From a small town along the Adriatic coast of Italy, Clarice creates art that feels like a memory you can’t quite place—familiar, distant, and quietly haunting. A digital artist specializing in everything from black-and-white illustrations to richly detailed color compositions, her work exists in a space between reality and recollection. It doesn’t demand understanding—it invites it.

Clarice has been creating for as long as she can remember. Raised in a home where art was present and encouraged—her mother painting as a hobby—creativity was never something she had to search for. It was simply part of her environment. She later attended an art high school, immersing herself further into her craft and participating in projects and showcases that helped refine her voice. Still, for a long time, art remained something personal. Something she carried alongside life, rather than fully stepping into.

That changed in a moment that reshaped everything.

The unexpected loss of her father became a turning point—not just emotionally, but creatively. He had always been one of her biggest supporters, someone who saw value in her work before she fully allowed herself to. He commissioned her pieces, encouraged her growth, and believed in her talent without hesitation. After his passing, continuing her art became something deeper than passion—it became purpose. A way to honor his memory, to carry his belief forward, and to finally take her work seriously.

And that shift is felt in everything she creates.

Her artistic identity is rooted in fragments—hazy memories, strange dreams, childhood habits, and half-forgotten stories. Her illustrations often feel like relics of something just out of reach, filled with quiet mystery and emotional depth. There’s a softness to her work, but also an underlying weight—like whispered secrets that were never meant to be fully explained.

That ambiguity is intentional.

Clarice doesn’t define the meaning of her work for the viewer. Instead, she leaves space—allowing each person to interpret what they see through their own experiences. She keeps her messages vague, almost hidden, because she values what others bring into the piece just as much as what she puts into it. For her, art is not just about expression—it’s about connection. About creating a feeling of longing, of reflection, of remembering something that feels both personal and distant.

But her journey inward hasn’t been without struggle.

One of her biggest challenges has been herself—overcoming fear, doubt, and the tendency to self-sabotage. There were times when she held herself back, convinced she wasn’t good enough to participate, to apply, or to be seen. That internal barrier proved to be one of the hardest to break. But over time, she learned to shift her perspective—to take risks, to put herself out there, and to see rejection not as failure, but as growth.

That growth has already begun to take shape.

She takes pride not only in continuing her journey, but in choosing it—fully and intentionally. One of her notable achievements includes having her work displayed during the 2019 Researchers’ Night in Florence, a moment that affirmed her place within the artistic space she once hesitated to enter.

What continues to drive her now is a mix of memory and possibility.

Honoring the people she has lost remains a quiet but powerful motivation. At the same time, the unknown future—the idea that anything could unfold—pushes her forward. Through her work, she is creating something she can one day look back on with pride. A visual archive of who she was, what she felt, and how she grew.

Currently, Clarice is working on a long-held idea: a semi-autobiographical comic centered around her childhood and the friendships that shaped it. It’s a project that feels deeply aligned with her artistic voice—personal, reflective, and layered with meaning.

Looking ahead, her goals are simple, yet profound. To keep creating. To keep evolving. And to become someone her future self can look back on with pride.

Clarice’s work doesn’t shout—it lingers.

It stays with you in quiet ways, asking questions without needing answers, and reminding you that sometimes, the most powerful stories are the ones left partially untold.

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