Lindsay Marie Morris

When you step before a Caroline LaCava Lemon Lamp, you may simply see citrus slices. But for the neon glass artist, like most of her work, there's so much more than meets the eye. The continuous tubes that form the shapes connect her to her Sicilian roots.

The New York-based artist's journey began when she took a neon class at New York's Alfred University that illuminated a whole new world of art, connecting the concept of two-dimensional line drawing to three-dimensional displays. It was a way to stretch beyond the traditional, leading to some of her edgier pieces that pay homage to the feminine body and lean into optical illusions. 

"I was drawn to the lemon," she says. "And I knew it was important to me just based on the foods that I have grown up eating at the Feast of the Seven Fishes and stuff like that. So much of it is citrus-based."

Three of Caroline's paternal great-grandparents came from Filicudi in Sicily's Aeolian archipelago, and one emigrated from Calabria. That Calabrian great-grandfather worked as a glass engraver, something Caroline wasn't fully aware of until she began glasswork herself.

One day, while taking a course at Washington's Pilchuck Glass School following her studies at Alfred, she was asked to create a piece revolving around her heritage.

 

"I thought, 'This is just getting crazy at this point,' because how did I just end up in a class for glass engraving that's also supposed to be inspired by your background when my great-grandfather from Italy was a glass engraver?" Caroline says.

 

These coincidences led her to explore her heritage more in her glass art.

 

Caroline shared more about her work, inspiration, influences, and what she hopes viewers take away. 

 

 

What drew you to the world of art?

The fact that my parents are creatives definitely played a role. They've always heavily encouraged my art career.

 

My dad is primarily a musician. He went to music school but ended up just dropping out. He worked for a company and also is a clam digger. He's lived 20 lives, but playing music is what he does every day.

 

My mother is a studio art teacher and 2D artist. She teaches dark room and studio art. She also does printmaking, photography, and painting outside of work. She dropped out of art school to raise my brother and me, then returned to finish while I was in high school, which was cool to experience with her. 

 

My earliest memory of creating is my earliest memory ever. Creativity was the solution to everything during my upbringing. I went through so many battles in my head when choosing art as a career. You always end up circling back to the things you want to do as a kid. I was always passionate about so many forms of art, but being able to keep to myself and be in my own world really drew me to visual arts, especially when I was young and angsty.

 

I had all these careers in mind that were forced upon me in high school just to be "realistic" in the arts. Like, "I could get into art therapy or be a teacher," and all these backup plans. Eventually, I came to the conclusion that I just wanted to be an artist. 

 

Caroline LaCava's Lemon Lamp series reflects her Sicilian heritage.

 

How did you transition from hot shop glass blowing to neon?

At the school I went to—Alfred University—you have to take a hot shop course before getting into neon. Not that one's particularly harder than the other. I think it is just because the electricity side of neon is a bit more dangerous. So that's why they try to get you in the hot shop first before you do neon.

 

It was very much a last-minute decision for me to take Intro to Glass. I'm pretty sure I chose it because my friends were in it, and I wanted to try something different and challenge my sculptural abilities. 

 

Before taking any class like that, it was hard to visualize how to make glass into art. That's why I was initially not that interested. I was just picturing cups and goblets in my head.

 

The same goes for neon. I was like, "How do you even turn flat signs into something that could be considered art?" All I could imagine were "Open" signs, which certainly didn't interest me.

 

I ended up really just falling in love with the invigorating process. The second I was able to take a proper gather from the furnace, it clicked, and I said, "I've got to keep going."

 

I took that class in the spring of 2017. When I came home for the summer, I decided to do a studio internship at Urban Glass in Brooklyn. I went there once or twice a week, and they let me take a neon class for free.

 

I had made something sculptural in the class, and once I started lighting things up, I was like, "This is no boring sign!"

 

Now, I have a strong production signage background. I've worked on plenty of signs, which I think are very cool. But as far as my own artwork goes, once I was able to make something sculptural and a little bit unconventional and realized how you could really push the boundaries of this medium, I said, "There's no stopping now!"

 

Each of Caroline LaCava's works consists of a single continuous tube. 

 

How does neon allow you to express your creativity differently from hot-shop glass-blowing?

I've always been interested in very linear drawings in general. This is why I am mainly intrigued with the medium, even when it comes to traditional signage.

 

Neon always appealed to me just a little bit more because it was just a great way for me to mesh my interest in 2D and my interest in 3D, and considering so much of my drawings were so line-based, it just seemed natural for me to take the next step to unravel those drawings and make into a sculptural lamp with one continuous tube.

 

You have to look closely at a traditional neon sign to be able to tell that it's one continuous tube because we block out so many parts with paint. But I always say that approaching the making of a neon sign is very similar to how you would do a contour line drawing, as far as the mental gymnastics of it all goes. 

Similar to how you would try to draw an image without picking your pen up off the paper, you approach a glass-bending layout in a similar manner. You're trying to figure out how to make that image or word with a continuous tube of glass. Unlike in signage, I don't block out certain parts of my neon sculptures with paint. You're seeing the whole tube all the way through.

 

There's more than initially meets the eye with Caroline LaCava's Cunt Chandelier.

 

Tell us about your use of optical illusions.

My interests in illusions and double image began when I was in high school. I looked at famous artists like Salvador Dali, and I used to make double-image drawings.

 

The first time I did some sort of optical illusion in neon was with the Cunt Chandelier, and that was in college. It felt like a self-portrait to me. I knew I'd be evolving this piece even after college, but I never would have guessed that I'd apply that same process to other forms of imagery. 

I was inspired by how I've navigated the world and how people approach me in life. How people make judgments at first glance. Even when the latest Cunt Chandelier went viral over the summer, so many comments said they were confused or unimpressed at first glance until it hit them.

 

I realized that's how people have approached me in life. They look at me, especially in the glass industry, and underestimate me. Or even when people take advantage of my initial kindness and quickly realize I'm not going to put up with that. There are so many stories I could tell with this piece and so many situations in life that can be applied.

 

I was trying to channel my personality into it in general, having a soft and harsh aspect to the piece. It's something that appears graceful or delicate at first, and then you look in the mirror and are confronted with this harsh word. And you're forced to look at yourself in the mirror. The Cunt Chandelier is how I check people. It's an "expect the unexpected" sort of thing. I think many women can relate to all this.

Caroline LaCava reveals the hidden message reflected below the Cunt Chandelier.

What do you hope viewers take away?

I would hope that people view my lights as conceptual works of art rather than "just a lamp." I think with neon being newly considered an art medium, I used to worry some people might not see what I see. Thankfully, a lot of people do. Then there are others who think I should have sold 10,000 cunts for $50 a pop, and they just miss the point completely. That's part of the fun, though. People get to know me, and I get to know them.

 

I hope some sort of storytelling does come across when people look at a piece like the Cunt Chandelier. The whole unraveling of the image and not being able to see it quite clearly at first holds meaning to me. So, I'd like that to translate to the viewer as well. 

 

 

 

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Whether she's upcycling discarded materials or working with clay and sand from Mount Etna, Stefania Boemi's works serve as a heartfelt tribute to Sicily's rich history. The sustainably minded artist hand-sculpts her own version of the iconic teste di moro, crafts chandeliers with remnants of holy cards, reupholsters furniture with antique fabrics, reimagines Sicilian puppets using doll heads and lithographed tin boxes, and sews hammocks from traditional bedspreads. Her artistry extends to her ambitious restoration of a more than 1,000-year-old Arabic paper mill into a sanctuary for art and cultural events.

 

I recently had the opportunity to connect with Stefania, who shared her background, drive, process, and more.

 

You are originally from Bronte. How did that factor into your artistic journey?

I believe that growing up in a place where boredom is abundant gives creative minds the opportunity to explore various ways to fill time. Creating something from nothing or very little is one of these possibilities. I think that if I had grown up in a city and had been one of many children with days filled with pre-arranged activities by parents, like swimming, dance, or English lessons (just to name a few examples), I probably would have become something entirely different.

 

Your training is in physiotherapy; what influence has this had on your art?

I worked full-time for almost 20 years in neurorehabilitation, a branch of physiotherapy that exposed me to devastating, often dire illnesses and connected me with people with whom I formed deep bonds. The contact with their suffering and the opportunity to help them navigate their difficult days taught me a great deal and inevitably shaped my worldview. But at a certain point, I felt the need to give space to parts of myself that hadn't had the time to be "cultivated." That's where the choice to split my life between physiotherapy (which I still practice) and art came from. I would say that the creative part of me influenced my approach to physiotherapy, not the other way around!

 

Stefania Boemi
 

What drives your passion for sustainability in art, and how do you select materials?

Nowadays, there's a lot of talk about ecology, eco-art, "green" practices, and sustainability. These topics have become "trendy!" But for me, it's simply about love and admiration for the beauty of nature. These sentiments, if we can call them that, were inherited from my mother. I grew up in the countryside, and after a long pause living in the city four years ago, I chose to return to live amidst nature. It feels natural for me to be "sustainable" in everything I do. The materials I choose are either "repurposed" (like the bedspreads I use for hammocks, the crystals for my chandeliers, or the lithographs for my cushions) or sourced locally (like clay or sand from Mount Etna). The connection to the island is strong, omnipresent, and indispensable in both cases.

Stefania frequently repurposes vintage materials.

Tell us about your creative process.

Describing the creative process behind my pieces is quite difficult for me. In most cases, it's an instinctive spark. Once that spark ignites, the step to realization is immediate and materializes through a sequence of trials and errors—until exhaustion! I study the results and explore possible solutions. My hands are the instruments of my imagination, and controlling the material becomes both a pleasure and a surprise. When I recognize poetry in the achieved form, the creative process is complete for me.

 

Teste di moro reimagined by Stefania Boemi

How do you incorporate Sicily's culture and history into your work?

I think I achieve this through the choice of materials. Clay is Sicilian soil, and the teste di moro, with their legend, tell a piece of the island's history. The association and identification happen naturally, and in this case, obviously. Other pieces have more secret ties, perhaps less evident. They involve the reuse of materials/objects with a past story linked to local customs and habits. Our roots are important. They need to be preserved. They tell us who we are and our identity. They allow us to differentiate ourselves and maintain a world with millions of diverse peoples, each with their traditions, colors, customs, and habits. And that's simply wonderful. Imagine how boring the world would be if we were all the same!

Red teste di moro by Stefania Boemi

 

Are there any upcoming projects you are particularly excited about?

Yes, there are new projects on the horizon that also involve my current artistic production in some way. But the project is much broader. Four years ago, I fled the city and purchased an estate on the banks of the Simeto River. It includes the Arabic Paper Mill of Ricchisgia, a building dating back to the year 1,000. It was constructed by the Arabs during their domination of Sicily, with 26,000 square meters of land cultivated with pistachios and olives. The Paper Mill, after the Arabs left, was transformed into a convent and inhabited by the Benedictine and Basilian orders for about three centuries. The entire property was later donated to Count Nelson, who became the Duke of Bronte. It remained in his family's possession until the 1970s. I was overwhelmed by the beauty of this little-known, secret place, which is part of an important minor historical heritage. It became my place in the world and my world. Here, I live and work surrounded by unspoiled nature, with rhythms and habits vastly different from those I previously had. I am personally involved in restoring and rehabilitating this extraordinary space. It's a complex project, challenging on many levels, especially financial. But it has become a life project. I'll host art and events. There's still much to do, but so much has already been accomplished. When I finish (if I ever do), I'll be able to say it was the most beautiful work I've ever done.

 

Medusa by Stefania Boemi

What advice would you give young artists?

I came across this writing by Rainer Maria Rilke, which encapsulates everything I could advise:

My daughter, if you feel a fire within,
a light burning deep inside,
don't smother it with the doubts of the world,
don't extinguish the fire with fear.
The path of the artist is long and uncertain,
but full of hidden treasures;
every brushstroke, every note, every word
is a step toward your truth.
Don't seek the approval of others,
don't expect applause at every step.
Art lives within you,
a silent song that only you can hear.
Create out of love, my daughter,
not for success or fame,
because true art is born from the heart,
not from the hands of those who judge.
You are young, and the world is vast,
full of dreams to paint,
of sounds to capture,
of stories to tell.
Be brave, and never stop searching,
because the artist never finds the journey's end,
but only new roads to explore,
new skies to paint with the stars.

Perseo and Andromeda by Stefania Boemi

What do you hope to share through your art?

In my view, art has the duty to evoke emotions. I hope to succeed in offering this—a small emotion.

 

 

Upcycled and reupholstered by Stefania Boemi

 

 

 

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