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Marazzi. Under the Skin is an editorial project celebrating Marazzi’s 90th anniversary, where ceramics become a narrative material, capable of telling the story of spaces and the people who inhabit them.
In the volume, Una Casa Immaginata — a fantasy villa conceived by British designer Charlotte Taylor — brings to life six environments suspended between reality and imagination, where Marazzi surfaces, colors, and textures create intimate and evocative atmospheres.
In Valentina Cameranesi Sgroi’s story, the studio is not merely a physical place, but a reflection of her creative self. Among collected objects, ephemeral materials, and dreams of future spaces, a reflection emerges on the value of time, memory, and design as a daily gesture. It is a tribute to the freedom of thought and the beauty of fertile disorder.
“Just like my work, my studio is not a defined space. Right now, it’s a chaotic room inside my home in Milan. Next to my beige desk is my partner’s black desk. Around us are a chest of drawers with his drawings on top, a diptych by Camille Vivier, a wooden birdcage, vinyl records, and an archive with all my things: postcards, scraps of paper, envelopes, photos, print proofs, sample books, 1930s fashion magazines, napkins from pastry shops. All this ephemeral and transient material is organized into boxes, so I don’t see it, but I know it’s there. The same goes for my contemporary art and fiction books. When I come home, I find them waiting for me, and they say, “When are you going to open us?”. I don’t know when, but I will, and that thought makes me happy. It’s a tendency to collect things, one that carries both joy and potential.
The work I do in my home studio is suspended and fluid compared to the one I do in the office. Since I’m there alone, I spend more time doing stuff, but it’s time I enjoy—it allows me to experiment and engage with my own thoughts. For me, the studio must be a space of identity and freedom, where I can pour everything out—mentally and physically—and then re- organize it to move forward with my projects and ideas. I still remember the moment when my mother brought a desk into my room: even though I was very little, every day I would open it and take my things out, and in the evening, I’d put everything away. It was a sacred place, a tabletop world. Even today, my home studio is the place where I sit down to draw. When I travel, I always carry a little bag with pens in it, but I end up never using them. The instinctive act of drawing, often without a specific purpose, is deeply connected to my studio, as if I need it an anchor point to practice.
The English have the concept of a “drawing room,” which is big- ger than a studio and is a room to retreat to for reading, concentrating, or receiving guests. Mackintosh’s drawing rooms in Scotland embody this concept perfectly. Drawing there would be a dream, with that cube-shaped chair that looks like a box and the sofa under the window. I really like built-in furniture because it lets you play with the coverings. For example, an integrated bench in the kitchen covered with tiles would be wonderful. In general, when it comes to coverings, I like the idea of each room having its own finish. In the bedroom, I like coconut wood, firm yet comforting. Tiles, dry yet shiny and colorful, are perfect for the bathroom and kitchen, but I also see them fit- ting well in transitional spaces to create a sense of continuity between indoor and outdoor spaces. In the studio, wood is the right choice: it’s warm and absorbs what’s around it.
If I imagine my future, I see myself in a studio alone. However, it’s strange that I can’t quite picture it clearly yet. On the one hand, I imagine a decorated and colorful environment, somewhat feminine, full of books, with a turntable, a table lamp, and wallpaper framing a window that lets you see life around you, without needing to go outside. On the other hand, I’m drawn to the idea of a dry, neutral, austere room, like a blank sheet of paper where I can start from scratch every time. But can you really start from scratch? I see my projects as cells
that multiply, microorganisms that grow together and form a bigger creature.
What is the right thing to do? Should I separate my studio more from the rest of the house, turning it into a closed-off space? Or should I integrate it, acknowledging that it’s part of me? These are questions that also concern how much my profession defines my life. That’s why for me, the studio is no longer just a space or an outcome; it’s a place I now want to think about actively, giving it legitimacy and specific importance. In the future, it may be that studios will disappear from many homes because people will work from their bed or kitchen table, but I like to think that there will still be those who need a sacred place to retreat, think, write, and draw.” –Valentina Cameranesi Sgroi
Contribution: Valentina Cameranesi Sgroi
Images: Charlotte Taylor
Floor: Crogiolo ArtCraft Argilla
Valentina Cameranesi Sgroi
Born in Rome, Valentina Cameranesi Sgroi studied product design at ISIA. After graduating, she gained experience in both the editorial field and as an illustrator, working in Italy and abroad. She currently lives in Milan, where she works as an art director and set designer with Enrico Pompili, in addition to working as a freelance consultant and creative director for brands and magazines. Her personal work explores the relationship between the artificial and the natural, through various media, particularly photography, video, and ceramics
