Phone Call

I was born and grew up in Cesena, a small town in the north/east of Italy. In those days Alberto Sughi, my father, was already a well established artist. He was and still is a figurative painter. So “art was right at the heart of our family” from the very beginning. As children my sister Serena and I were surrounded by artists, and of course by the paintings hanging from the walls of our house which was at that point located in the middle of an isolated countryside.

It was certainly a great, strange and instructive experience, but also difficult. For instance I have vivid memories of my father coming back from the studio. He is very angry because the paintings are not turning out well. Entering the room he would have said. “I destroyed the painting”, meaning he had cancelled the work he had passionately worked at for the last 2/3 weeks. In those days the house was not full of art or artists, but only full of tension. For us it wasn’t easy to understand why a work our father was so good at and that looked so beautiful to everybody could make him and us so unhappy. So as a child I learned that art is very different from what it reveals of itself when presented on the finished canvas, that is an explosion of energy, ideas and joy. Art can also be a long path, full of anguish, uncertainty and sorrow.

A path I was not sure I would be prepared to undertake myself .