Eva Germani, who grew up in a small village in the Sibillini mountains: what did you dream of doing when you grew up walking down those alleys and who is Eva Germani today?

I dreamt of many things. When I was six years old, when I was walking down those alleys, I dreamt of being a mason! I used to wake up early in the morning, have a quick breakfast, as if I was going to start work, and

I would go and help the bricklayers, just for fun.

They would give me a shovel and I would knead the lime. There were still bricklayers with their paper hats. In short, very practical dreams and, to me, the bricklayer seemed like a good idea!

I have to say that I have always been a bit non-linear about dreams. I've gone through a lot of phases, so I can't really give an answer to who Eva Germani is today.

I live very much in the moment. I let events flow and take advantage of the opportunities that come along the way. And if in this myriad of opportunities I find a positive impulse or fall in love with a project, I throw myself into it headlong and turn it into something new or expand my vision on work I'm already doing. In other words, I move in a flexible manner.

In your past as a restorer, you have had the opportunity to deal with important paintings. How did the transition from restoration to painting come about and how do the two arts merged?

I have been lucky enough to work on very important paintings, but what always fascinated me was the collateral beauty of the art: the peeling walls around the painting or around the altar, the plasterwork, the gold.

I switched to painting precisely because restoration is a very technical job - once the problem has been solved and the painting restored to health, the job is done. And then, in restoration, it is forbidden to make mistakes. Instead, I was interested in the part of the error: the part of being able to create and also destroy. I like the idea of making a painting and, if I don't like it, the possibility of crumpling it up and throwing it away.

I use a lot of materials like lime on paper, which necessarily crumbles, cracks, peels. I like the feeling of transience, the transience of things.

The expression of my painting has therefore become the antithesis of what I had always done:

fixing and restoring. I am fascinated by the fragility, the poetry, the delicacy of the aesthetic traces around the work.

Your relationship with Wall&decò?

Wall&decò has a transversal approach that leaves plenty of room for creativity. It is a company with a very fine human and relational fabric. All the graphics are the result of discussions between myself and the style office, and sometimes we start with a graphic element and transform it completely...

I am particularly fond of the subject You Too, from the latest collection: the vegetation, compared to my previous works, is more rarefied and abstract. The colours themselves belong less to natural hues.

It is a narrative that is not very detailed, but which converses more with the observer, who then takes over and adds something of his own imagination.

What are the crumbs that you leave on your wallpapers and which serve to recompose your project?

I sow hidden traces in all my works: in the materials, in the aesthetic structure, or in an element that returns and is recomposed. I don't pretend to send out any particular message, except to convey an aesthetic concept that is in itself a message.

Jewellery, for example, is linked to my adolescent imagination and continues to attract and fascinate me despite the fact that it is a message in itself - as well as stones with their nuances and cuts of light.

. I am attracted by the sculptural aspect more than the pictorial one, by the sense of three-dimensionality, by the volumes.

You have the opportunity to cover the wall of a room of your cult artist (art, cinema, design, literature, music, etc.)? Who is the artist and why? Which room would you cover? With which paper?

I would say Battiato. I would see him sitting in rarefied nature and illuminated by the neon dawn of ‘You Too’, immersed in this space/non-space, in a suspension of time that dialogues with his metaphysics suspended between the real and the abstract.