Slow gestures and universal stories

A profound sense of unity and completeness defines the work of Andrea De Simeis, engraver and papermaker from Salento, and founder of the Cubiarte Association. A unity between craftsmanship and artistic intent, between vocation and life, between past and present, between self and other. Working with nature and its seasonal cycles, he tells us, is a constant lesson in balance: if embraced with care, it can teach us that our practices can be not only sustainable, but also deeply attuned to the environment.

You came to papermaking after studying art, with a focus on printmaking and graphic design. Has the craft become a functional part of your artistic practice, particularly in relation to engraving?

At first, my passion for paper was something of a side pursuit—an unexpected adventure. But I soon realized that in printmaking, the quality of the paper is anything but secondary to the work itself: just trying out different sheets is enough to understand how they shape the expressive qualities of the work, depending on the interaction with the printing surface. In the end, the artistic and artisanal practices complete and elevate one another—they are complementary dimensions of the same creative process.

What role did your mentors play in developing this awareness?

I’ve had a number of important teachers, but one stands out above all: my printmaking professor at the Academy of Fine Arts, Glauco Lendaro Càmilles, a close friend of Pier Paolo Pasolini. It’s hard for me to describe what he taught me about slowness—it’s like trying to talk about the wind. He created a special path for me, one of such intensity that I would sometimes come down with a fever after his lessons. But it was a fever laced with passion.

After him, I encountered other mentors, in a kind of à rebours journey that eventually took me to Japan. When I began producing washi paper, a Japanese delegation came to assess my work. Not only did they recognize the quality, but I was also invited to work with two masters—Yamamoto Sensei and Suzuki Sensei—both officially honored as Living National Treasures. That invitation, marked by the profound rituality typical of Japanese culture, remains one of the most awe-inspiring moments of my life. It confirmed that I produce the finest washi paper outside Japan—an art that has been part of UNESCO’s Intangible Cultural Heritage since 2006.

What role does slowness play in your work—and in your life?

I live in Salento and have adopted the rhythm of this peripheral land, which harmonizes beautifully with my craft. Above all, working with plants teaches one to live by the cycle of the seasons. Lifestyle and vocation become aligned, generating practices that are not only virtuous, but also more efficient—paradoxically—precisely because of their slowness. Today, more than sustainability—a term that’s often overused—we need to speak of genuine balance with nature and place.

Would you say that the journeys through space and time depicted in your works express a sense of universality that transcends individual stories?

Absolutely. For example, I worked on an illustrated monograph about the Battle of Hattin—one of the bloodiest defeats of the Crusaders in the Holy Land, at the hands of Saladin—during the Iraq war, following the 9/11 attacks. Through my engravings, I seek to express the recurring patterns of history and to awaken a sense of universality—something the paper itself helps bring to life. Prejudice, the refusal to see the other, has always been the first ingredient of every conflict.

Speaking of cycles, how do you relate to apprentices, such as the intern you hosted as part of the Cologni Foundation’s “A School, a Job” initiative?

I welcome many young interns and apprentices from Italy and abroad with great enthusiasm. It’s a joy to witness their hunger for knowledge, and my studio has no secrets—I allow myself to be completely consumed by their curiosity. The bond I formed with Daniela Fumarola, who spent six months with us last year, felt more like an adoption than an internship.

Still on the topic of transmission and cycles: is it true that your very first apprentice was a rather unusual one?

When I started papermaking, about twenty years ago, many friends thought I’d gone mad. I had given up a secure, well-paid job in graphic design to pursue an ancient, slow craft that seemed doomed to disappear—just like the books people then predicted would vanish. I found understanding not among peers, but from my grandparents: theirs was a generation raised in harmony with nature’s rhythms, attuned to slowness. And so, they began helping me. In many ways, my grandfather Gino was my first apprentice.

Cubiarte di Andrea De Simeis

Via Roma, 71

Caprarica di Lecce, LE

+39 346 5232827

cubiarte@gmail.com

www.cubiarte.it