Your work seems to oscillate between figuration and abstraction, between form and “defiguration.” How do you find a balance between these two poles?

I have always moved between these two ways of formulating an image if they can be defined as such. Drawing has long been a research tool for understanding subjects and shaping images, and often, the mark itself has played a central role in my process. A mark emerging from the white of the surface establishes a dialogue between fullness and emptiness, between what is defined and what remains in potential, already suggesting a form of disfiguration—an open, incomplete image in continuous rewriting. The coexistence of figuration and abstraction is therefore a natural extension of this balance.

The idea of a "sentient" landscape, which is not only natural but also emotional and psychological, is very strong in your work. How did this approach develop in your artistic practice?

I realized that even when I depicted scenes resembling landscapes, my research extended beyond mere spatial description, intertwining with a deeper, emotional, and symbolic dimension, often embedded within the form itself. As I mentioned with animals, landscapes and natural environments have always been territories of identification and projection for human beings, especially when viewed through a mythological lens. The landscape becomes sentient both as an anthropomorphized mirror, where layers of visions and psychic impulses accumulate and as an "other" entity—a counterpoint to human perception, enigmatic and inaccessible. In this body of work, I wanted to bring the landscape closer to the idea of a moving body, a dynamic and organized ensemble of natural elements that recalls the structure of a choreography.

Your painting is characterized by complex pictorial and graphic layering. What is your working method, and how do you construct the image through these layers?

My creative process begins with the neutral white of the canvas—a space that appears empty and neutral only in appearance, where either the mark or an initial layer of liquid paint begins to settle. That initial white never completely disappears; it remains as an underlying presence, a foundation that resurfaces and intertwines with the subsequent layers. As the work progresses, the visual narrative is structured through overlays and progressive definitions, but I constantly return to that original white, which re-embraces and recomposes the underlying elements. It is a process that is partly spontaneous yet marked by indispensable phases—moments when I know the image will undergo a radical transformation, redefining its internal tensions and redrawing the forces at play.

The concept of primordial movement, from chaos to organization, is central to your research. Is there a particular philosophical or scientific reference that has inspired you?

No, I wouldn’t say so. It is the result of observing images and the way I work.

Looking to the future, what other directions would you like to explore in your artistic research? Is there a theme or material you feel the need to delve into?

I don’t know—there are many readings I have noted down, and subjects I would like to explore, but I tend not to be rigid about the progression of my work. I believe that Fantasmata is such a vast image that I could immerse myself even further into this world.