"An elegy is a story bigger than despair." (An Interview with Maria Chiara Piglione)
At a time in the world when the act of elegising is more necessary than ever, Half Mystic is grasping onto a holiness even in absence. Our featured artist for Issue X: Elegy is the most fitting embodiment of that reach between longing and light. Sit down with us for a talk with Maria Chiara Piglione on the music that cradles us, the past that settles in our bones, and the ending.
HM: Half Mystic Journal’s tenth issue circles the theme of elegy: the last dropped petal—the mirror in mourning—the light still on for what was once beautiful. Throughout your art, in what ways do you look for mortality?
MCP: All of my art is about mortality: how our lives are transient, how joy and pain pass by in an instant. My images always contain a thread of melancholy, but that melancholy allows for dreaming, for remembrance. I think about the fragility of life in the cracks on the wall, the yellowed pages of books, the dried flowers dotting every corner. I believe that melancholy is profoundly beautiful as a story to tell and to live. It allows us to reach and touch the deepest parts of ourselves.
The etymology of the word elegy comes from the Greek elegos, meaning “mournful poem.” Where in your featured artwork do you hold space for poetry?
I always let myself be inspired by poetry when I create new pieces. For Half Mystic Journal, I did some research on the term elegy and found a beautiful poem by Thomas Gray, “Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard.” I read the first verses and knew at once that the stirring I felt in those words was the same sensation I wanted to pervade a viewer of my work: “The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, / The lowing herd wind slowly o’er the lea, / The plowman homeward plods his weary way, / And leaves the world to darkness and to me.” I became so fully immersed in the darkness of the term elegy, but when I stepped back from it I understood that softness was also an integral part. I brought a note of the ethereal to the work. I shot in dim light, focusing on only a few details. I chose a little girl as the protagonist of the series, whose youth softened the theme of memory and the passing of time.
Music lives in quiet places in your photos: empty birds’ nests, yellowing scores, a single red rose. Tell us about the songs you turn to for inspiration.
As I work on my art I tend to listen to dreamy music, which allows room for me to float in my imagination as in a meditation. My images are a collection of details recomposed in my mind to form artwork, and music plays a foundational role in this process. Since I was a child, classical music was one of the most important ways that I expressed my emotions. Now, despite not working in a musical medium, I shoot and edit to classical music and film scores. On my creation playlist is Sibelius, Rachmaninoff, and the soundtracks of Lord of the Rings and Alice in Wonderland. Music is my first artistic language, a profound spark of inspiration. I try never to deprive myself of it.
Some of your pieces are framed by shapes—ovals and circles that feel intimate and antique. How does the framing of your work change its context and content?
Frames allow me to choose not only what to show but how it will be shown. The oval and circular shapes speak of an ancient world, a world where everything is whispered to life by its surrounding details. These shapes tell of the past, old trunks full of memories, someone else’s grandparents, wood shavings, women’s faces and photographs with frayed edges. In my framed pieces, I hope the viewer feels the weight of holding a stranger’s memories in their hands.
What role does nature—such as the flowers, vines, and rabbits woven throughout your elegy set—play in grief?
Nature is our mother. Beautiful and kind, she teaches us how to behave in the most difficult moments of our lives. The vastness and constancy of nature urge that we look beyond grief, that we consider tenderness, new colors in every story, even those of pain and lack. In my art, I include flowers and rabbits as tales of hope. They are a delicate thread that the viewer can hold close, a reminder that an elegy is a story bigger than despair.
Did you unearth any unexpected memories when creating these pieces?
The places where I shot this series are the places of my childhood: the piano is the one on which I practiced as a child, and the postcards and diaries are those of my grandmother and my great-grandmother. I returned to the scents, colors, and sounds of the days when I was younger, before the world became so large. I tried to find myself through that little girl with dark hair. I asked her to take the crouched positions that I assumed when listening to the music from the turntable. Creating this set has been a poignant journey into my past.
Tell us about your relationship to your models. How do you find them? How do you work with them toward the images you’re chasing?
My models are never professionals. I began my career by photographing myself, and there I learned to tell stories through the expressions on my face and the gestures of my body. When I began photographing others, I always looked for expressiveness more than beauty, a particular face instead of an aesthetically perfect face. In recent work, I’ve gravitated towards little girls as models; they remind me of my younger self, and they still have the quiet sense of wonder that I want to infuse into my art. They are partners with me in the artistic process. I guide them through each step, and explain to them in detail the image we are creating. I share my ideas and visions so that they can fully enter the soul of the character.
Only one person is depicted in your elegy series, and an air of isolation is palpable. Sometimes this isolation is stark and frightening; other times it’s calm and cradled in song. Where in your life has solitude felt like mourning, and where has it felt like celebration?
I am a rather lonely person. Even in my childhood I spent a lot of time alone, and in this way I forged a life. There are times I have experienced loneliness as a darkness. More often, however, I see loneliness as an avenue to touch my deepest and most intimate self. Much of my art comes from loneliness experienced as a moment of communion with my mind, my memories, my dreams.
You’ve said in past interviews that your work connects you to the experiences of your characters, which allows you to create art that is at once a separate creation and a self-portrait. What have you learned about yourself through photography?
Photography has taught me more about myself than I once knew existed. To portray oneself is to look within, but also to see oneself from the outside, in the same way others see us. It requires an awareness that goes beyond simple physicality: awareness of affect, movement, thought. Self-portraying very often means getting naked and showing to others even the things we would like to keep for ourselves. I am grateful every day for having chosen this path, even if sometimes it’s a difficult one, because it has given me so much and I am convinced that it still has so much to give me.
We leave the character in your elegy series sitting on a stair and looking into the unknown. Where do you believe she’s headed next?
She’s headed on the road to escape her childhood hurt. As she grows up, I hope she moves forward with the awareness both of unbridled joy and grief. I hope she keeps the music that has carried her this far—and above all else, I hope she continues to be amazed.
Maria Chiara Piglione is a photographer who portrays fantastic and dreamy worlds. Her photos are born from sensations, memories, perfumes, emotions, journeys. Through complex post-production work, Maria Chiara recreates the worlds present in her mind, revisiting the landscapes of memory to tell a story. Nature is often central in her photographs. Her works cannot be placed in a precise time, but follow the time of the fairytale, a timeless time. They do not use the contrasts and vivid colors common to photography, but instead focus on pastel colors and textures that make them similar to paintings. Maria Chiara graduated with full marks from the Polytechnic of Turin in 2006, subsequently obtaining the title of PhD in 2009. After working for a few years in the field of chemical engineering, she interrupted her career as an engineer to devote herself full time to the world of photography. For five years she has been involved in wedding and portrait photography, and she works as a photographer for several clothing brands. Her photos have been exhibited across Italy in solo and group exhibitions. She lives and works in the province of Turin. Explore more: Website | Instagram | Facebook
Issue X: Elegy, with art by Maria Chiara Piglione and dozens more pieces of poetry and prose by contributors, is available for preorder now. Issue X is a prayer against forgetting, a promise to bear witness even where music falls short. And when the time comes to let go of what it can’t live without, the elegy issue knows what it means to wake into memory. It knows that in a world touched by song, there exists no such thing as extinction. It comes out on July 28th, 2022.