Alice Lussiana Parente is an artist who has made the blending of different artistic languages her distinctive signature. An actress, performer, and lover of painting, sculpture, music and dance, the Turin-born artist, who has lived in New York for the past twelve years, retraced her story with ilNewyorkese as a guest on the podcast Ritratti.

It is a story that moves through artistic experiences, decisive encounters and the deep bond with the city she now considers home.

During the interview, Parente explained how her relationship with art is rooted in her childhood. Raised in a family where creativity was part of everyday life, thanks to her mother, a painter and teacher of artistic disciplines, she developed from an early age a sensitivity toward different forms of expression.

“I think I was very lucky because I was born surrounded by art and beauty. My mother is a painter and a painting teacher at a high school, so I grew up watching her paint. I think that dimension entered my heart when I was still a child.”

For her, the various artistic disciplines were never separate compartments, but complementary elements of a single education: “Dance, movement and music are still part of me, and I believe they make an artist more complete.”

The actress then recalled one of the key moments in her professional growth: her encounter with British director Peter Greenaway. She was just sixteen when she auditioned for the first time for a project at the Reggia di Venaria.

It was an experience that left a deep mark on her: “It gave me so much. First of all, it was my first real professional experience, but on an emotional level it is difficult to explain the gratitude I feel toward a master like Peter Greenaway.”

Even today, she clearly remembers that first day on set and the most important lesson she learned: “I understood that I could do this job, and above all I learned a fundamental lesson: love is not enough to make art, you need dedication. You have to work hard and have discipline.”

Another decisive encounter was with Gigi Proietti, who chose her for the role of Annika in the stage production of Pippi Longstocking. Looking back on that period, Alice Lussiana Parente emphasized above all the rigor and passion of the great Roman actor and director. “What stayed with me was his absolute love for the craft of acting, for acting as craftsmanship.”

It was an experience that lasted two years and allowed her to observe up close a master who personally followed every stage of the theatrical work: “He was extremely present, he followed every phase of the work.”

The next chapter of her life took her across the ocean. Twelve years ago, she arrived in New York with the idea of staying for only a few months, but that temporary plan soon turned into a life choice: “I had grown up with the myth of this city, of Marlon Brando, Robert De Niro and great American cinema.”

The turning point came through the chance, unexpected but revealing, to enter the Stella Adler Studio of Acting, one of the most prestigious acting schools in the United States. “My initial idea was to stay in New York for only three months to attend a preparatory summer course,” she explained. After being admitted, however, she received a form of scholarship that allowed her to attend the academy. She then made the decision that would change her life and her professional path: “I went back to Italy to prepare, and then I left. In a way, that journey never ended. I’m still here.”

New York, however, was not only about opportunity and professional growth. The actress also spoke about the more difficult side of the American experience, made of loneliness and adaptation. “If I had to choose the most difficult moment, I would say the first month. It was a very cold winter, I was alone and I didn’t know anyone. Loneliness was the greatest challenge,” she said.

And yet that very phase proved essential to her personal growth: “That is when something clicked inside me. I think it happens to many people who arrive in New York. You go through a moment when you feel lost, you want to go home and you don’t know what direction your life will take.” The answer came through school and through the relationships she built over time: “I built my New York community. The stories of success, difficulty and personal growth that I encountered along the way enriched me and made me understand that I wanted to stay in this city.”

Among the professional achievements she has earned in the United States, a special place belongs to the Golden Film Award she received in Los Angeles as Best Emerging Actress. For Alice Lussiana Parente, that recognition meant much more than a simple prize. “Receiving that award was a great confirmation. It was my first recognition in the United States, and it came right in the heart of Hollywood.”

She still has a vivid memory of the return trip: “The award was made of glass, and during the flight back to New York I held it as if it were a treasure.” It is an episode that captures well the enthusiasm and gratitude with which she experiences every milestone she reaches.

The conversation on the podcast also brought out a reflection on time and artistic maturity. At 35, Parente looks to the future with serenity and without fears related to age. “I am proud of every year I have lived, and I wouldn’t take away a single one.” It is a particularly meaningful message in a field such as entertainment, where actresses often face stereotypes and pressures related to age: “I hope to continue being proud of every year that passes and to experience this growth as a richness.”

One of the projects awaiting her in the coming months is the docufilm dedicated to the birth of ilNewyorkese, in which she will play the role of Chiara. It is an adventure the actress approaches with enthusiasm, but also with the respect she brings to every character: “I don’t know how much I chose the character and how much the character chose me. I like to think that Chiara chose me.” For Alice Lussiana Parente, the value of the work also lies in the fact that it tells New York through a story born in the city itself: “For me, telling New York through a story born in New York, that loves New York and tells its story every day, is an enormous emotion.”

Finally, the actress emphasized the value of the dialogue between journalism and cinema, a central element of the project. “I believe that communication between different languages is something very precious.” It is a concept that echoes her own artistic experience, built on the encounter between different disciplines.

The post Inside Alice Lussiana Parente’s New York Story appeared first on Good Morning Italy.

Walking to the new Tappeto Volante Gallery from Little Italy, I thought about passages. Passing can have many different meanings: from one place to another, from one life to another. And art, truly evocative art, can also transport us in time and in our memory. This was the quality that first attracted me to Angelo Vasta’s work, whose focus on concealment and revelation represents an in-betweenness that carries particular emotional resonance. For me, it was seeing my father’s life, though cut short, celebrated through Vasta’s exploration of vulnerability. By focusing on transitions, from solitude to collectivity, darkness to light, disappearance to presence, Vasta challenges the viewer to see not just the end result, but the act or process of moving on.

Luci Spente, Vasta’s first solo exhibition in New York, inaugurates the new location of Tappeto Volante Gallery with a body of work that demonstrates both formal evolution and emotional intensity. Drawing from personal memory, dance cinematography, and art historical references, Vasta builds layered compositions in which figures oscillate between representation and abstraction. This vacillation creates an atmosphere of discovery, while the intimacy of the new Tappeto Volante space encourages undisturbed ambling between artworks. The gallery’s long central corridor encourages sustained looking, allowing the emotional and material complexity of Vasta’s drawings to unfold gradually and in tandem with one another. Across the exhibition, bodies gather, lean, dance, and engage each other and the viewer to see comfort in community, and joy in the intimacy of relationships, both familial and romantic. Ultimately, Luci Spente is an exhibition about how we survive the rupture of loss.

To create the immersive scenes that characterize his work, Vasta works in oil pastel on paper to combine figures, textiles, and landscapes into rich tapestries of color. The nocturnal tones that recur throughout the exhibition create a perceptual tension between concealment and revelation, while dancing bodies often appear suspended in movement. In this way, the exhibition treats darkness not only as context but as the source from which figures and color slowly emerge. Walking between Di Notte and Ragazzo con giglio, the show becomes (though perhaps unintentionally) bookended by these two works. Both share a visual vocabulary of gold-patterned textiles and dark grounds, flattening pictorial depth even as the figures strain toward movement. At moments, the flattening risks oversimplifying the emotional charge of the figures, yet this freedom becomes central to the exhibition’s psychological evolution. While Ragazzo employs an acrobatic figure moving through darkness with closed eyes, suspended between vulnerability and performance, Di Notte features a series of dancing figures and an open doorway that extends toward the night landscape beyond, transforming darkness from enclosure into passage.

Between these two works the exhibition opens into the colorful, saturated vitality that characterized Vasta’s earlier drawings. While echoes of Matisse emerge in Vasta’s palette and patterned interiors, the drawings ultimately reject decorative content as an end in itself, imbuing both landscapes and interiors with layers of tonality and meaning. Speaking with Vasta about Dancers on Dunes, he described the connection to his late father and to a photograph he keeps of him standing beside Matisse’s Dance at MoMA. Combining his professional background in dance cinematography with personal experience, the work becomes more than citation. Where Matisse often used ornament to dissolve tension into harmony, Vasta mobilizes color and pattern as sites of emotional compression. Here, as elsewhere, groups of figures become abstractions in their own right, dissolving individual identity into collective movement. The dancers do not merely occupy space together; they negotiate forms of proximity after loss.

This emphasis on relationality gives Luci Spente its contemporary resonance. The tenderness between figures carries particular force within representations of queer intimacy, where touch becomes both emotional language and resistance against isolation. In Luci Spente, intimacy emerges not as resolution, but through the continual movement and grouping of bodies. For this reason, Vasta’s drawings excel at communicating vulnerability, offering spaces in which these figures remain open, unfinished, and dependent on one another. Even in moments of solitude, the drawings suggest the possibility of communion lingering just beyond the frame.

All the images above are courtesy of Tappeto Volante Gallery

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Ferrara is much more than a historic bakery in Little Italy: it is an institution. Founded as a community café in 1892, it is a living archive of the Italian American experience in New York, while remaining entirely contemporary and timeless. In this interview, Ernest Lepore, CEO and Executive Chef, looks back on more than a century of family history, from the first espresso served to immigrants who had just arrived at Ellis Island to the legendary “Holy Cannoli,” through inherited values, moments of crisis, benevolent spirits hidden under the stairs, and plans for the future, always faithful to the bakery’s roots.

Ferrara is a living piece of New York history. Can you tell us how it all began, even before the city itself took shape?

Well, it’s ironic to think about it, but Ferrara was founded before New York City received its charter. In 1892, we became official, but before that we were a café, a kind of old-fashioned “social media.” People would come here looking for Mr. Ferrara — a bricklayer, an accountant, an architect — for help. It was a reference point, a place where the Italian community found support and connection.

And how does the experience of Italian immigrants intertwine with your story?

If you came from Italy, from Ellis Island you would arrive at the Seaport, where you would meet friends or relatives who had already settled in America. Then, passing through the Lower East Side, you would walk here, to an area where most people were German, Dutch, and Irish. But for us Italians, this was home. We turned Italian food into fine dining. It was a real cultural revolution, a way to affirm our identity and our value in an America that did not always welcome us with open arms.

Yours is a family story, with deeply rooted values. What principle has guided you through the generations?

Our grandmother taught us: “Family first, then business.” Even if we didn’t like each other, on Sundays we all had to sit at the table together. And in the end, things would work themselves out. That is the nature of things. This respect for family became a deep respect for the business, which we had to buy back from the other partners. It is a bond that is passed down, like when my niece, who is not even four yet, tasted a tricolor cookie bought somewhere else and said: “I don’t like it, it’s not good.” Quality is in our DNA.

Were there difficult moments, times when Ferrara’s future seemed uncertain?

The hardest moment was when my father died, at only 47. There was no succession plan. It was a devastating blow, but it taught us the importance of being prepared. Today, we are each other’s successors, and we have a good insurance policy!

Looking to the future, what are your dreams and plans for Ferrara?

The future is global, but also attentive to new needs. I want to bring Ferrara to five key cities around the world, starting with Naples. And we are working on gluten-free and “sugar-correct” products, to educate people to eat the best in terms of nutrition per calorie. Italian food, and Ferrara, must continue to evolve, to teach, and to delight.

Finally, what is the secret to the longevity of a place like Ferrara?

If there were a secret, do you think I’d tell you? My mother would say “the munaciello.” We still have a staircase that leads nowhere because that is where the munaciello is. It is a spirit, like a leprechaun, but Italian, who spins gold. Maybe he is the real secret, or maybe it is the consistency of the product. But there is certainly something magical about this place.

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Gianluca Passi has built a career that moves across industries with unusual fluidity — from professional rugby in Italy to the upper tiers of fashion, and eventually into global finance and investment. Now based in New York, his work sits at the intersection of capital, culture and relationships, with a growing focus on connecting Italian talent across borders.

Gianluca, your trajectory spans multiple industries and geographies. Why do you think so many Italians succeed abroad, often without being fully connected back to their home country?

It’s less about visibility and more about fragmentation. There are Italians operating at the highest levels globally — in companies like Apple, in finance, in tech — but they’re not part of a shared system. Their stories don’t intersect.

That’s the real gap. Not a lack of success, but a lack of connection. There’s an extraordinary pool of talent, but it’s dispersed. Bringing that together would create something much more powerful.

You’ve been in New York for years. How does the city shape people professionally and personally?

New York operates at a very high frequency. If you align with it, it accelerates everything — your growth, your exposure, your opportunities. If you don’t, it can be overwhelming.

It’s not just about work. When you build a life here — especially with a family — the complexity increases. Costs, time, pressure. You have to find your balance. Some people do, others realize it’s not sustainable for them.

You have three children growing up here. How do you maintain a sense of identity in such an international environment?

It’s a deliberate choice. At home, we speak Italian. That’s non-negotiable.

At the same time, they’re exposed to other cultures every day — English, Chinese at school, French through our nanny. The goal is not to limit that, but to anchor it. Identity and openness can coexist, and when they do, they become an advantage.

Your career began at Armani. What did that experience give you?

Perspective. I entered without a background in fashion, coming from sports, and suddenly I was inside a system that was incredibly sophisticated.

Armani wasn’t just a brand — it was an ecosystem. Fashion, design, hospitality, licensing. And everything was consistent. That level of control and vision is rare.

At a certain point, I was involved in talent strategy — proposing collaborations with athletes and artists. It was a unique environment to understand how influence and positioning really work.

Then you moved to Moncler, at a very different stage of its evolution.

Yes, and that’s what made it interesting. It was smaller, but extremely dynamic.

I joined before the IPO and saw the company transition into a global luxury player. What stood out was the ability to take a very specific product and reposition it completely, without losing its identity.

We also approached visibility differently. Less about formal appearances, more about real-life integration. That shift made a big difference.

Your move into finance wasn’t conventional.

It wasn’t planned. It started from relationships. I was connecting founders, advising informally, and that evolved into something more structured.

At some point, I realized I needed to complement what I was doing with technical expertise. That led to partnerships — first with Italian families, then with institutions like Azimut.

It became a combination of access, network and capital.

One of your current projects is SailGP. What drew you to that?

It brings together several elements — sport, business, global exposure.

Sport, in particular, has a unique ability to connect people. It’s universal. And in SailGP, the human factor is central. The boats are identical, the data is shared — the difference comes from the team.

That makes it compelling, both competitively and commercially.

You’ve said that brands and sport are resistant to technological disruption. Why?

Because they’re rooted in human behavior.

Brands represent identity, belonging, heritage. That doesn’t disappear.

Sport is unpredictable. It’s driven by people, not systems. You can’t replicate that with technology. If anything, I think we’ll see a renewed focus on human relationships.

You’ve been working on an initiative to connect Italians in the U.S. What’s the idea behind it?

The idea is simple: create a system where there isn’t one.

There are thousands of Italians in senior roles across industries, but they don’t operate as a network. There’s no structure that brings them together in a consistent way.

The goal is to build that — not just for those already established, but to create a platform that can support others coming in.

What advice would you give to someone starting out today?

First, get out of your comfort zone. That’s where growth happens.

Second, stay curious and build real relationships. That’s still the most valuable asset.

Third, don’t rush. Things take time. “Festina lente” — make haste slowly.

What does New York represent for you today?

A testing ground.

It forces you to adapt, to build resilience. You face rejection constantly, but that’s part of the process.

At the end of the day, everything comes back to people — understanding them, building trust, creating connections. That’s what makes things move.

The post “Festina Lente”: Building Global Networks the Gianluca Passi Way appeared first on Good Morning Italy.

Arianna Bergamaschi, known simply as Arianna, is an Italian singer, actress, and performer who rose to fame at a very young age as the official Italian Disney voice and as the lead in numerous musical and television projects. Over the years, she has built an international career, collaborating with artists such as Pitbull, Shaggy, Flo Rida, and Giorgio Moroder. Alongside her recording and theatre work, she has performed at major global events, from the Vatican to international productions and North American tours.

You grew up in a family closely connected to the entertainment world. How much did that influence your desire to work in television, and how much did you feel the need to build an independent path?
“There was definitely an influence from my family, especially from my mother. I come from a family full of musicians. But my desire to be independent came quite early. At first, maybe out of fear of comparison, I wasn’t even fully convinced I wanted to be a singer—I was more drawn to dance. Then, thanks to my experience with Disney, I understood that music could truly be my path and not just something temporary. Building my own identity took time. Even today, I still listen a lot to my mother’s advice, especially on interpretation.”

Looking back at your beginnings, when did you first think: ‘Okay, this is no longer a game, this is my real job’?
“Very early, actually. I started working practically from infancy—I was in commercials at seven months old. But real awareness came later, around my twenties, when I finally started managing my own money independently. That’s when I felt a huge sense of excitement: you think you’re independent, but then rent, expenses, and responsibilities arrive.”

You started very young in the entertainment world. Did you ever find it difficult?
“There were moments when I saw my friends playing outside while I had to study a song or prepare, but the desire to be on stage was always stronger than anything else. I remember at three years old I literally ran out of my mother’s arms to get on stage. It was completely instinctive, almost uncontrollable. So I think joy has always outweighed any sacrifices.”

You also started very young in television. Is there anything about that world that still surprises you today?
“Television has very different rhythms compared to theatre, which is closer to my background. I’m still surprised by how little time you’re given to prepare a performance: you have to arrive ready because rehearsals are minimal and everything happens extremely fast. Television consumes and delivers content at an incredible speed. That’s what makes it such a demanding medium.”

What do you think about the evolution of entertainment through streaming platforms and social media?
“I really like streaming platforms. Social media, on the other hand, has both positive and negative aspects. On one hand, it gives immediate access to information and allows talent to emerge more quickly, without long traditional paths. On the other hand, it often creates the illusion that visibility alone is enough to be an artist. That’s the risk: believing that followers replace training. In reality, a career requires constant work.”

Today, do you feel more like an actress, singer, or performer? Or do you find these categories unnecessary?
“Performer is the definition that represents me best, because it includes everything. I don’t want to limit myself to a single label. What I love most is interpreting—whether through singing, dancing, or acting doesn’t matter. What counts is communicating something and moving the audience.”

Is there a character that stayed with you even after the stage or set?
“Definitely Bernardina in Masaniello. To play a Neapolitan character as a Milanese actress, I studied for six months. I had to portray a Neapolitan fishmonger in a company of forty people, almost all from Naples. When they learned the lead was from Milan, many were skeptical. That pushed me to fully immerse myself in Neapolitan culture, which I already deeply loved. It was an incredibly intense experience on a personal level as well. At that time, my father was very ill and I was constantly moving between Naples and Milan. That role became a real catharsis and helped me process a huge pain.”

What led you to leave Italy and move to the United States?
“At first it was supposed to be just a future home, then Covid completely changed the plans. My husband realized we could live anywhere and suggested moving to a seaside city, also for our son who suffered from asthma. For me it was a shock, because my entire life and career were in Italy. It was a family decision, but at first I experienced it as a forced choice. Over time, however, I understood that this experience was making me grow. It forced me to reinvent myself and create something that would keep me connected to my culture. That’s how Italiani Veri was born.”

How much did this move influence the creation of the show?
“A lot. Every morning I worked on Italiani Veri, which is designed for an American audience. I had to look at my country almost from an external perspective. Many things that are obvious to Italians are not at all for an international audience. It was a fascinating exercise and a major artistic challenge.”

What are you working on at the moment?
“I’m working on Italiani Veri – The Show. The first date was on October 2 in Toronto, as part of a tour supported by the Italian Ministry of Foreign Affairs and the Italian Cultural Institutes, which recognized its cultural value. After Toronto, we went to Chicago, Los Angeles, and Miami. Then we started a collaboration with Fever, which brought new dates such as Boston, Atlanta, and San Francisco. In San Francisco, the first show sold out immediately and a second performance was scheduled. Recently, the cover of the famous song That’s Amore was also released.”

How does it feel to have this response in the United States?
“It’s a wonderful surprise. Since it’s not my home country, you never take it for granted that people will buy a ticket for your one-woman show. I was very afraid, especially because the level of entertainment here is extremely high. But I’m receiving very positive feedback and I truly feel appreciated.”

If you had to define this phase of your life in one word, what would it be?
“Exciting. I feel like I’m in a very flourishing moment, both as an artist and as a person.”

The post Arianna Bergamaschi: “Moving to the U.S. forced me to reinvent myself” appeared first on Good Morning Italy.

Bilena Settepani is an Italian-American pastry chef, content creator, and entrepreneur. She works in her family business, Settepani, a historic bakery and restaurant rooted between Brooklyn and Harlem, where she grew up. Today she oversees creative dessert development as well as the brand’s marketing and e-commerce. In recent years she has gained visibility on social media for viral creations—like making panettone year-round and the “rainbow cookie croissant”—that blend Italian-American tradition with playful experimentation.

You didn’t originally plan to enter the family business. Looking back, was that shift a conscious decision—or something that became inevitable over time?

As first-generation children of immigrants, my parents always wanted more for us. They know how hard the hospitality industry is and strongly encourage education. While also making so many sacrifices for my brother Seyoum, and I to get a strong education.They didn’t want me to join the business; they wanted us to go to college, explore other paths, maybe become a doctor or a lawyer.

So I tried to make them happy. I graduated in communications and started working in fashion. I enjoyed it, but I always found myself going back to the bakery after work. There was something about working with my family that kept pulling me in. Eventually I went to culinary school, graduated, and started working full time at the family business.

My grandmother used to say, “When are you going to stop what you’re doing and go help your dad? He needs you.” She was very adamant. While my decision isn’t only about honoring her memory, it is about love. I truly love what we do and working with my family.

Food brings people together. It lets us connect with our culture and keep traditions alive, even in a place like New York—which is home, but far from where my family comes from. That connection is incredibly important to me.

My parents immigrated to New York as teenagers and my dad settled in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, while my mom ended up in Queens. My father was a student at NYU when he bought a small bakery in the village on LaGuardia Pl and that was the beginning of the Settepani story – although it was called Bruno Bakery from the original owners, that was the beginning. Over the years the business grew from that original bakery to multiple Settepani locations, including a Sicilian restaurant on 20th Street that was called Bondi, we also had two coffee shops in Westchester in the 90’s early 2000’s. Today we have Settepani a restaurant in Harlem that’s been open more than 26 years, our Bakery in Williamsburg location is celebrating 35 years soon, and we run a few caffe’s one in Dumbo Brooklyn, and this year we opened two new outposts in the Studio Museum and Central Park.

I have been surrounded by food my whole life, my parents, grandparents, and much of my family were and are involved. 

You grew up inside Settepani, but today you’re actively reshaping it. How do you balance preserving a legacy with the need to evolve it?

I did grow up inside Settepani. Some of my earliest memories are doing homework at the bakery table or being surrounded by the people who worked with my parents and cared for me. I took my first steps there; my first words were probably food-related. 

Your work blends Italian tradition with influences that go far beyond it. Are you trying to expand what “Italian” means—or to challenge it altogether?

I’m not trying to change or challenge what “Italian” means. My goal is to share Italian culture, recipes, and traditions, and to bring people together through them. Recently I started hosting monthly events at our restaurant to build community—bringing together newly arrived Italians, longtime friends, and anyone who loves Italian food. It’s a way to keep traditions alive here in New York without having to travel to Italy. Food is a powerful connector; it brings back memories, emotions, and a sense of home.

Many dishes appear across cultures in various forms—a cotoletta, say, shows up in different cuisines under different names—but they all connect people to memory. For me, things like pastina when you’re sick, caponata after school, or traditional Sicilian cookies like buccellati are deeply tied to childhood and family traditions. Even when we innovate, like making artisanal panettone year-round, a practice my father helped pioneer in the U.S.—we do it to keep the storytelling alive. New flavors and formats aren’t about abandoning tradition; they’re about making it relatable to our community today.

Growing up between different cultures in New York, do you feel more connected to an Italian identity, a New York mindset, or something entirely your own?

I think Italians often grow more prideful of their identity when they’re away from Italy. Growing up in a family nostalgic for home from multiple cultures, I was constantly surrounded by that pride of where we come from. Food is the quickest way to reconnect when you can’t get on a plane, so we keep traditions alive year-round, sometimes with modern twists, but always rooted in authenticity. I’d say I’m a mix: Italian and New Yorker, and also something uniquely my own shaped by both worlds.

Italian food in the U.S. is often tied to nostalgia. Your approach feels more forward-looking, do you think that perception is finally changing?

Yes. Nostalgia will always be central, and beautiful, because it ties food to family and memory. But there’s growing curiosity now: people want to learn, try new interpretations, and understand the stories behind dishes. The future of Italian cuisine here will be that balance, honoring tradition while allowing room for evolution. It’s not replacing the past; it’s building on it for new generations.

You’re not just creating products, but also shaping the brand and its narrative. How intentional are you about building a clear point of view behind everything you do?

I’m increasingly aware that I’m building a brand. At first I focused simply on preserving family traditions; now I see how important it is to have and communicate a clear point of view. For me, preserving traditions and explaining their meaning, why dishes are made, why they belong to certain holidays, how they connect to culture, is essential. In a world full of negativity, bringing people together through food to create joy and connection feels vital, especially in a city like New York.

If you had to define what you represent today—not just as a pastry chef, but as a voice within a new generation—what would you say?

It’s hard to define myself in one box, I see myself first as a baker. Everyone has a voice; mine is one way of keeping traditions and stories alive through something sweet. I hope to represent a generation that values tradition, community, and collaboration, people who believe that we’re stronger together, and support each other instead of competing against each other. I’m grateful for the trust people place in me, when they eat my food, hire us for events, or listen to our story. If anything, I aim to use that trust to build connections and keep our cultural stories alive.

The post Bilena Settepani and the future of Italian pastry in New York appeared first on Good Morning Italy.

Who is Alberto “Polo” Cretara.  Few figures in Italian music history embody the idea of pioneer quite like him. As frontman of La Famiglia — the Naples-based collective that first brought hip-hop in the Neapolitan dialect to the national market in the 1990s — Polo was far more than a rapper. He was an organizer, a graphic artist, a north star for an entire generation that would go on to include names like Clementino and, more recently, Geolier, whose Neapolitan-language performance at the Sanremo festival sent shockwaves through Italian pop culture. La Famiglia released a fully dialect-language album in 1998, a cultural and political provocation at a time when Southern Italy was routinely dismissed and denigrated in the national conversation. The record opened a door that countless artists would later walk through. Polo eventually emigrated to New York, where he ran Farinella Bakery, a cult pizzeria beloved by the city, all while rapping at night without ever stopping. Now, at 54, he’s back in the studio with La Famiglia — to point the way out of the chaos, one more time.

How did your relationship with hip-hop begin?

It all started with a teacher who stopped me cold at the blackboard. I don’t remember if I was in middle school or high school, but from that moment I never stopped thinking about it. Then, because my father worked for Enel — the Italian national electric company — I had access to a youth travel program called the Arca. From age thirteen on, I was going to England and France every summer, breathing this culture from the inside. At eighteen, I saved up money doing graffiti on shop shutters — there was nobody else doing it then, the money was real — and I bought a ticket to New York. It cost one and a half million lire. A fortune. But there was no discussion. Hip-hop works like Archimedes’ principle: the harder something pushes you down, the more the culture lifts you back up.

Were you aware, while you were doing it, that you were blazing a trail?

Everything I have ever done in my life came from a personal need to say something. Hip-hop had struck us like lightning because of what it carried: the gesture, the narrative of the challenge — the New York gangs that instead of fighting with knives fought with how they danced. The final message, though, was always peace. Unity. It’s a culture that cannot go out of style because the message of love is universal. The harder something pushes you down, the more it lifts you back up. Archimedes’ principle applied to music.

What do you still carry of Naples with you?

The anger. Same as always. There were maybe ten, twenty years of lull — I had Farinella, my workers were well paid, it felt like society was actually heading somewhere good. But they were lying to us, as they often do. And now here we are in this abyss, everyone navigating without a compass, because the machines they’ve built interfere with even that. La Famiglia found the light at the end of the tunnel back in the nineties and pointed to it. Today, with everything I’ve lived through, at fifty-four years old, I see even further. In the nineties we looked straight ahead, at ninety degrees. Not thirty. And at ninety degrees you get the horizon — you see forever.

The 41st parallel connects Naples and New York. What do these two cities actually share?

The sea. The port. A mother with open arms — everybody’s welcome. I can guarantee you that in Naples, everybody is welcome. And New York has always been the home and refuge of everyone who needed to find something different somewhere else. A mother who raised children capable of defending that right for everyone. What you see with Mamdani today is not the expression of some corrupt electoral machine — it’s the people of New York saying: we want democracy, we want something inclusive, we want to feel part of something bigger.

Geolier at Sanremo, singing in neapolitan dialect. Continuity or rupture?

I’d say grandchild. He had the courage to do what we did in 1998, when we released an album entirely in Neapolitan for an Italian market where Naples was being systematically dragged through the mud — Umberto Bossi was calling us names at full volume, and we were taking it in the face, hit after hit. We answered with music. Geolier made that same courageous choice on a much bigger stage. We are huge supporters of his work.

Looking at today’s music scene — has something been lost? The truth, the belonging, the message?

The truth still exists. The protest still exists. But you have to dig for it, because it’s not always on the mainstream, and the algorithm is not going to help you find it. Today the real fight is between your hunger for truth and the algorithm. That is the actual battle we need to have. There is no currency on this planet — in any nation — that compares to the feeling of stepping off a stage after the crowd has received exactly what you wanted to give them

The stage, the respect of the crowd, leaving a cultural mark — what still moves you?

The stage. There is no currency on this planet, in any country, that holds up when you step off a stage and the crowd has received what you came to give them. I don’t need money. I do this to give what I have inside — something I have to give, have to say. When I see it register in the faces out there, that’s when I’m paid. Which is why we still go out and play. Sometimes for free.

New York in one bar — go.

New York is beautiful and beloved — but all you do is spend money (Original in Neapolitan: “New York è bella e cara, ma se ne vann sul renar.”)

The post The Man Who Rewired Italian Hip-Hop From Naples to New York appeared first on Good Morning Italy.

Christopher Macchio, an Italian-American tenor from Holbrook, Long Island, is renowned for his powerful and versatile voice, effortlessly moving from classical repertoire to modern crossover. A graduate of the Manhattan School of Music, he has built an international career both as a soloist and as a member of the New York Tenors, performing on prestigious stages such as Carnegie Hall and Lincoln Center. He has released acclaimed albums, including Dolci Momenti and O Holy Night, and has expanded his fame through television appearances and collaborations with prominent artists in the films Don Q (2024) and Cabrini (2025). In 2025, Macchio had the honor of singing the United States national anthem at Donald Trump’s presidential inauguration, bringing his voice to a global audience.

Macchio unites opera and contemporary crossover naturally, treating them as complementary forms of expression. “I do not see opera and contemporary performance as opposites,” he explains. “Each has its own language, its own beauty, and its own way to reach the listener.” In his view, the boundaries that often separate classical and modern music are more a matter of perception than reality, allowing him to bridge genres while staying true to his artistic vision.

Macchio’s training is rooted in classical discipline, which he considers essential for building a strong foundation. “Opera represents the most refined form of vocal technique,” he affirms, emphasizing that mastery of the classical tradition allows him to explore contemporary genres with confidence and depth. Yet he is quick to add that technique alone is never the ultimate goal. “At the end of the day, it is not about the notes or the perfect sound,” he says. “It is about creating a response in the listener, touching them in a way that goes beyond technique. Communication is always the center, not the categories we impose.” For Macchio, music is about connection between artist and audience, past and present, and different musical worlds.

Today, his work is primarily focused on crossover, blending elements of opera with contemporary styles in innovative ways. He avoids rigid definitions, preferring to let the music guide the interpretation rather than the other way around. “Sometimes a more modern style is more accessible, even more effective depending on the context,” he observes. Rather than adhering to a single genre, he adapts continuously, moving between styles as fluidly as a dancer shifts steps. “It is like driving a Formula 1 car: you are on the same track, but you keep shifting gears,” he explains, drawing an analogy to the careful balance of precision and speed required in both music and racing. He considers this adaptability a rare and valuable skill. “I feel fortunate to have this flexibility, because not everyone can move easily between different musical languages. It opens doors to collaboration, experimentation, and new ways of expressing emotions.”

Macchio’s journey into music was neither planned nor gradual. At fifteen, he had not yet considered singing as a possible career or even a serious pursuit. His first encounter with his own voice happened almost by chance, and with initial reluctance. “I did not want to attract attention,” he recalls with a hint of a smile. “When the teacher asked me to sing in front of the class, I refused outright.” It was only after remaining alone in the classroom with the teacher that he finally agreed to try. The reaction was immediate and striking. “He was shocked,” Macchio recounts. “He told me I had a gift and an obligation to share it. That moment changed everything for me. It was the first time I understood that my voice could have a purpose beyond myself.”

Soon after, he auditioned for a prestigious summer program, an experience that initially felt daunting. “During the audition they showed no reaction,” he recalls. “I walked out thinking I had failed completely.” The following day brought a remarkable surprise: “They called saying they were shocked,” he explains. “What struck them was not just the quality of my voice, but that I had only been singing for a few months. It affirmed that I was on the right path.” A subsequent evaluation by a highly experienced musician confirmed the impression. “He told me my voice was world-class and completely natural. In that moment I understood that music could be more than a passion; it could become a serious vocation.” This early recognition laid the foundation for a career defined by both technical excellence and emotional authenticity.

Macchio’s connection with traditional and patriotic repertoire further shapes his artistic identity. While he embraces contemporary technologies and media to communicate with audiences, he remains deeply rooted in enduring principles. “On a practical level, I love technology and modern media,” he says, “but I have always believed that there are fundamental values that should not change. Music is a vessel to express those values, not just to entertain.” Patriotic and traditional pieces, in his view, represent continuity and a link to cultural heritage. “They reflect the foundations of our civilization,” he explains. “Bringing them to the stage is not simply a stylistic choice; it is a conscious act of giving voice to the system of values that shaped us.” This connection gives his performances a sense of purpose and gravitas that resonates with audiences across generations.

Managing the balance between emotional intensity and technical control is one of the central challenges of his work. “There is a fine line,” he admits, “between letting yourself be carried away by the music and maintaining the structure that technique provides. I feel a responsibility to both.” He acknowledges that this tension can make it difficult to fully abandon oneself to the performance, especially in classical singing where precision is paramount. “In genres like jazz or blues, there is more room for spontaneity and imperfection,” he observes. “Classical music requires a different kind of discipline, but the goal is the same: to create an immersive experience for the listener.” Audience reactions suggest that he succeeds, with performances often perceived as both controlled and deeply moving.

Despite receiving recognition early on, Macchio has maintained an approach to his career that is far from fame-seeking. “It has never been about attention or success,” he states firmly. “From the beginning, I understood that this was a gift, and that it carried a responsibility. That awareness has guided my choices and focus.” Rather than focusing on personal acclaim, he prioritizes the impact of his work on others. “I want to move people. I want to touch something deeper, to remind them of the beauty and nobility of being human. That is the measure of success for me.” In a cultural landscape that he sometimes sees as fragmented or distracted, his intention remains resolute. “If my music succeeds in elevating people, even only in part, then I have done something meaningful. That is what drives me every day.”

Christopher Macchio’s journey demonstrates that the greatest artistry lies not in the performance itself, but in the connections it creates, the stories it tells, and the values it conveys.

The post Christopher Macchio: Shifting Gears at the Speed of Sound. The journey of a classical-crossover tenor appeared first on Good Morning Italy.

Elena Azzaro is an Italian model of Sicilian origin, currently based in New York. Working between the United States and Europe, she has developed her career through editorial shoots, advertising campaigns, and runway shows, collaborating with several brands, including Vivienne Westwood and Armani, building a presence defined by a classic yet strong look and a versatile on-camera style. With roots in Italy and growing international visibility, she represents a new generation of Italian models shaping their careers within global fashion markets.

Your work sits between image and interpretation: how much of what we see truly represents you, and how much is constructed specifically for the camera?
My work always involves building a character. Every time there’s a story to tell and a brand to represent, so I have to interpret a role. It’s a bit like acting in silence. Sometimes the character reflects my personality, sometimes it doesn’t, but that’s exactly what I enjoy: being able to step into different roles.

Fashion often evolves quickly, but identity remains constant. How do you maintain your identity in a field based on constant reinvention?
That’s a very interesting question. We models are a bit like canvases onto which clients project their vision. We’re often asked to be neutral for this reason. But over time, you develop your own personal style that’s what really sets you apart. Even if the system tends to standardize you, authenticity always wins in the end.

There’s a difference between being seen and being remembered. What makes an image stay in people’s minds?
An image stays with you when it evokes an emotion, whether positive or negative. It’s the result of many elements: light, expression, atmosphere… like a painting. If it moves you, then it’s a good photograph.

Do you have a favorite image from your career?
I don’t have just one. There have been many important shoots, each for different reasons. It’s hard to choose a single one.

Do you remember your first Fashion Week?
Yes, my heart was racing. I thought that feeling would disappear over time, but it hasn’t. It’s still there and it’s also what makes you feel alive.

You’ve worked across different aesthetics and narratives: have you ever felt misrepresented or misunderstood in a project?
No, usually everything is very clear: there’s a moodboard and precise directions. Part of our job is adapting to the project. I’ve always worked in respectful environments. But it’s important to say that if something makes you uncomfortable, you have to speak up. It’s not always talked about enough, but it’s essential to know how to say no.

In fashion, beauty is often defined by external standards. Have you found your personal definition of beauty, or is it something that keeps evolving?
It’s constantly evolving. Personally, I find perfection in imperfection. In this industry you see many types of beauty, but often it’s imperfections that make someone interesting and unique. Even what you consider a flaw can become your strength. Conformity exists, but in the end what truly stands out is being yourself.

What’s something you do on set that no one taught you?
The way I move and pose. I trained in classical dance for many years, and it gave me body awareness and fluidity. It’s something that comes naturally and is difficult to teach.

Being Italian carries a strong cultural identity: has that influenced your approach to work or how others perceive you internationally?
Yes, especially abroad it’s seen as a value. In the United States, for example, Italians are highly appreciated. In the past, though, Italian models were sometimes overlooked in Italy. Fortunately, that has changed.

The work of a model is often underestimated. What would you like to clarify?
It’s not just about “being beautiful.” It’s a job that requires technique, physical and mental endurance, constant travel, long hours, and adaptability. And then there are relationships and managing your image on social media it’s truly a 360-degree job.

Do you think the fashion industry is really changing in terms of inclusivity?
Compared to 10-15 years ago, yes it’s more inclusive. But on the runway there’s still a long way to go, especially regarding sizes. In editorial shoots you see more variety, but less so on the catwalk, particularly in Europe.

What is the least visible part of your work?
Everything that happens behind the scenes: agencies, castings, management. And then the uncertainty you never know when you’ll be working. It’s not a stable job like others.

How important is discipline in this job?
It’s absolutely essential. You have to take care of yourself: nutrition, exercise, energy, and a lot of mental strength. Confidence is also very important. It’s not as simple as it may seem.

Have you ever had particularly difficult moments in your career that made you question everything?
Not really, but being rejected at certain castings that mattered a lot to me has been tough. Still, I’ve never questioned myself or my passion. I’ve always continued to believe in my work, my goals, and in myself.

What advice would you give to someone starting out in the fashion industry?
Don’t start too early better from 18 onwards. Do your research, talk to other models, and be careful with agencies. It’s a beautiful job, but also a demanding one.

Do you have new goals or projects for the future?
Yes, I’m working on new projects related to food and also cinema, between Italy and the United States. I can’t say too much yet because they’re still in development, but there will be many new things coming soon.

The post Elena Azzaro: “Knowing when to say no” appeared first on Good Morning Italy.

Andrea Damante is widely known to the general public, but his path began first and foremost with music. Born in Sicily and raised in Verona, he got into DJing at a very young age, taking his first steps at local parties and gradually building his career through clubs and events across Italy. Over time, he expanded his work to international settings as well. Among them, Marquee in New York represents one of the most significant stops in his career abroad.

Looking at your career so far, how would you define your professional identity?

First and foremost, I define myself as a DJ. It is what I have always wanted to do, even before television came along. I started as a kid, almost by chance: I was 12 or 13 when my father organized a party at our beach house in Sicily and bought a DJ console. The next day it was still set up, and I started trying it out. From that moment on, I never stopped. Today I still feel like that kid who wanted to be behind a console and share music with people. More than the idea of playing prestigious venues, what matters to me is creating energy and helping as many people as possible have fun.

From television to music, through social media: how important are they in your career today?

Social media has become essential from a communication standpoint, that is clear. But on its own, it is not enough. It can help people get to know you, but there has to be something real underneath: skills, musical culture, the ability to handle a DJ booth. Today everyone communicates through social media, so in the long run the people who really have something to say or do are the ones who emerge.

Music is central to your life. What does working as a DJ give you that other professions would not?

Being behind the console is my happy place. I would not do anything else. It gives me a feeling I do not find in any other activity: energy, focus, freedom. It is also a form of personal balance. I am a fairly anxious person, I tend to worry easily, but when I play, everything switches off. I stay focused only on what I am doing. Finding something you are truly passionate about helps a lot. When you do something you love, something that involves you and gives you satisfaction, you manage to clear your mind and detach from negative thoughts. For me, music is that.

How do you prepare a set, and how much room do you leave for improvisation?

It always depends on the context: festival, club, season, audience. First I select a series of tracks, but then during the night you have to read the moment and adapt. I would say it is quite a clear balance: half preparation and half improvisation. It is important to follow the energy of the crowd.

How important is experience behind the console?

Very important. Technique can be learned through study and practice: mixing well, staying on beat, knowing the equipment. But after years you develop something else: sensitivity, flow, the ability to guide the audience and build a musical journey. That is where professionalism really shows.

Is there an artist or producer who has particularly influenced your style?

Many. When I started, I was very influenced by the EDM scene: Martin Garrix and Alesso were important references. Today my tastes have evolved toward more house and electro sounds, with more groove. I am inspired by different producers, and I take different elements from them to build something personal.

You became known to the general public at a very young age. How has your relationship with fame changed?

At the beginning it was quite invasive, especially in the first period after television. But I have always experienced it well, without any particular discomfort. I have always received a lot of affection, and that made everything easier. Of course, sometimes you miss a bit of anonymity, but overall it is something I have learned to manage calmly.

Do you still feel connected to your television beginnings, or do you think you have moved past that phase?

I think I have moved past it. Almost ten years have gone by, and from the beginning I tried to be consistent: when they offered me guest appearances, I always said I would go if I could play. I always wanted to communicate that this was my work. In recent years I have also turned down some social media collaborations in order to stay focused on music. It has been a long path, but today I think the message is clear.

Looking back, what would you say to Andrea ten years ago?

To be less in a hurry. At the beginning I should have spent more time in the studio and followed my musical identity more, instead of chasing the trends of the moment. But mistakes are also part of the journey. In music, everything takes time: building a project, finding the right team. Being in a rush is often counterproductive.

Where do you see yourself in five years?

I hope to bring my music to as many people as possible, play more abroad, and do more festivals. I really like America and working here, but I do not think I would move permanently: Italy remains home.

Do you have any new projects coming up?

Starting in September, a project I have been working on for a long time will begin. In recent years I tried to get into a label I cared about a lot: I sent many demos, received several rejections, but kept going. In the end, they signed several of my tracks and we closed a deal for three singles. It was an important goal for me.

As for live shows, I will return to Las Vegas in June, I will have many dates in Italy, and I will also continue my summer format in Mykonos, which I have now been doing for three years.

The post Andrea Damante: “The DJ booth is where I feel at home” appeared first on Good Morning Italy.