Interview by Angelica Venturini
All Images © Valeria Cherchi
Valeria Cherchi is an Italian visual artist and photographer known for her deeply investigative and sensitive approach to complex social issues such as communal silence, memory, and systemic violence. Her work blends theoretical research with visual storytelling, exploring marginal narratives and building connections between personal experiences and collective dynamics Her latest project, Re:Birth, is currently on view at the EXPOSED Torino Foto Festival, within the group exhibition Beneath the Surface.
Author’s note: This interview was conducted a few days before the opening of the Beneath the Surface exhibition, part of the EXPOSED Torino Foto Festival, where Valeria Cherchi is presenting her project Re:Birth.
Angelica Venturini (AV): Hi Valeria, thanks for being here! I’ll jump right in: how did your passion for photography and visual arts begin? Was there a particular moment or inspiration that led you to take this path? What motivates you every day to work in this field?
Valeria Cherchi (VC): I started photography quite a few years ago. Initially, it was simply a desire to create images. I discovered it while studying for my bachelor’s degree in design and multimedia studies. I’ve always loved art, especially visual art, although I was also interested in other forms of creative expression. I’ve always been fascinated by light and how it transforms things, so it felt like a natural progression. Then someone gave me a film camera as a gift, and that marked the real beginning. The shift toward more research-driven projects happened when I moved to the UK to pursue a master’s degree in Photography. I already knew I wanted to deepen my interest, and that experience helped me structure my work more clearly and define the themes I wanted to explore. Today, what drives me is quite different from when I first started. I was still myself, but twenty years younger—and naturally, life was very different then.
(AV): For example, in Some Of You Killed Luisa, you explore the complex dynamics of the kidnapping phenomenon that has deeply affected your homeland, Sardinia, particularly in relation to the culture of omertà or the code of silence that influences the community. What motivated you to focus on more engaged and research-driven themes like this one?
(VC): I’m generally drawn to exploring and understanding ambiguous dynamics—things that are visible on the surface, yet only partially perceived. I’m interested in why certain people notice these things and others don’t, and what I’ve discovered is that, in most cases, these dynamics are systemic. When a person experiences a sense of discomfort that evolves into something deeper, there’s often a structural reason behind it. My process usually begins with the individual, moves through the collective, and ultimately reaches a systemic level. It’s not just about personal experience, even though that plays an important role. What drives me is the intuition that an individual experience can, in fact, expand into a community level and then a systemic one.
(AV): How does your creative process work? How do you approach your projects and ideas? And how do you combine your research-driven, theoretical side with the more creative and visual aspects?
(VC): In my process, the visual component initially takes a backseat. If I were to break down a project timeline into percentages, I’d say research occupies about 70 to 80 percent of the work. Creatively, I start by thinking about the image—even though my work isn’t limited to imagery. The final outcome of a project may include still photography, video, or even written and audio components. I consider words an integral part of the output as important as the image. The choice of medium is closely tied to the research. Once I have a clearer idea of what I want to communicate, I select the medium that best conveys the concept, data, or experience—whether personal or collective. Sometimes, what I initially thought was the right form turns out not to be the most effective for the audience, so I adjust. Audience engagement is a key part of my process. My projects are long-term—one lasted nearly five years, another almost six—and throughout that time, I seek feedback. It’s like a dialogue. Sometimes I show the work privately to people from different backgrounds, some deeply familiar with the subject matter, others not at all. This helps me understand how it resonates. I also present my work to both art-world audiences and people completely outside of that sphere, to understand how it might be perceived.
Then, if necessary, I make adjustments. I always try to be true to my vision and aesthetics, but I seek a balance in order to make the work accessible and meaningful to others.
(AV): The unsaid and silence seem to be central elements in your work—almost invisible yet perceivable presences. In your projects, they emerge strongly without ever feeling abstract or purely conceptual. I’m curious to know how you address this theme through photography: how can you visually tell the story of something that isn’t spoken about? What is the relationship between an image—which by nature is visible and tangible—and silence, which is intangible? And in your creative process, what role does language play? How does it integrate with the image to make the unsaid perceivable? That seems quite difficult. Also, it doesn’t seem like you want to represent silence in an abstract or conceptual way, as in the concept of silence itself.
(VC): Exactly—I’m not interested in representing silence as an abstract or purely conceptual idea. I focus on real, grounded stories. Even though I often produce conceptual images—constructed photographs—they’re always connected to something that actually happened. That’s my starting point: I’m not drawn to abstract notions. So the question becomes, how do I represent silence through photography? To understand that, we have to consider what photography is—and its limitations. Every photographer has their own definition, but I align with the idea that photography is inherently unreliable as a medium. So, to me, photography—or the image in general—when I create something from scratch, is something evocative. And within the medium’s limitations, it must lead the audience to explore the theme in the most effective way possible. I don’t claim to fully explain complex topics with just a few images. My goal is to provide a starting point, a stimulus, so that the audience can delve deeper. This is why I use words extensively—not merely as simple support for the image, but as essential, integrated elements of the work. Words and images serve different purposes, but together they create a more complete narrative. So, to answer your question directly: how do you tell the story of silence with an image? I don’t think it can be done with photography alone You can evoke silence, but to truly explore it, you need words. For me, words are necessary.
(AV): Your new project Re:Birth addresses sensitive topics such as obstetric and gynecological violence. What led you to explore these themes? What was your research process like, and how did you approach such a delicate subject? In what ways do you think this form of violence affects the social fabric and the gender gap? How does it fit into the Italian social context and beyond?
(VC): Re:Birth began with a personal story: the death of my sister, Valeria, who I never got to know. She died at six months old, six years before I was born, due to what we later understood to be an unacknowledged case of obstetric violence. I didn’t know what had happened to Valeria until 2019, when I started working on this project. For a long time, I only knew that I had a sister who died as a baby. When I asked about it, the answers were vague. It wasn’t until my mother started therapy that we finally talked about what had happened. That’s when she shared the full story. I started wondering if my sister’s death was part of a broader phenomenon. When I realized that what had happened was not an isolated case but an extremely common issue that continues to occur, I delved deeper into the topic of obstetric violence. This includes medical negligence during pregnancy, childbirth, and the postpartum phase, which, in severe cases, can lead to the death of the mother or child but also to long-term trauma—not just for the mother or child but for the entire family. It creates generational and intergenerational trauma that often goes unspoken and unresolved. Regarding my research, I gathered stories from many sources: interviews I conducted, online testimonies, and collaborations with specialists. What interested me was providing a universal perspective, not just of those directly affected but also of those indirectly impacted. For instance, I also interviewed fathers in heterosexual italian couples(for now) who experienced loss during childbirth. In these cases, I collaborated with a psychiatrist, creating a listening space, and I translated their experiences and their emotions into more conceptual imagery—like photographing fathers underwater to symbolize suffocation and their struggle to provide emotional support to their partners. This negligence does not only affect certain groups, but it disproportionately affects specific genders. Women’s bodies are the most impacted, but within an intersectional context, there are also minorities that suffer even more. For example, I worked in Hungary with EMMA, an organization that advocates for women’s rights, particularly regarding obstetric and gynecological violence. We collaborated on a community project, DOULAS, with a Romani community a few hours from Budapest. There, we witnessed a form of intersectional violence—not just against a group of women but against Romani women in particular. Hungary is an extremely intolerant and fascist country, as is evident from its policies and social rhetoric. Romani women, in particular, experience violence intertwined with ethnic and social discrimination. The same is true elsewhere. In the United States, Black women experience higher rates of obstetric violence, regardless of socioeconomic status. It all comes down to power dynamics.
Hospitals can be places of immense vulnerability, and when power is abused, the consequences are profound. In Italy, the structure is different but no less problematic. patronizing attitudes are common, both in workplaces and personal relationships. In hospitals, this power dynamic translates into paternalistic behavior toward women, who experience psychological violence that reinforces gender inequality and deepens existing social gaps.
(AV): How would you describe your relationship with the people you involve in your projects? Do you see them as collaborators, witnesses, or perhaps co-creators? How does their role intertwine with your artistic narrative?
(VC): Yes, yes—this question alone could take two hours to answer. But no, I definitely want to address it.
In general, the relationship with the people I involve in my projects is complex and long-term. It requires time, curiosity, and a genuine interest in others. You have to enjoy listening and being present for someone else’s story. Without that, this kind of work wouldn’t be possible. The subjects I deal with are often sensitive, and as artists, we bring our own personal circumstances to the process. Sometimes we’re more emotionally available; other times, we may not have the capacity to carry someone else’s pain. So timing and care are essential. I can’t define these relationships in a single way—it depends on the person and the project. In Re:Birth, for instance, as I said before, I collaborated with a Hungarian organization focused on obstetric violence. That was a true partnership. When I conduct interviews, I rarely do it alone. I always try to involve professionals—psychologists, psychiatrists, or advocacy groups—because I’m not a medical expert, and I want to ensure a safe and respectful space for everyone involved. I always need the support of someone qualified. In terms of co-creation, I’d say not usually. Most of the people I work with are survivors of trauma. Asking them to co-create something—especially without knowing them deeply or having the support of a specialist—can be inappropriate or even harmful. For instance, in my project Bars, I photographed a friend of mine who is a victim of obstetric violence. She was the only woman among the victims whose testimonies I collected that I also photographed. I made that decision carefully. She’s also a photographer, so she could understand artistic practices on a broader level. In that case, we collaborated. But it was a conscious and shared choice. So ultimately, it depends on the person, the moment, and what they feel ready to share.
(AV): How does Re:Birth fit into the continuity of your artistic journey? How does Re:Birth engage with your previous works like Some Of You Killed Luisa? I was particularly interested in understanding the relationship between your new project and your past works, which has already subtly emerged, but maybe you can give a more concise answer.
(VC): The connection between Re:Birth and Some Of You Killed Luisa comes from a common starting point, which is memory. In both projects, I begin with a memory—something that deeply affects me and that I feel the need to resolve or delve into. These memories, often related to my childhood experiences, are the starting point, but the theme I explore is always a lack of justice in a universal scale.. In my works, I am interested in analyzing how, in certain circumstances, one group prevails over another. Some Of You Killed Luisa isn’t just about a murdered young woman. It’s about an unsolved crime caused by the silence of the community and the lack of formal justice. I’m not so much interested in discovering the perpetrator but rather in exploring the dynamics behind the silence and the reasons why certain crimes can happen, often without consequences. In the case of Re:Birth, the theme is similar, albeit in a different context. I talk about medical negligence leading to the death of a child in a hospital, a crime that isn’t always recognized as such but is often due to an abuse of systemic power. In both cases, the abuse of power by those in control—whether law enforcement or medical professionals—is a common thread. There is also continuity in the fact that both topics are often avoided, ignored, or not addressed. Many people don’t want to talk about the death of a young girl or children dying due to medical negligence, and that silence allows the power groups to extend their influence. That’s the thread that ties my two works together: uncovering complex and dark themes, using imagery to give visibility to subjects that are often silenced, and seeking to stimulate a social reflection on these dynamics of power and silence.
(AV): Your new work will be exhibited at the EXPOSED Torino Foto Festival in the Beneath the Surface exhibition. Can you tell us about this experience? How did you prepare for this event, and what does it mean to you? Have you had the chance to interact with the other participating artists?
(VC): The opening is on the 16th, so I hope it goes well I’m really excited, especially because this is the first time I’m exhibiting this project in its near entirety. I’m thrilled that it’s happening in Italy. I’m really curious to see how the Italian audience will respond. Every time I present this work, someone—usually a woman—comes up to me to share a similar experience. That kind of connection is deeply meaningful to me. For me, that’s the purpose of the work: to contribute to a broader conversation, to create a space where people feel seen and heard. If the project can help even a little in that direction, then it’s doing its job. On this occasion, I’m presenting not only images but also two videos. One of them is more documentary-style, featuring interviews I recently conducted near Budapest with the organization I’ve been collaborating with for the past three years. It’s an interview with Doulas, where they share their experiences. What stood out to me the most were two things: first, how many of the stories they told feel universal, with certain words and experiences recurring regardless of where they are from.; and second, the theme of resilience and survival strategies within a system that does not welcome them either as mothers or as Doulas.
