Giacomo: the first of three brothers
Giacomo is thirty years old. For eleven years he has lived in a permanent vegetative state, the consequence of a car accident that, at nineteen, nearly ended his existence. The first of three brothers, he embodied that special role reserved for firstborns: the one who opens the way and guides the younger ones. Today, his body tells another story — one of deep scars, of contracted and unalterable postures. He alternates between time in bed and brief periods in a wheelchair.
His mother accompanies him every other day, sitting beside him as he gazes toward the window of the common room. It is there that light, sounds, and movement seem to capture his attention. In those moments, Giacomo’s inner world reveals itself in glimpses: a blink, a slight movement of the eyes, a fist that clenches.
For him, every creative activity is an attempt to open a channel of communication. I hang a sheet of paper on the window and draw what might resonate in his imagination: a flight of birds, an airplane, a hot-air balloon defying the wind. Each stroke is accompanied by words, a narration that seeks to animate the image. I bring music, creating silhouettes that interweave with the notes. Sometimes I use lights to draw fleeting shapes on the ceiling, describing them before they vanish.
I craft a small handmade mobile for him — two wooden sticks, beads and colored ribbons hanging at various heights. I hang it in his room, near the bed, so that Giacomo can observe the delicate and glimmering movements. A visual and symbolic invitation to enter into relationship.
The journey with Giacomo is a process of containment and symbolization. The window, the mobile, the lights, the drawings: every element is a bridge between his inner world and the exterior, an attempt to reactivate fragments of the self. It is not about filling a void, but about respecting it — and at the same time creating a possible dialogue with the invisible.
Mario: the fracture of a possible future
Mario is seventy years old and has lived in a vegetative state for ten years, the consequence of a stroke that abruptly interrupted his active life. Married for fifty years to a devoted and deeply loving woman, he is the father of three children and grandfather to a granddaughter of barely one year — whom he has never been able to hold in his arms.
Mario retains small traces of his identity: the scent of aftershave that his wife applies with care, the eyebrows that furrow when he is irritated, the yawns in moments of boredom. These are fragments of a subjectivity that persists, bodily manifestations that tell a complex story.
The therapeutic approach also involves basal stimulation — bodily contact, the right touch to elicit relaxation and comfort. Mario works with a skilled practitioner who uses lights and sounds. By observing these practices, I learn new ways to connect with him. The music I bring, the images of food and wine I share — he was once a passionate gastronome — seem to evoke an echo of the past.
Mario reacts to simple but meaningful stimuli: a sudden noise startles him, and his mouth turns downward. In response, I draw an angry face that I attach to the door with a message: “Please close the door gently, thank you!” This gesture not only protects his emotional state but creates a symbolic bridge — a tangible expression of his reactions.
For Mario too I craft a mobile, similar to Giacomo’s: suspended forms that offer a visual stimulus, a delicate interplay of light and color within his limited visual field. Each encounter is an exercise in presence and listening, an attempt to respond to the silent language of the body.
Amerigo: awakening in a transformed body
Amerigo is fifty years old. Two years ago a heart attack, followed by cerebral hypoxia, led him into a deep coma. Six months ago, against all expectations, he awoke — only to find himself imprisoned in a body paralyzed at 90%. Today he can move his eyes and, with the help of an occupational therapist, communicates by writing with his right hand.
Amerigo lives suspended in a constant oscillation between the desire to live and the desire to die. He cannot accept his condition, yet neither can he accept the idea of ceasing to exist. His physical immobility is accompanied by a profound emotional immobility, woven of rage and sadness.
Before the heart attack, Amerigo painted with great passion. In coordination with the occupational therapist, we decided to pick up this broken thread, creating a therapeutic setting that would allow him to tell his story through painting: an adjustable bed table, albums with textured paper, tempera, brushes, a palette. Each element was chosen not only to ensure functionality, but to recreate a familiar and stimulating environment — an invitation to reclaim a part of himself that had lain dormant.
Through his paintings, Amerigo begins to explore the tumult of emotions inhabiting him: rage, fear, hope, and that unexpressed desire to reconnect with the outside world. Each brushstroke becomes a form of dialogue between his emotions and his new identity. On the days when depression prevails, I withdraw with discretion, respecting his need for silence. The setting remains there — a gentle invitation to resume when he feels able.
Painting is not merely an activity: it is a means through which Amerigo can rebuild a relationship with himself, embracing his vulnerabilities and recognizing the value of his being, despite the limitations that accompany him.