We didn’t call it a school, not a workshop, not even an atelier.

We called it a Fucina — a forge — because here, we don’t teach: we forge. We don’t copy: we transmute. We don’t grasp things instantly: we wait. Here, knowledge isn’t passed on like a formula — it is ignited, set ablaze, lived.

It is a mirabile forge because what happens here can never be fully explained. It is transformation — and true transformation always carries a hint of the miraculous. A metal bends. A soul awakens. A gesture reveals something you didn’t know you knew.

In this forge, slowness is fire, doubt is a hammer, error is a spark.

It’s not a place to “learn” how to paint. It’s a place to recognize yourself while painting. We’re not chasing a result to show off. We seek presence, connection, and form that arises from feeling.

Because every mark, if truly listened to, brings you closer to who you are.

Those who enter La Mirabile Fucina often don’t quite know why they do. But when they leave, they do. They feel it in their hands, in their eyes, in a deep place that’s been lit —and never goes dark again.