There are artists who paint landscapes, and there are artists who allow landscapes to become mirrors of the human condition. Italian artist Mauro Magni belongs to the latter. His work unfolds at the intersection of nature, memory, spirituality, and the fragile balance between humanity and the world it inhabits.
In this conversation, Magni reflects on the profound decision to leave Rome for a life immersed in nature, the symbolic power of mountains, and the quiet responsibility of contemporary art. His paintings, sculptures, and installations invite us to slow down, contemplate, and rediscover a deeper connection with ourselves and the natural world.
Leaving Rome came from a growing awareness that I was living in a place suspended between two worlds. It was neither the vibrant centre of the city nor genuine countryside. Although there were green spaces, everyday life was still dominated by traffic, noise and the anxieties of urban living.
1. After many years in Rome, you chose to live surrounded by nature. How did this decision transform not only your artistic practice but also the way you perceive the world?
I realised that if I truly wanted to reconnect with Nature, with a capital „N“, I needed to make a radical choice. It became a necessity rather than simply a wish. I moved to Trevignano Romano, a beautiful village on Lake Bracciano, where I have now lived for almost twenty years without a single regret.
I still remember my first night in the new house as a moment of extraordinary peace and an overwhelming feeling of freedom. Living in daily contact with nature has become both a privilege and a profound source of richness.
2. Mountains constantly reappear throughout your work. They seem to be much more than landscapes, they become symbols connecting earth and sky. What does this upward movement represent for you?
Rocca Romana, the mountain overlooking Lake Bracciano, immediately captivated me. It became my own Mont Sainte-Victoire, echoing Cézanne’s iconic relationship with his mountain.
One of the very first things I did after moving was climb to its summit. I felt an immediate need to establish that connection—first physically, then spiritually.
For me, the mountain symbolises the relationship between earth and sky. It represents our aspiration towards something greater than ourselves and reminds us that true spirituality begins by reconnecting with the cosmos and with Mother Earth, leaving behind the relentless rhythm imposed by contemporary life.
3. Towers, rocks, flames and essential architectural forms frequently appear in your paintings. How did these symbols emerge, and why do you keep returning to them?
People often say that every artist spends an entire lifetime creating the same work, endlessly transformed. I believe there is truth in that. My research around the Mountain has evolved over time into the Tower of Babel, into islands, into metaphors for the human journey and its constant transformations.
Fire represents the perpetual transformation every human being undergoes throughout life. Rocks and decaying architecture embody layers of memory—one of the central themes of my practice. They draw inspiration from places such as Basilicata, a land filled with ancient energies where I often retreat to recharge and reflect.
4. Your work addresses human fragility, violence, power and the loss of spirituality. What responsibility does an artist carry when responding to the present moment?
I have always believed that while aesthetic research remains fundamental, artists also have a civic responsibility. Especially during painful times like those we are living through today, art should illuminate the realities surrounding us. Even if our voice is small, it can still encourage reflection.
I have little interest in spectacular, loud or technologically hypnotic art. Too often it feels temporary and quickly replaced by the next sensation. Instead, I believe in an art rooted in humanity—quiet, intimate, poetic and still connected to craftsmanship.
5. Your works seem to emerge from both close observation of nature and deep inner reflection. How do personal experience and imagination interact within your creative process?
Very naturally. Research plays an essential role, as does curiosity—much like the curiosity I had as a child. I am particularly fascinated by etymology, which often opens unexpected paths or confirms intuitions I already sensed.
It feels like assembling a puzzle where every piece eventually finds its place and reveals its relationship to all the others. Words themselves have become a fundamental material within my artistic practice.
6. The materials in your work feel elemental, almost archetypal. How important is it to allow the materials themselves to shape the meaning of the artwork?
It is absolutely essential.
Although I began as a painter, over the years I discovered ceramics and sculptural installations. Regardless of the medium, I am consistently drawn to ancient materials and restrained colours that carry traces of memory.
Even in my sculptures, corten steel—with its rusted surface—enters into dialogue with gold leaf. These contrasting materials enhance one another and continue telling a story that ultimately still begins with painting.
7. Your compositions radiate silence and contemplation. Can art still create spaces where people slow down and reconnect with a deeper dimension of existence?
Fortunately, art remains one of the rare places where genuine freedom still exists.
Artists establish not only the work itself but also the rhythm through which it is experienced. Art can invite viewers to step outside everyday life and rediscover an „analogue“ emotional experience—one that encourages them to see the world through different eyes.
8. Joseph Beuys imagined art as a force capable of transforming society through shared creativity. How does this vision resonate with your own practice?
Whenever possible, I try to create works that invite public participation. One example is Perdonanza, dedicated to the victims of the L’Aquila earthquake. Visitors physically enter the work, moving through it in what becomes a cathartic encounter with absence and loss.
In that sense, I feel deeply connected to Beuys‘ understanding of art as an active, transformative experience.
9. Looking back, was there one encounter or decision that fundamentally changed your understanding of art?
A decisive moment came in 2014 when I met anthropologist, curator and filmmaker Giorgio de Finis at the MAAM Museum in Rome. Creating two large site-specific murals inside this extraordinary „inhabited museum“ confronted me with entirely new ways of thinking about public art, environment and participation. That experience profoundly influenced the public works I created afterwards.
10. When someone encounters your work for the first time, what experience do you hope they take away?
Every work contains multiple layers of interpretation.
My greatest hope is simply that it never leaves people indifferent. I want curiosity to replace passive observation and encourage viewers to search for their own pathways through the work.
11. What advice would you offer young artists trying to find their own voice in a world driven by speed and endless images?
I believe authenticity begins with slowing down. Young artists should listen carefully to themselves without rushing or allowing themselves to be overly influenced by external expectations. We can only truly tell stories that belong to us. Anything else ultimately becomes a deception—even towards ourselves.
When listening is genuine, the artistic language that follows will naturally be genuine as well.
12. And finally, a more personal question: wine or beer?
Beer, always. Perhaps because I once spent a couple of years living in Hamburg.
So… Prost, KULABERLIN!
More of Mauro Magni
WEBSITE: https://www.mauromagni.it/
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