Beyond tradition: Caterina Frongia on weaving, migration and transformation
For Caterina Frongia, craftsmanship is not a practice of preservation but a language through which to speak about the present. Rooted in Sardinian weaving traditions while informed by contemporary visual culture, her work explores movement, migration and transformation as forces that continually reshape identities and knowledge. In this interview, Frongia reflects on the relationship between tradition and innovation, the nomadic nature of textiles, and the cultural landscape of Sardinia today.
Caterina Frongia
Your work brings together artisanal knowledge and contemporary visual languages. What are the cultural references that most influence your practice today?
I believe that artistic language is inevitably contemporary. Each of us is a layering of so much of the past, and within that there is everything: education, studies, passions, encounters and constant stimuli. Who we are today is the result of this extraordinary and unique combination of factors.
Craftsmanship is part of my upbringing. It is the tool I was given to write what I know. Cultural references are not easily defined. Starting from the assumption that every form of art influences my work – cinema, music, painting, writing, fashion and the applied arts, to name just a few – there are certain figures who have accompanied me for years and whose work naturally resonates with the way I see things: Hella Jongerius, Nathalie du Pasquier, Giorgia Lupi, Craig Green, Hubert Duprat and Bouchra Khalili. I’m aware that I’ve taken an axe to the list, leaving out many other equally valuable references.
In your practice, tradition never seems to be a repertoire to preserve, but rather a language to be constantly challenged. How do you avoid, when working with techniques that carry such a strong cultural identity, the risk of nostalgia or folklore?
That is a very interesting question.
I have no interest in producing craft for the sake of craft; for me, that would be sterile archaeology. And yet, at one point in time, that archaeology reflected the era of those who invented that language – and it was contemporary in that moment, of course. Language evolves alongside humanity, and it is right to pay tribute to ancient art, provided we use it to create something new. Paligenesis is the only way for both to survive.
You have described carpets and tapestries as nomadic objects, conceived to be transported and relocated elsewhere. What fascinates you about this mobile nature, and how has this idea shaped your artistic research?
Movement is what fascinates me most. It encourages change, continuous invention; it is a living system. Everything is nomadic – even our culture, our food, technology and language. None of these is ever a final destination; they are all expressions of an attitude, a way of being, of the ongoing search for something that can never quite be grasped.
The tapestry is a symbol. It tells the story of a life that can travel anywhere, even far from the person who lived it.
Migration and nomadism run throughout your work. How important is the relevance of these themes in contemporary discourse – beyond the artistic context – to the way you approach them?
As you suggest, my work inevitably engages with the present and with the geopolitical dynamics shaping our time. I am interested in the forces that drive people to migrate: environmental crises, climate change, desertification and deforestation. It is the same impulse that guides many other species. Birds, for instance, follow ancient routes in search of conditions that are favourable to life.
In nature, borders do not exist. There is movement, adaptation and the need to find new places to inhabit.
Every migration brings about transformation. It sets ideas, practices, memories and knowledge in motion; it creates relationships, exchanges and new forms of belonging. It is not simply a geographical journey, but a process that generates cultural biodiversity and broadens the way we look at and understand the world.
Do you think contemporary art is helping to tell new stories about Sardinia, complementing those traditionally associated with its archaeological and natural heritage?
There are museums that have done remarkable work, such as Museo Nivola under the direction of Giuliana Altea, Antonella Camarda and Luca Cheri. There are also research centres that promote innovation and cultural development in very interesting ways, such as CRAFT and SA Manifattura in Cagliari.
There are also several artists whose work I greatly admire, including Narènte, Alessandro Biggio, Ivan Delogu Senes, Marco Loi, Fabio Talloru and Gianmarco Porru.
Your practice unfolds between Bologna and Sardinia. How do these two places interact within your creative process? And how do you collaborate with Sardinian artisans and workshops?
Sometimes distance allows for a clearer dialogue between those who leave and those who stay. It creates a certain detachment that helps preserve what is valuable in the relationship.
My greatest fortune was being the daughter of a weaver and having the opportunity to experiment at home. That accelerated many processes, allowing me to define certain limits early on and then push beyond them, increasingly exploring drawing, materials and the possibilities of the loom.
Bologna and Sardinia coexist perfectly. In one, I have the space in which to write; in the other, the place where I translate those ideas into material form.
The artisans no longer throw their hands up in despair. Every time a new project begins, they simply tell me, “We’ll get through this one too.”
Which places in Sardinia would you consider essential for anyone wishing to discover its cultural heritage, beyond its natural landscape? Are there any places to which you feel particularly attached?
A few places that hold a special place in my heart are Museo Nivola in Orani, Spazio Ilisso in Nuoro, the ISRE, also in Nuoro, the Archaeological Museum of Cagliari, and MURATS Museum in Samugheo for its collection of tapinos. I would also recommend the archaeological site of Tharros, the menhirs of Biru ‘e Concas in Sorgono, and finally the Sinis Wildlife Oasis.
Once again, I’ve had to take an axe to the list.
Images courtesy of the artist.
