In this intimate conversation, Carla Sutera Sardo takes us to the heart of her artistic practice. From her first self-portrait, an act of self-affirmation, to the theatrical light of Sicily that infuses her work, Carla reflects on identity and the delicate line between reality and imagination.
How did your artistic journey begin? Was there a key moment or turning point?
My artistic path began during university, driven by a fascination with aesthetics and the female body. The real turning point came when I started photographing myself — it was a personal act of exploration and affirmation. That intimate gesture became the foundation of the visual language I use to express myself creatively.
What does photographing in Sicily mean to you?
It means returning to my roots and my inspiration. From silent fields to decaying architecture, the golden, theatrical light and evocative landscapes all carry their own voices. Sicily isn’t just a backdrop, it’s a symbolic and emotional presence. Each image becomes a way to reconnect with its beauty, its contradictions, and its deep, lingering melancholy. It’s an act of love and of giving back.
What is the relationship between the female body and the environment in your photographs?
The female body and the landscape are deeply interconnected, blending into one another, reflecting each other in constant dialogue. The body becomes an extension of the environment, while the landscape takes on a sensual, intimate presence. I’m not interested in explicit representation; I prefer ambiguity and suggestion, leaving space for the viewer’s interpretation. The body isn’t an object but a narrator — a vessel of memory, desire, and identity. When placed in quiet, timeless settings, it becomes almost symbolic, as if seeking meaning or claiming a space of its own.
Can you share a fun fact behind one of your most beloved photographs?
One of my earliest and most meaningful photos came about almost by accident. I was shooting with two models at the velodrome in Palermo — a strange, suspended place. The caretaker was skeptical at first, but let us in. When the models changed into simple pink bodysuits, he panicked, assuming we were doing something inappropriate, and quickly kicked us out. Just before that, I captured the shot I had imagined — a brief moment filled with tension. That mix of freedom and misunderstanding, beauty and misinterpretation, has stayed with me. It speaks to how thin the line is between what we see and what we imagine.
What would you like the audience to feel or reflect on when viewing your work?
I try to create open spaces where the gaze can wander, suspended between reality and imagination, desire and melancholy. Body, light, and setting move in a fragile, intimate dimension. More than telling stories, I try to evoke a feeling, a reflection on identity, femininity, and our connection to place. If even one person sees themselves in that suspended beauty or quiet unease, then I’ve truly said something.
