Helena Barbagelata is an Italian-Israeli multidisciplinary artist, fashion model, author, researcher and activist. With a PhD in Philosophy of Science and Mathematics from the University of Salamanca, her artistic career stands out for its broad spectrum of creative disciplines.

Personal Webiste: https://aicf.org/artist/helena-barbagelata/

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Barbagelata’s artistic work is characterized by the use of poetic symbolism, exploring the multiple dimensions of reality and challenging viewers to consider diverse perspectives and delve into human issues. She actively participates in artistic activism, engaging in initiatives aimed at raising awareness of important social issues. As a multidisciplinary artist, Barbagelata has explored a wide range of artistic mediums, including painting, sculpture, photography, dance, music, performance, film, and writing.

Her works often embody a profound reflection on the intersections of culture, identity, and society. Damiana De Gennaro for Magma Magazine Italia, eloquently captured the essence of Barbagelata’s work, stating, “Every nuance, in Helena Barbagelata’s writing and paintings, seems to respond to the irresistible call of mysterious chthonic energies, drawing from them the imperative of expression.”

Throughout her career, she has received several artistic awards from the Onassis Foundation, Ministry of Culture and Sports of the Greek Government, Saint Petersburg Repin Academy of Fine Arts, Universitat de València, Universitat de Barcelona, among others. Barbagelata’s works have been exhibited in numerous galleries and institutions worldwide. Among her recent notable participations is the multimedia exhibition “Arts & Human Rights: Conversing Multiplicities, 2023,” organized and developed by the Human Rights Research and Education Center (HRREC) at the University of Ottawa. Here, she presented her art series titled “The Long Road Home” in which the artist reflects on the fate of displaced migrants. Barbagelata’s work speaks to the resilience of people forced to leave their homelands due to wars, racial, religious, or political persecution, or severe human rights violations. She stated, “Coming from different backgrounds, cultures, and personal stories, these groups may be compelled to leave their home countries due to wars, persecutions based on race, religion, nationality, social group, political opinions, or due to severe and widespread human rights violations. The women and girls whose portraits compose the painted story are testimonies of courage.” In the year 2023, she also exhibited her mixed-media series Untamed Skin, in Laguna Beach, California at Las Laguna Art Gallery and she was awarded Best in Show for her artwork Darar II, in the group exhibition Essence in Hong Kong, at Gallery Omata.

Art critics have praised Barbagelata’s distinctive approach to art. Artvocate Gallery in London highlighted the originality of her watercolor works. These works, rendered with subtle shades of solidity, ingeniously reflect the lack of visibility that refugees often experience in society, emphasizing their resilience in the face of profound adversity. “The artist creates a visual play on the lack of visibility that refugees have in society, depicting their tenacity in extremely difficult times. The connection between mother and child reminds the audience of the importance of family bonds and, at the same time, serves as a reminder of what is lost when seeking refuge.”

In 2022, Barbagelata was among the contemporary artists honored in the exhibition “1000 Women in Art” in Nuevo León, Mexico, at the Museo del Antiguo Palacio de García, in celebration of International Women’s Day. Curated by Cintia Arellano, the exhibition paid tribute to women’s contributions to art and society. At the heart of her works, one finds a celebration of femininity and human sensuality. Barbagelata, by capturing the beauty and strength of women, invites reflection on society and personal liberation, exploring the body as a vehicle of expression and protest. In the same year, she exhibited her film “AHAVA” in Rome at Millepiani, as part of the collective exhibition “Political Statement.” In this film, she reflected on anti-Semitic, racist, xenophobic activities, and hate crimes committed every year in Europe and around the world. The artist also presented her series The Movable Limit in Florence, Italy, for Florence Contemporary Art Gallery and she participated in the video-art installation Artists at Work in Antwerp, Belgium, at NIIC for Antwerp Art Weekend.Her work Magma was exhibited in Buenos Aires, Argentina, at Galería Gisel Durán and awarded a jury’s mention.

In 2021, together with the Greek curator Filia Milidaki, Barbagelata collaborated on the project “Project Lazaretta: Digital Stories from the Old and New World,” Eyes Walk Festival, CulturePolis. This project received valuable support from the Greek Ministry of Culture and Sports. The artist presented her immersive poetic film titled “La Chiave dell’Abisso,” a work that combines acrylic painting, original musical composition, and videography. That same year, she participated in Israel Art Market’s Passover Exhibition, and exhibited her series INSULA at Kulturschöpfer, Green Hill Gallery in Berlin, Germany. She had her work on display at Muzeon Art Center in Moscow, Russia, as one of the finalists of “TAKEDA ART/HELP. Expanding the Limits of the Visible” international art prize, awarded by Saint Petersburg Repin Academy of Fine Arts and the HSE Art and Design School.

Her artworks have been featured in several international art magazines and catalogs.

She is a member of America-Israel Cultural Foundation (AICF), Member of the Society of Jewish Artists (SoJa) and the Organization for the Democratization of the Visual Arts (OBDK)

1. What inspired you to pursue such a multidisciplinary career spanning philosophy, modeling, and art?

Life is not a linear experience but a confluence of overlapping narratives, each offering its own lens to observe the world. My pursuit of a multidisciplinary career stems from a refusal to limit myself to one mode of exploration. Life, as the ancients articulated, is an unending search for τὸ καλόν, τὸ ἀγαθόν, καὶ τὸ ἀληθές—the Beautiful, the Good, and the True. These ideals are not separate entities but interwoven aspirations, urging us to explore existence in its fullness. My multidisciplinary career emerged from the conviction that no single discipline could encompass the breadth of this search. Philosophy roots me in the foundational questions: What does it mean to live a good life? What are our limits? Art allows these questions to transcend abstraction, making them tangible and experiential. Modeling found me— a path that unfolded as I was discovered by an agency. From the beginning, it became far more than a practice of standing before a camera; it was an exploration of staging, of theatricality, and of the art of embodiment. Each pose became a form of storytelling, an opportunity to inhabit a character, a mood, or an entire world. Modeling is an inherently performative craft, much like the theater. The studio transforms into a stage, the lens into an audience, and the body into an instrument for conveying meaning. It is not merely about presenting an image but embodying it—infusing a still frame with life, emotion, and narrative. In doing so, modeling bridges the gap between appearance and essence, offering a space to explore how identity can shift, adapt, and transform.

In Jewish philosophy, there is a concept of tikkun olam, the repair of the world, which resonates deeply with this pursuit. The idea suggests that through our actions, we participate in the ongoing process of creation, imbuing the material world with spiritual significance. This aligns with the belief in hiddur mitzvah, the beautification of a commandment, which sees the aesthetic and ethical as intertwined—beauty is not an end in itself but a path toward the divine. This philosophy profoundly influences my art, where aesthetics serve as a vessel for existential questions. Russian culture offers an equally profound lens on these ideals. In The Idiot (1869), Dostoevsky writes, Красота спасёт мир, “Beauty will save the world”, in this context, beauty is not merely an aesthetic ideal but a spiritual force—a beacon that draws us toward transcendence while simultaneously exposing the fragility and flaws of our humanity. This tension, between redemption and ruin, deeply informs my work, as I explore how beauty interacts with fragility, injustice, and resilience. Eugenio Montale, a Genovese poet whose words echo with existential clarity, once wrote in Ossi di Seppia (1925): “Spesso il male di vivere ho incontrato: / era il rivo strozzato che gorgoglia, / era l’incartocciarsi della foglia / riarsa, era il cavallo stramazzato.” (“Often I have encountered the evil of living: / it was the strangled brook that gurgles, / it was the curling of the scorched leaf, / it was the horse collapsing.”) Montale’s poetry captures the inevitability of suffering, yet also the possibility of transcendence through reflection and creation. His landscapes of despair and resilience resonate with my own exploration of impermanence and endurance. I aim to create work that does not shy away from life’s harshness but seeks meaning in its contradictions. These influences converge in my multidisciplinary practice, each discipline a thread weaving a larger tapestry of inquiry. Whether through philosophy, art, or modeling, I am continually drawn to the paradoxes of being, the spaces where surface and depth, permanence and transience, collide. It is in these intersections that I seek not final answers but the endless possibility of understanding.

2. Your work often uses poetic symbolism to explore human issues. Could you share the process of translating such complex themes into visual art?

Poetry and visual art are both attempts to articulate the ungraspable. When I approach a theme, I begin by questioning its essence. What does a particular color feel like? What shape does emptiness take? These questions demand answers that cannot be confined to words alone. Art allows me to embody the abstract, to make the invisible visible. It’s a negotiation between what is seen and what is sensed, a constant dialogue between the conscious and the subconscious. Poetry and visual art are both languages of the ineffable, attempts to give form to what evades articulation. My process begins with storytelling—a tradition deeply rooted in my ancestry. In Jewish mysticism, stories are vessels for hidden truths; they do not merely tell but reveal, inviting us to look beyond the surface. Similarly, Russian storytelling, with its layered narratives and undertones, often holds the tension between suffering and transcendence. These traditions inform how I approach translating human issues into visual form. When I explore a theme, I question its essence: These inquiries demand symbols, forms, and spaces that engage the senses and the soul. Art allows me to create visual metaphors that carry the weight of these questions. This process is not only about what is seen but also about what is sensed. It is a negotiation between the conscious and the subconscious, much like the mystical idea of Ein Sof, the infinite that underlies all creation, eluding direct comprehension yet shaping everything we experience. Translating this into visual art involves creating spaces where the viewer is invited to inhabit the questions rather than receive answers. Storytelling, whether visual or literary, is a bridge between the tangible and the intangible. My art seeks to occupy this space, using symbols and metaphors to guide viewers into their own emotional landscapes. It is a dialogue—not just between me and the work, but between the work and those who encounter it. This act of translation is, at its heart, a shared search for understanding, connection, and the threads of meaning that bind us across time and place.

3. How do you integrate activism into your art, and what social issues do you feel most passionate about addressing through your work?

Activism in art is not about delivering answers but about instigating emotions, provoking thought, and compelling questions that linger long after the viewer has left. It is a quiet yet insistent whisper that calls us to reckon with the world as it is and as it might be. In a time defined by global flux—forced migrations, environmental crises, systemic inequities—art holds a unique power: it can distill these vast, overwhelming realities into deeply personal and visceral experiences. My work often gravitates toward the stories of those marginalized or silenced, creating a space where their voices can resonate. These are not grand narratives but intimate portraits of human resilience and vulnerability. By evoking the personal, I aim to challenge viewers to confront their own roles within broader systems of power—whether as participants, beneficiaries, or even silent observers. Activism, in this sense, begins as an internal reckoning, a disruption of complacency, and a call to empathy. The integration of activism into my art lies in its ability to generate a response. I aim not to depict suffering for its own sake but to reflect the human condition in a way that unsettles and inspires action. For example, when addressing forced migration, my goal is not only to depict the enormity of displacement but to evoke the emotional weight of leaving a home that may never be returned to. What does it mean to carry one’s identity in fragments—photographs, heirlooms, memories—while navigating borders that deny your humanity? These works are intended to spark a dialogue, both within the viewer and within society, about the systems that perpetuate such suffering. In addressing social issues, I am particularly passionate about themes of displacement, environmental collapse, and the erosion of human rights. These themes are not isolated but interconnected, forming a web of challenges that demand holistic reflection. Whether through the portrayal of crumbling landscapes or fractured identities, my art seeks to reveal these connections, inviting viewers to see themselves as part of a shared and precarious ecosystem. Ultimately, activism in art is about fostering consciousness. It is a call to question the systems we inherit, the roles we play within them, and the possibilities for transformation. My work does not promise solutions, but it aims to create a space where change becomes imaginable—where empathy, awareness, and action can take root. Art, in this sense, becomes both a mirror and a compass, reflecting the world as it is while pointing toward what it could become.

4. In “The Long Road Home,” you depict the resilience of displaced migrants. What motivated you to focus on this subject, and how do you approach telling such emotionally charged stories?

Displacement is a wound that marks individuals and reverberates across generations, leaving scars on entire societies. It is both a deeply personal and universal experience—felt not only in the physical act of migration but in the internal estrangement that comes from being uprooted, whether by war, persecution, or the silent erosion of belonging. This theme resonates profoundly with me, not only as an artist but as someone whose own Jewish-Italian ancestry carries the weight of abandonment and denial—the experience of leaving an ancestral home behind and being refused the sanctuary of another. The haunting echo of exile: of ancestors forced to leave places where they had lived for generations, driven by the tides of persecution, fascism, and war. The feeling of being uprooted, of carrying one’s identity as a portable homeland, has shaped my understanding of what it means to belong—or to be denied belonging. This legacy of loss and resilience has sharpened my empathy for those who, even now, are caught in similar currents of history. Today, the world bears witness to countless stories of displacement—some well-known, many others silenced or overshadowed. The ongoing plight of migrants from African nations risking their lives to cross the Mediterranean, searching for hope only to encounter Europe’s fortified borders. In Italy, the shores that once carried whispers of our own escape are now frontlines for others seeking safety. Across continents, wars rage, borders close, and the displaced are left to navigate a world that too often sees them as burdens rather than bearers of untold strength and potential. One of the narratives I find particularly troubling is the image of Europe sold to the world as a bastion of equality, opportunity, and culture. This idealized vision of Europe as a beacon for those seeking safety and prosperity belies the stark inequalities and structural exclusions that define much of its reality. While Europe’s cultural and historical wealth is undeniable, so too are its entrenched disparities: the marginalized communities relegated to the outskirts of society, the exploitation of migrant labor, and the hostility faced by those seeking asylum.

In creating The Long Road Home, I sought to honor these journeys, not as distant tragedies but as deeply human stories of survival, resilience, and hope. My approach is rooted in an active and deliberate stepping into the liminal spaces of uncertainty, memory, and loss. Through art, I aim to reflect these stories with care, presenting them not as spectacles of suffering but as mirrors that challenge us to confront our shared fragility and interconnectedness. This requires embodying stories not widely told: the African woman who braves the Sahara for a chance at life, the Syrian family torn apart by war, the Rohingya child navigating statelessness. These are not mere statistics but lives imbued with dreams, fears, and unwavering strength. Art becomes a language of care, a medium through which these stories are held with the tenderness they deserve. It allows me to present their struggles not as spectacles of suffering but as invitations for reflection and connection. The act of creating becomes a bridge between worlds—a way to honor their humanity and remind us of our shared fragility and interconnectedness. The act of making art about displacement is, for me, a way to ask: What does it mean to leave home, carrying it within you even as the world denies you one? How do we reconcile the longing for rootedness with the reality of forced migration? And most critically, what responsibilities do we, as individuals and societies, bear to those who endure this journey? Displacement, I have come to understand, is not only a condition of movement but a condition of humanity—of seeking connection, rebuilding identity, and refusing to surrender to despair. In telling these stories, I hope to remind us all that the struggle for home, both literal and metaphorical, is one we all share, whether through ancestry, empathy, or the very act of existing in a world that is perpetually in motion.

5. Your portfolio spans diverse mediums, from painting and sculpture to film and music. How do you decide which medium best conveys a particular message?

Each medium carries its own set of possibilities and limitations, much like languages. Some themes demand the stillness of a painting, where every detail invites prolonged contemplation. Others require the dynamism of film, where movement mirrors the flow of life itself. I see this choice as a kind of translation—finding the medium that best encapsulates the soul of the idea. It’s not a conscious calculation but an intuitive response, as if the message and the medium are in conversation, seeking harmony. Each medium has its voice, and choosing the right one is as integral to my process as the message itself. My recent works—Marea Fiorita and The Quiet Visitors—reflect this interplay, using traditional techniques and materials to explore contemporary concerns and honor ancestral roots. In Marea Fiorita, I worked with materials historically used to build and decorate Genovese boats—paints derived from natural pigments, varnishes infused with maritime tradition—to craft ceramics that celebrate the fusion of floral and marine life. The corals and flowers depicted speak to interconnected ecosystems, drawing parallels between human and natural histories. The work is an homage to my Genovese ancestry, but it also carries a message of environmental awareness, highlighting the fragile beauty of marine and floral life in the face of ecological degradation. In The Quiet Visitors, I turned to tempera made with flowers, a technique that ties the act of creation to the earth itself, to depict insects—the oft-overlooked architects of our ecosystems. These pieces celebrate the microcosmic world that sustains the macrocosm of human life, encouraging viewers to consider the delicate interdependence of all species. By elevating insects to subjects of artistic reverence, I hope to provoke a rethinking of their role in the natural world and the impact of our actions on their survival. Through these works, the medium becomes a message. Traditional techniques remind us of what we risk losing—both culturally and ecologically—if we fail to act. They embody a sense of continuity, connecting the past with urgent contemporary issues. Activism here is subtle, embedded in the materials and the imagery, inviting viewers to engage on both intellectual and emotional levels.

6. What is the role of cross-disciplinary collaboration in your projects, such as your work with Filia Milidaki on “Project Lazaretta”?

In “Project Lazaretta,” the interplay between Filia’s architectural perspective and our artistic sensibilities allowed us to explore isolation in a multifaceted way. “Project Lazaretta” was born from the soil of history, nourished by the scars and stories of Greece’s Lazarettos—spaces once designated for quarantined travelers, later transformed into prisons for anti-fascist revolutionaries under oppressive regimes. These islands, scattered across the Aegean, embody a duality: isolation and resistance, exile and endurance. Collaborating with Filia Milidaki brought an architectural precision to these layered themes, allowing us to explore how physical spaces echo emotional and political landscapes. When I was living in Greece, I had the profound privilege of learning from Periklis Korovesis, who endured and documented the horrors of the Junta’s prisons. His account, Anthropofylakes (The Method), is not just a chronicle of torture but a meditation on the resilience of the human spirit in the face of dehumanization. Korovesis spoke of prisons not as places confined by walls but as conditions imposed on the human mind—a philosophy that deeply influenced my perspective on “Project Lazaretta.” The Lazarettos, much like many such spaces worldwide, are palimpsests of human suffering and survival. From travelers quarantined during plagues to revolutionaries imprisoned for their beliefs, these islands are markers of how societies respond to the “other,” to fear, and to dissent. The project, therefore, is not just about Greece but about the universality of these themes. It reflects on the human condition—our ability to endure, to resist, and, ultimately, to reclaim spaces of oppression and transform them into places of memory and defiance. In creating this work, I aimed to question: What are the prisons we carry within ourselves? How does exile shape identity? And can art act as a bridge, connecting us to those who came before us, their struggles, and their dreams for liberation? Collaboration becomes essential here because it mirrors the collective nature of resistance, reminding us that no act of defiance, no memory of suffering, ever truly stands alone.

7. What does being part of exhibitions like “1000 Women in Art” mean to you as an artist advocating for femininity and personal liberation?

Being part of 1000 Women in Art was both a personal and collective journey—an experience that connected me to a legacy of artists who have used art as a tool for resistance, self-expression, and transformation. The exhibition, held in the majestic Palacio de García in Nuevo León, Mexico, carried the weight of a rich and complex history. Figures like Gloria Gervitz, the visionary Mexican poet, come to mind. Her epic work Migraciones is a tapestry of memory, exile, and rebirth—a reflection of both Jewish diasporic experience and the cyclical, layered nature of feminine identity. Gervitz’s poetry feels like an invocation, a merging of the personal and the ancestral, and it deeply inspires my own exploration of identity through art. My time in Mexico allowed me to immerse myself in a culture where art and activism are inseparably intertwined. The stories of women in Mexico—indigenous leaders, labor organizers, mothers who march for justice—are testaments to courage and resilience in the face of systemic oppression. In many ways, their narratives mirror those of women throughout history, who have navigated exile, survival, and self-determination. This shared experience of resilience and the yearning for liberation became a touchpoint for my reflections on the exhibition. For me, it was an opportunity to question and honor the multifaceted nature of femininity—a force that contains both fragility and ferocity, vulnerability and power. It reaffirmed the role of art as a bridge between past and future, a medium through which we can carry forward the traditions, struggles, and triumphs of those who came before us while forging paths for those yet to come.

8. How do you see the intersection of art and human rights evolving in the future, especially as technology becomes more integrated into art?

The intersection of art and human rights is ultimately about freedom—the freedom to express, to question, and to resist. As technology becomes more integral to artistic practice, it offers powerful tools to amplify voices and reach across boundaries, but it also presents profound risks. The dominance of mass media and algorithms threatens to homogenize perspectives, turning art into a commodity rather than a vessel for genuine human connection. Pier Paolo Pasolini once observed that the true victory of power is cultural homogenization, the idea that everyone must think and behave in the same way. His critique of mass media resonates now more than ever. Art, if it is to remain a force for human rights, must resist this homogenization, insisting on diversity, complexity, and dissent. In my work, I approach this by engaging with themes and mediums that provoke deeper thought and emotional resonance. My projects remind me of the necessity to honor individuality, both in art and in the broader human experience. Technology, if wielded with care, can amplify such efforts. Virtual installations and digital storytelling can bring attention to human rights crises or celebrate the resilience of marginalized communities. However, the artist must remain vigilant, using these tools not to conform but to challenge. Art must confront the systems that seek to dominate our narratives and remind us of our capacity to imagine alternatives. In the end, art is not just a reflection of society but a catalyst for change. It must engage with the pressing issues of our time—migration, environmental collapse, systemic injustice—while preserving the space for the unrepeatable individuality. The intersection of art and human rights is inherently about preserving the essence of humanity—our capacity for imagination, memory, and the creation of meaning.

As technology, particularly AI, becomes more central to artistic processes, it introduces profound ethical and philosophical questions. What does it mean for creativity when machines can generate works in seconds? What is lost when art no longer requires the labor of the hand, the vulnerability of the heart, or the endurance of the mind? Art, historically, has been an act of struggle—a negotiation with materials, ideas, and emotions. The physicality of brushstrokes, the long contemplation behind a sculpture, or the revision of a poem are as much a part of the artwork as the finished product. This effort carries the imprint of the artist’s lived experience, their imagination, and their memory. AI, in its efficiency, risks erasing this human process, producing works that may mimic creativity but lack the soul born from struggle and reflection. Imagination is not merely the ability to create; it is the ability to remember, to dream, to connect disparate threads of existence into something uniquely personal. Memory plays a pivotal role in this—both individual memory, rooted in experience, and collective memory, passed through culture and history. We are tasked with preserving the sacredness of creation, reminding society of the irreplaceable value of effort, imagination, and memory. Art must continue to be a space for resistance—not against technology itself, but against the loss of what makes us human. Through this, the intersection of art and human rights will remain not only relevant but vital. This is the essence of freedom, the antidote to cultural homogenization, and the bridge that connects art to the ongoing struggle for human rights.

9. As an artist, what new mediums, themes, or collaborations are you excited to explore in the future?

I am deeply drawn to the interplay between natural elements and human expression—how the organic and the crafted, the fleeting and the enduring, can inform and enrich one another. My upcoming project, which I hope to release in early 2025, explores this intersection by weaving together film, ceramics, and the textures of the natural world. It is inspired by the legacy of poetry, architecture, and typography, drawing from their shared attention to form, rhythm, and the passage of time. This project is as much about process as it is about product. By integrating natural materials—perhaps clay that holds traces of the earth’s history or botanical dyes that capture fleeting moments of bloom—I aim to create a dialogue between the permanence of craft and the ephemerality of life. The addition of film allows these elements to come alive, capturing their interplay in motion and light, inviting viewers into an immersive experience that transcends the static. As I move forward, I am particularly captivated by themes of ecological grief and renewal, ancestral memory, and the porous boundaries between the human and non-human. Through this project and others, I hope to craft spaces where art becomes a meditation—not only on what has been but on what could be, inviting a sense of both reflection and possibility.

10. What advice would you give to emerging multidisciplinary artists navigating the intersection of art, activism, and personal identity?

Embrace the complexity of your path, for it is within the twists and turns of uncertainty that the deepest truths often reside. The intersection of art, activism, and identity is not a straight line but a labyrinth—a space where contradictions coexist, where the personal becomes political, and where the act of creation is itself an act of resistance. Do not fear this complexity; it is the source of your power. Question everything—your motives, your methods, the systems you navigate, and the narratives you inherit. Ask yourself not only what you are creating but why, for whom, and at what cost. Art does not exist in a vacuum; it breathes within the sociopolitical contexts of its time, shaped by forces of history, power, and memory. To create is to engage with these forces, to challenge them, to reimagine them. To remember that art is not about providing answers; it is about the courage to dwell in questions. It is about holding space for ambiguity, for discomfort, for the truths that cannot be easily spoken. It is about inviting others into this space—to share, to provoke, to connect, to inspire.