Simona Deflorin
Discovers the seeds of her artistic energy
I first encountered Simona Deflorin through the vibrant art circles of Basel. Our interview unfolds in her Basel atélier on a mellow summer afternoon, the kind that invites reflection and lets ideas meander.
Deflorin offers coffee and madeleines—small indulgences that ease us into conversation, setting a gentle rhythm and contemplative tone. Soft-spoken and poised, she leads me through the stories and experiences that have shaped her artistic signature.
Beginnings
Born in Bergamo in the northern province of Lombardy, Italy in 1965, Deflorin was the youngest of four sisters. At the tender age of two, she moved with her family to Switzerland, following a work opportunity in Basel offered to her chemist father. This relocation marked a defining shift in her life—shaping her mother tongue, framing her customs, and moulding her identity. Yet, as her stories unfold, intriguing themes begin to surface that quietly counter some of her long-held beliefs––and I begin to realise that the exploration is not mine alone—it’s a discovery for Deflorin herself.
I’m fascinated to explore whether those first two years in Italy left any imprint on Deflorin’s approach to her craft. She reasons spontaneously that she was simply too young to be influenced, identifying as Swiss through and through. “It’s not like moving at the age of twenty,” she asserts. “You already have an identity by then. At two, you have no real memories.” By implication, her message suggests that a person inherits no identity from their birthplace if they move soon after. Yet the theatre that radiates from her work seems to stand in subtle tension with that assertion. As I delve deeper, I uncover internal narratives that shape her art—emotions sometimes hidden, yet unmistakably present.
Bergamo revisited
As our conversation deepens, Deflorin’s reflections on her Italian heritage begin to simmer and take on greater nuance. “Italy didn’t influence me in the way I see things and the way I paint, as I was too little,” she explains. “However, I often wondered how my life would have been had I stayed in Bergamo.” She relives the moment she returned to Bergamo for the first time as an adult—a memory etched not in thought, but in sensation. “But when we arrived at the front of the house, my body remembered. It was not with my mind, it was with my body. I felt it in my stomach. My body told me, oh yes, that’s home.”
Our attention shifts to the moments when Deflorin first discovered her sensitivity to colour. She recounts a small childhood incident: “My mother gave me an olive-green blouse, but I couldn’t bear that shade and just wanted to tear it off me.” On a more positive note, the austere city post office n Basel—its walls festooned with paintings—transported young Deflorin into an enchanted world as she waited for her mother, who more prosaically paid the bills.
Personal Enlightening
Deflorin went on to study art at the Basel School of Design (Schule für Gestaltung Basel) in the late 1980s, where she worked under Franz Fedier—a leading voice in post-war Swiss abstraction.
“How did that experience shape your approach to colour, form, and experimentation?” I ask.
“My parents were quite rigid in what they imagined for me as a career, she answered, "I wanted to apply to Zurich, but they were strict and insisted I succeed in Basel first.”
"It was Fedier’s final year of teaching before retirement. The atmosphere at that time was easy-going, and I loved that because I finally felt free in my life!, she recalls. “Things weren’t handed to you on a plate—you really had to ask to be taught.” She reflects, too, on how students of that era were not taught how to approach galleries—something she sees as a marked difference from the more professionally oriented training art students receive today.
Current Practice
We move on to discuss her current practice—she conjures a profusion of paintings drenched in colour, light, and darkness: an exploration of her innermost feelings, marking key moments in her life, emotions transposed onto the canvases of each series. Colour, energy, and simplicity are her realm.
"Delicate watercolours are not my thing, she says in hushed tones, "I prefer to use watercolour like oil paint––strong, dynamic, and with lots of layers, whilst respecting the fast rhythm of the technique”
“My work as a practising artist, from the start right up until now, tackles themes of both fear and security. It's about feeling safe, or the need to protect, and, quite conversely, its also about being frightened.” She gestures to a particularly intriguing painting entitled Ne me quittes pas, painted in the emotional key of Charles Aznavour’s rendition of the love song of the same name. I view the picture and think of a tarantula, or even a clove — and again, perhaps depending on your mood, a grotesque human. Undoubtedly these are reminiscences of the pain of a romantic break-up..
Deflorin begins to work with models, enabling her to experiment with unusual body positions, morphing the figures into animal-like creatures and playing with suggestion and impression through form and technique. “I place several bodies together, and I reconstruct them through my inner perceptions and feelings, led always by my instinct.”
“It was a time when my heart was broken — but that’s the magic of art. You begin with a situation that is deeply personal, and through a painting, you take that intensity and transform it into a new language — a piece of art that can speak to people universally.”
“As you said, it could be a spider — it touches you somewhere, depending on your story and your feelings. That’s the power of art. Yes, it could be a spider because of the movement. But it has only two arms, so it’s also partially human. It could be a woman, as it appears to have two protruding breasts. Yet the image might also portray a being constrained by heavy weights, struggling along a path — inhibited, unfree, and in pain.”
The painting has a peculiar background, with an infantile design of small boats reminiscent of playroom wallpaper from the 1960s. They serve as emblems of safety, homeliness, and warmth, yet stand in stark contrast to the fight for survival. This particular work encapsulates the essence of Deflorin’s narrative.
Kali and the Cat
A turning point occurs in Deflorin's practice, from which emerges her pivotal series Kali and the Cat. Influenced by images of Indian Hindu gods, Kali—a powerful Hindu goddess who, despite her terrifying appearance, is revered as a protective mother figure—stands as a destroyer of evil and ego, freeing her devotees from illusion.
For Deflorin, this connection coincided with the death of her cat—perhaps a decision by Kali herself, she muses, or at least a coincidence of happenings destined to be incarnated on canvas or paper at her creative hands.
Leafing through her book of works, she points to various paintings in the series. “There are always Kali’s eyes, and composition is equally important,” she insists. There are some aggressive elements, she continues—bold reds and luminous finishes juxtaposed with soft, sensual shapes—which allow Deflorin to complete her composition.
The moment shifts with the tide of her creative intrigue, ebbing towards a fascination with mask-like faces.
I perceive these forms as animal faces or, as Deflorin suggests, perhaps ghosts or phantoms—certainly devilish creatures…
Then, wading through her painting repertoire, she pulls out You and Me—a series that shows two figures. “The first perhaps a woman, and the other a man, but it’s not important," she insists. "What is important is the dialogue between the two bodies, and the dark and light that linger with watery hues.”
“I’m looking for freedom. I want to liberate. I’m finding ways to portray reality through my own eyes and feelings. I like to use elements that are recognisable, such as a face, arms, or hands, but I’m not interested in portraying them realistically…”
For Deflorin, the figure becomes more symbolic. I remark that the masks are reminiscent of traditional African forms, although she confirms that she has no direct connection with Africa beyond her admiration for the continent’s art.
From the symbolism offered by the body, we shift back to broader explorations of tensions, colour contrasts, and the dynamics of different media. I learn how Deflorin frequently mixes unexpected materials such as ink or nail polish to disrupt the surface and heighten its unpredictability — exchanges that open the way to closer analysis of her abstract series.
Pentimenti and La Caduta
In her Pentimenti (Regrets) series, Deflorin explores the interplay between precision and suggestion, leaving past layers of painting — the tell‑tale traces of earlier mistakes — visible on the paper and weaving them artfully into the narrative.
“These are my pentimenti,” she declares. “I cover, I change… and you can feel that my next series, La Caduta, (The Fall) grows out of this.”
It's a series marked by beautiful simplicity. Playing with abstraction — the hair in one painting shifts into a tattoo‑like motif, blurring the line between body and symbol. Tensions hover between defined curves and soft tones.
These reflections invite further insights from Deflorin. “I have always been fascinated by layers, by what lies behind the surface of a painting. What are the hidden thoughts? What feelings reside within?” Her words echo the principle of pentimenti — those visible traces of earlier attempts that she deliberately preserves. For Deflorin, the act of leaving such marks is philosophical, revealing strata of thought and emotion, and allowing the viewer to glimpse the vulnerability and evolution behind the finished image.
Each of Deflorin’s paintings invites the viewer to seek a truth from within. I observe that when facial expressions are defined, they seem to toy with our feelings and perceptions, daring us to probe further — if we are brave enough that is. In this, her fascination with layers and pentimenti resurfaces, reminding us that what lies beneath is as vital as what appears on the cover.
We move on to the next series, which is perhaps my favourite: La Caduta (The Fall). Emerging from Pentimenti, this body of work reflects the recent losses of many of Deflorin’s nearest and dearest. At the time of this interview, she had recently lost her mother, and the series explores the momentum of fear and sadness — unstoppable, like an impending fall, and reminiscent of the falls her mother endured in her advanced age. Yet, surprisingly, La Caduta is an immensely colourful series, carrying a veneer of happiness, and filled with emblems of play — smiles, side‑glances and stockings. Beneath these symbols of fun, however, runs life’s drama.It's a sorrowful theme, captured with originality and flair.
As we continue along this reflective path, rummaging further through her archive, I realise how the abstract simplicity of Deflorin’s work conveys an intriguing directness and is the hallmark of her visual language. Asking her to explain this approach in more detail, she comments: “In art, I feel drawn to reduction — but not cold and minimalist. It must be personal and warm. I dislike multiple elements being brought in. There are installations that use many components, and they become heavy and suffocating, preventing me from feeling the piece.”
She continues: “I like art that conveys a sense of honesty. I take my colours and my brush. I don’t have to reinvent history; I simply do what I want, in a classical way, while trying to find my own voice within that. This approach enables me to investigate each layer, to analyse the theme. And that is one of the reasons I enjoy working in series.”
Her emphasis on honesty and reduction echoes the layering I'm seeing throughout her practice, where simplicity reveals depth.
“With watercolours you have to work very quickly — it’s fast. And for me, very different from oil painting. For each series I choose a technique that enables me to test the many facets of that medium: zoning in, following my instincts, pursuing a train of ideas, seeking out where curiosity leads me. Just as an animal follows a trail or a scent. Then I synthesise and reduce, keeping concepts simple. Yet it is not at all minimalist — I am far from that!” She insists.
She explains how she is inspired by art brut — works by celebrated figures of the movement such as Aloïse Corbaz (1886–1964) and Séraphine Louis (1864–1942), artists who, not having attended art school, were self‑taught. “It’s so authentic, even if they were considered eccentric. What they do is not a show — and I am not looking for a big show. It’s about following my instincts and seeking authentic answers.”
Her admiration for art brut flows naturally from her own emphasis on honesty and instinct, showing how personal truth remains the guiding layers of her practice. It is clear her work has a depth of feeling that stands in stark contrast to white‑washed minimalist trends. For me, Deflorin's work is packed with intensity; despite her sparing technique, the emotion oozes.
In the autumn I visit her joint show Pink and Olive, staged with artist Chris Göttel. The exhibition is unleashed across the elongated walls of a repurposed power station in Basel’s Bottmingen suburb — a magnificent setting that compels the visitor’s gaze upwards, as if to witness a lift‑off. Among the works launched by Deflorin, we encounter three new additions to her La Caduta series. The upward thrust of the setting stands in poignant counterpoint to La Caduta’s theme of descent. Yet this is another instance of Deflorin’s gift for uniting contrasts.
The show confronts the viewer with large‑scale watercolours, even more vibrant and dramatic than earlier works in the series — closing the circle on the question of the seeds of Deflorin’s artistic energy. “Every country has its colour,” affirms Deflorin joyfully over our glasses of bubbly. “This colour, she continues, "creates its unique atmosphere, be it dark, calm or light. The more I think about colour, the more I realise that my sense of colour is connected with the Italian part of me. I like vivid colours, contrasting strength with softness.” A willing statement from Deflorin that aligns sweetly with my initial hypothesis.
There is a true energy to her work, which, on further reflection, I find quite provocative — often ironic and cunningly sensual. Savouring the moment of her finissage, we buoyantly concur on the presence of her inner Italian instinct. Her art — bursting with contrast, authenticity, vibrance, and originality — converges into a singular vitality.
Bergamo left its afterglow.
Further Information
For further information on any of the works by Simona Deflorin visit
Acknowledgements:
With grateful thanks to Simona Deflorin
Credits:
Interview: Hazel Clarke
Portraits: Nicole Strube
Sources:
Collection de l’Art Brut, Lausanne