The never-ending journey
Leaving is never just once.
I left Cuba with a suitcase and many questions. I found Bologna — its porticoes, its quiet order, its ancient beauty. I learned a new language, new gestures, new ways of being in the world.
But inside, something remained elsewhere.
Immigration isn't just changing countries. It's changing skin, slowly. It's waking up one morning not quite knowing which language you're thinking in. It's feeling like a stranger everywhere — and at home everywhere, at the same time.
Los Angeles taught me something else: that the world is full of people who carry more than one place inside them. People who left something behind to find something else. And in that in-between space — between who they were and who they're becoming — something unique is born.
My jewelry is born there. In that in-between space.
Every piece carries a fragment of the road traveled. A little Cuba, a little Italy, a little of that California light that changes everything.
I don't make jewelry to decorate. I make it to remember. To say: I passed through here. I lived this. And something of it remains.
— Gabriel
Titolo:
The journey that never ends
Corpo:
Leaving is never just once.
I left Cuba with a suitcase and many questions. I found Bologna — its porticoes, its quiet order, its ancient beauty. I learned a new language, new gestures, new ways of being in the world.
But inside, something remained elsewhere.
Immigration isn't just changing countries. It's changing skin, slowly. It's waking up one morning not quite knowing which language you're thinking in. It's feeling like a stranger everywhere — and at home everywhere, at the same time.
Los Angeles taught me something else: that the world is full of people who carry more than one place inside them. People who left something behind to find something else. And in that in-between space — between who they were and who they're becoming — something unique is born.
My jewelry is born there. In that in-between space.
Every piece carries a fragment of the road traveled. A little Cuba, a little Italy, a little of that California light that changes everything.
I don't make jewelry to decorate. I make it to remember. To say: I passed through here. I lived this. And something of it remains.
— Gabriel