Between what you hear and what you remember.
Piano, delay, reverb. The rest is silence that breathes.
If you've made it this far, you probably feel things in a way that's hard to explain to others.
I graduated in Piano Performance from the Conservatory, and during those years I learned that music is not just something you play. It's something you inhabit. At some point I felt the need to go beyond interpretation, to give voice to something that existed only inside me. I started composing. Since then, the search has never stopped. I added tape delays, long reverbs, layers that dissolve slowly until they become almost unrecognizable. I explored the darkest atmospheres of the night, the silent fragments of childhood, the deep and boundless space. The piano is always the starting point, but what interests me is where the sound goes when you let it.
I'm still searching. Every project is a step closer to something I don't yet know how to name: a place suspended between dream and reality, where music stops being heard and begins to be felt.
Welcome to my world.
Sometimes life holds so tight it takes our breath away. The stress, the illness, the weight of something we cannot let go. "Exhalatio" was born in that exact moment: the point where everything feels still, and the only thing left is the breath. Slow, difficult, but still there.
Piano and synthesizers dissolve into each other, suspended in an endless reverb. Like an exhale that lasts long enough to become peace.
I wrote "E." the day I lost my grandmother. I wanted something of her to remain, something that words cannot contain. The sound of the piano, filtered and worn by time, became the most honest way I knew to tell her, one last time, what I felt.
Some people never truly leave. They just become a silence shaped like them.
Some places live forever, even when they no longer exist. "Vestigia" is the sound of one of those places: its air, its light, something inexplicable that stayed with you every time you walked in. Solo piano, no effects. Because some things don't need to be altered. They are enough, just as they are, in their quiet majesty.
What once was, continues to be.