I don't define myself as an "artist" in the academic sense of the term: I prefer to consider myself a self-taught creator—one who has learned to create by following instinct, emotion, and wonder.

I live about 30 km from Rome, and perhaps it is precisely this distance that makes every return to the Capital a special moment: every time I set foot there, I feel the same emotion, the same nostalgia that turns into inspiration.

I started creating this type of work around 2005, and then I took a long break. Today, at 50, I have decided to return to creation with a different maturity and a deeper dedication.

The initial spark came from a painting gifted to my father, the work of a well-known artist connected to the tradition of "Roma Sparita" (Vanished Rome). I was enchanted by its beauty until I discovered it wasn't a unique piece, but a reproduced and finished print. It was a bizarre, almost ironic, revelation: this very discovery pushed me to seek my own path. I decided that if I were to create something, it would be entirely handmade, from the structure to the relief, using only recycled materials found at home or around.

At the time, I participated in the local markets of Lazio under a different name: "Li tempi de Checco e Nina" (Checco and Nina's times). I still hold a vivid memory of those first sales: at least a dozen works are still out there... or so I hope.

Today, I want to resume that journey with dedication and passion, transforming this small art into a timeless creative drive. A simple, but tenacious path: trying to give shape to something that, like Rome, can endure over time.

Rome is not a city: it is an invitation.

An invitation to get lost, to slow down, to slip into any alley and discover that nothing is ever "just anything." Every corner hides a memory, every perspective holds a secret, every stone retains a story that awaits only those who are willing to listen.

When you look at my works, you don't just see a relief or a scene modeled by hand: you see a door. A door that opens onto an unexpected sunset, a silent piazza, an alley smelling of the ancient, a relic that has never stopped speaking.

Perhaps this is why I continue to create: to share the emotion of Rome with those who love it, or with those who will learn to love it. And perhaps, by choosing one, whoever takes it home carries with them a fragment of the Eternal City... and also the sincere gratitude of a Roman who tries, with his own hands, to pay tribute to her.

Rome is an invitation...

an eternal invitation to return 

By the way, I am Stefano Cicatiello, Anno Domini MCMLXXIV · DIE XXVI Mensis Decembris.