Imagine a cathedral so light it can be crossed by the wind, yet so powerful it can bridge a thousand years of history. This is the world of Edoardo Tresoldi, the artist who turned industrial wire mesh into the language of the soul.
Named by Forbes as one of the most influential artists under 30, Tresoldi doesn’t just build structures; he captures the “Genius Loci” and renders it visible through a breathtaking play of transparency and light. From the hauntingly beautiful Early Christian Basilica of Siponto to the ethereal “Matryoshka” of nested histories currently rising in the heart of Bari Vecchia, his work is a dialogue between what remains and what has been lost. In this profound conversation, the Milanese sculptor reveals the philosophy behind his “scenographies of the absent.”
Born and raised in Cambiago. Edoardo Tresoldi moved to Rome after art school, working with the sculpture, stage design and the cinema, where he developed a heterogeneous approach to the arts. The sculptor recognized the contrasts of the contemporary landscape as his Genius Loci and identified the cross fertilization of ideas and influences as the founding principle of his work. Since 2013 he has produced installations in public spaces, archaeological sites, festivals and exhibitions around the world. Commissioned by the Italian Ministry of Culture, he realized a work for the archaeological site of the Early Christian basilica of Siponto, a unique convergence between contemporary art and archaeology that was awarded the Premio Speciale alla Committenza for Italian Architecture. In 2018 the artist produced Etherea for the Coachella Valley Music and Arts Festival in the USA. In 2019 he pesented Simbiosi in the prestigious context of Arte Sella and founded STUDIO STUDIO STUDIO, an interdisciplinary lab that supports artists, public art projects and contemporary art production. In 2020 he inaugurated a permanent installation called “Opera” in Reggio Calabria, Italy and, together with YAC – Young Architects Competitions, founded the educational project TRAC – Tresoldi Academy.
Marika Marchese: Could you tell us about the impressive work you’re building at the ancient site of San Pietro in Bari Vecchia?
Edoardo Tresoldi: The archaeological site where we’re working to create a monumental installation is located in a part of the city that for forty years has been characterized by an urban void. The archaeological evidence currently available concerns only the building plans. This project reconstructs the volumes that have stood on that site over the last thousand years: various buildings from different eras and with different uses. It’s a project that engages with the archaeological legacy, creating a bridge between past and present. This project builds on the work I did in Siponto, which was the first to allow me to engage with archaeology. On that occasion, I designed and developed my own intervention format, which emphasizes the need for the archaeological remains to tell their story—from my perspective, a context from which to begin to describe the contemporary city.
M.M.: So, is there also a collaboration with the Superintendency?
E.T.: The project is the result of an international competition by the Regional Secretariat of the Ministry of Culture, which commissioned the enhancement project, supported by European funds and coordinated by the Superintendency for the Metropolitan City of Bari. The entire study of the work with these institutions and with the support of the Ministry of Culture, with the support of a scientific committee composed of archaeologists and historians. After the first three years of fieldwork, excavation archeological work was carried out, followed by the actual construction of the work, which began in spring 2025.
M.M.: How does the planning process work?
E.T.: There is a “study” phase, as I described earlier, which includes the collection of documentation and historiographical reconstruction, alongside collaboration with a series of scientific figures and experts such as archaeologists and historians. Archaeological data, excavation findings, archival documents, and textual sources are analyzed, bringing together all the information that can help us understand the place’s history and significance. Over the last thousand years San Pietro has been marked by the presence of a Romanesque church, which is the name of this area of Bari Vecchia, we defined that over the last thousand years there was first a church that was transformed into a monastery in the 1400s; in the 17th century, the Romanesque church was demolished to build a larger one, which was transformed into a hospital in the 19th century. This process of trasformation is the body of the project, the photograph of an evolving landscape. Therefore, the final work for San Pietro, will be composed of the profiles of two churches nested within each other, intersected by the volumes of the monastery: imagine it as a sort of Russian doll, Matryoshka.
M.M.: How long does it take to design and build your major projects?
E.T.: The construction time varies depending on the project. The Bari project is a complex one, already four and a half years in the making. In this case, there’s a significant archaeological component, so the study and design phases required more time. Construction is also taking time, as the project is very large and complex. Generally speaking, we can say that the project takes as long as the space requires, and that there are variables related to the client, and there are public spaces characterized by bureaucratic pressures that affect the timeline. Private projects clearly require less time, and depending on the country you’re working in, there are other dynamics with their own timelines. I’ve noticed, however, that it’s difficult to do something meaningful in less than a year. Sometimes you have to let the seasons pass to get a sense of how a specific place lives and breathes.
M.M.: How did the idea for the wire mesh come about?
E.T.: I began using wire mesh when I was working in set design, creating structures that I then covered. From there, fascinated by the physicality of empty elements, the idea for the first transparent sculpture was born.
M.M.: Working with wire mesh lends lightness, but how does it interact with the factor of time?
E.T.: To answer this question, we need to broaden our thinking about what we mean by the passage of time. Matter, like us, is mortal; it can last twenty years, or two hundred.
What I believe is that public works need to express themselves. A monument reflects the values of the society that conceived it. To endure for two hundred years while that society disappears, and with it the values for which the work was created, often means losing its original meaning.
The work I do, although it exists within the sphere of the monument, has a degradation timeline. What I find most interesting, especially when dealing with archaeological sites, is that my works speak precisely to those architectural structures that have characterized a given place over time, but were later destroyed, collapsed, or otherwise disappeared. They are places continually undergoing transitions from one architecture to another.
Personally, I believe that if one of my works were to last even just forty years, it would already have a lifespan far too long. From a conceptual standpoint, I find it much more stimulating that someone else can intervene with another project and redefine the space.
The wire mesh is made of high-quality material; it has a series of characteristics that led me to choose it with the aim of making it last over time, but I still find it very consistent that at a certain point something happens to it, as in the life of all matter.
It’s obvious that there are different ways to make architecture last over time, but we must ask ourselves if we really want that work to last, if it’s necessary to preserve monuments, if it constitutes a useful legacy.
M.M.: Why this idea of not leaving something to posterity?
E.T.: I think that over time I’ve simply found the concept of the ephemeral much more in line with my work, rather than pursuing an immortality that wouldn’t represent me and which I think is even less interesting. I don’t like the idea that monumental works need to be created for them to last, even though the original nature of monuments is precisely this: to build works that someone in – say – three generations will see them.
Maybe someone in a generation will hate my works and can’t wait for them to come down, so I honestly prefer to propose something that at a certain point will call for its own disappearance. I think we all have the intellectual maturity to understand that human beings have grown up relating to death, to the fact that things at a certain point disappear, are missing. I find this relationship with absence much more effective than an ambition for permanence.
In fact, I think that some artworks die even if they remain, in the sense that there are things that no longer communicate; only the material remains. So I prefer that the material, when it disappears, takes them away. I like the idea of building great things that at a certain point can be destroyed; we’ll find ourselves with a void and we’ll have to figure out what to do with that void. We should also reflect on all those monuments that no longer reflect us, and then we should ask ourselves: do we tear them down or keep them there? We always relate to this. A work of art, a public building, must question people on this. The works I create revolve around these questions. The interesting part of my works will probably emerge when they’re no longer there.
M.M.: If you could decide, where would you place one of your large works? And what other materials would you ideally experiment with?
E.T.: I no longer desire them; places find me, they come to me. I think that material is language, that language is meaning, and that meaning is not a choise.
