When I decided to take on a tattoo inspired by the Divine Comedy, I didn't want to create a mere aesthetic homage to Dante. I wanted to craft a piece that honored every step of his journey, from Hell to Paradise, staying true to the symbols, references, and atmosphere he meticulously built over centuries.

This tattoo wasn't born on impulse—it was the result of study and careful planning. I revisited the cantos, analyzed the descriptions of places, characters, torments, and blessings. Every element in the composition carries a precise meaning. Nothing is placed randomly.

Hell was constructed with dark, textured tones, full of visual tension. The figures are twisted, sculpted in suffering. Purgatory, on the other hand, is a gradual ascent—brighter, more suspended. Paradise, finally, is light, harmony, clarity of form. Everything was designed to convey an evolution, an inner journey, not merely to display something visually striking.

From a technical perspective, it was a complex undertaking: narrative composition, attention to detail, balancing positive and negative space, and above all, ensuring coherence between content and form. But more than the hours, the effort, or the challenge of execution, what truly made the difference was the connection to the deeper meaning of the work.

Tattooing the Divine Comedy was, in a way, like guiding the client through their own personal journey. Each stage reflected something in their life, a reason behind choosing this subject. And for me, that is the most important part: not just tattooing what is seen, but what is truly experienced.

Old photographs have a special power. They are open windows to the past, silent witnesses of moments that will never return. Every wrinkle, every glance, every detail faded by time tells a personal story that has left a deep mark on those who preserve it. When I am asked to transform one of these images into a tattoo, I know I am not simply drawing—I am passing on a memory.

These projects place me in a delicate position: to restore dignity and truth to a visual memory, while respecting as much as possible what it represents. Sometimes the photo isn't sharp; it may be yellowed, damaged, or blurred. But within those limitations lies the most fascinating part of the process: interpreting what is unseen, reconstructing with sensitivity and skill what time has erased from the paper.

My goal is not just to create a realistic tattoo, but to find a balance between fidelity and heart. Every line must have meaning, every shadow must speak.

I work freehand to adapt the composition to the person's skin, highlighting the essential details: a gaze, a posture, an expression—often worth more than a thousand words.

A portrait is not just a technical matter; above all, it is a responsibility.
I love tattooing faces because within every gaze, there is a story that deserves to be told. Color portraits represent not only a technical challenge but also a true exercise in empathy: you need to be able to read a person's soul, understand their deepest nuances, and transfer them onto the skin in an authentic way.

It's not simply about reproducing an image; it's about giving it life, capturing the essence that makes it unique. Every detail, every contrast, every reflection in the eyes carries meaning and helps tell the story of the subject.

For me, every portrait is a one-of-a-kind work that deserves time, care, attention, and respect, because only in this way can it truly speak and convey emotion to those who behold it. 

LI've always loved animals. Ever since I was a child, I would spend hours flipping through illustrated books to learn more about them, studying every detail: the structure of their wings, the strength of their paws, the expressions in their eyes. When I saw them in real life—whether in nature or even just in a documentary—I felt a joy that's hard to describe. There was something in them that spoke to me, something that made me feel connected.

That same connection has stayed with me and has become a part of my work. Today, tattooing an animal isn't just about reproducing a realistic figure on skin. It's about telling a story, honoring a symbol, transferring energy. Whether it's a totem animal, a lifelong companion, or an idealized creature, I always feel the emotional and symbolic weight it carries.

An animal tattoo is never filler or a casual choice. It's an extension of the person wearing it, a silent message that speaks of freedom, loyalty, courage, or deep bonds.

Every time I create one, I return to that same childhood curiosity. Only now, instead of books, I have a tattoo machine in my hand—and instead of pages… the skin of someone who has chosen to trust me.