Throughout 2026, the Cittadellarte Journal is hosting a series of interviews with the Foundation's collaborators, who have been asked to answer an identical set of questions. Cittadellarte in the Mirror – the name of this column – serves as an exercise in listening and self-reflection that spans different roles, practices, and sensibilities, providing a plural portrait of the Cittadellarte organism. The questions touch upon some of the most urgent issues of our time – from social transformation to responsibility, from education to indifference, from the risk of artistic action to the possibility of reactivating empathy – and function as a mirror: they do not seek definitive answers, but rather ask the respondents to take a stand, to put themselves forward, and to interrogate their own role in the present.

In this thirteenth instalment, the mirror turns towards Cecilia Laabidi, Head of Admissions for Accademia Unidee. Born and raised in Borgosesia, at the age of 16, she embarked on a journey to Scotland, where she completed her secondary studies, later obtaining an Academic Diploma in Photography, followed by a Bachelor’s Degree in International Marketing from Glasgow Caledonian University. "This journey of mine," she began, "allowed me to develop a critical eye and a strong inclination towards seeking alternatives. In my work, my approach stems from the conviction that change does not come from grand declarations, but through the younger generations, thanks to the ability to make ideas and values practicable, accessible, and real. Parallel to this, I cultivate a personal practice linked to analogue photography and mixed media, knitwear, and the reuse of materials: a conscious return to slow processes as a form of resistance against a culture of excess and continuous production." In the interview that follows, Cecilia shares a careful and disenchanted reflection on the current conditions of social transformation, questioning established rhetoric and bringing attention back to accessible practices. Her perspective highlights several central nodes of the present: the need to make change understandable to a wide target audience, the value of limits as an activator of creativity, and individual responsibility in daily choices. Laabidi further emphasises the importance of dialogue, dissent, and a critical use of technological tools, reaffirming the role of authorship.

2025 ended as a year in which the word "transition" seems to have lost its force, replaced by a widespread sense of fatigue and a return to the logics of power, war, and closure. In this context, does it still make sense to speak of responsible social transformation, or is it necessary to change the lexicon and rethink our practices?
The sense of fatigue is real, but I don't read it as a sign of surrender. Rather, it is a tiredness towards rhetoric that can no longer make an impact, towards words that repeat themselves without producing change, and towards a widespread loneliness in carrying out certain battles. In this sense, I don’t believe it’s necessary to abandon the idea of responsible social transformation, but it is urgent to rethink the methods. Rather than being hollowed out, today it appears complex and often distant: it risks remaining a language for the few, whereas it needs to become accessible, dynamic, and capable of speaking on multiple levels. At the same time, the crux is not just lexical. It is also a question of concrete possibility: not all practices are accessible to everyone, and recognising this is fundamental. Perhaps the starting point lies right here, in putting an individual and situated dimension back at the centre: what can I do, in my context, and how can this generate a broader effect? In my daily work, I see that tools such as dialogue and open confrontation remain essential, as does the ability to express dissent. Rather than finding a single formula, I believe it is important to maintain consistency with one's principles while remaining open to transforming them over time.

This year, too, Cittadellarte has operated on both a local and global level: from China to the borders of Europe, from the Mediterranean to East Asia. Bringing a demopractic installation or work to places steeped in history, conflict, or symbolism exposes art to unpredictable interpretations. How important is it for the Foundation to accept this risk?
Accepting the risk is not just important; it is inevitable. Operating in complex contexts, marked by history, conflict, and symbolism, always exposes one to the risk of exploitation, but at the same time, it opens up concrete possibilities for dialogue, especially if the work is built consciously and alongside the local territories. Rather than rigidly defending a message, I believe it is fundamental to recognise the power of the context. Sometimes it is precisely in the capacity to adapt that an intervention manages to truly work. Standing firm on one's ideals without listening risks becoming a form of imposition. The risk, therefore, must be assumed as a responsibility. We cannot completely control interpretations, and in part, that is only right: it is also through unpredictable readings that the work enters into a relationship with the audience. Sometimes, seeking risk and generating "conscious noise" is what allows real change to be activated.

In 2025, what does it mean to educate for responsibility in a world where algorithms, artificial intelligence, and automation seem to subtract more and more space from conscious human action and, in this sense, from authorship? In 2026, educating for responsibility means, first and foremost, educating for choice. In a context where algorithms and automation simplify and speed up many processes, the risk is not so much the technology itself, but the way in which it is used, especially when it begins to touch the sphere of creativity and authorship. In my work, I see how useful these tools can be, but also how important it is to develop a critical spirit and awareness. Being responsible today means knowing how to recognise when to use these systems and when, instead, to stop—to choose not to delegate. I strongly believe that authorship remains individual: technology can support, but it cannot replace the creative drive, which remains profoundly human. For this very reason, certain dimensions – such as imagination and the will to create something of one's own – should never be delegated. Perhaps today, being responsible means thinking more, but choosing with more care in doing.

In the time spent at Cittadellarte, what do you feel you have unlearned? Is there a conviction you would let go of today compared to the past?
During my time at Cittadellarte, I have unlearned several things, and for me, it has, above all, been a process of liberation. I arrived seeking change and possibility, and today I recognise it as a concrete tool for change. I have unlearned a certain naivety -the idea that it is enough to "do well" for something to work. Instead, real contexts have taught me that what truly lands is what remains understandable, concrete, and close to people. In recent years, I have also unlearned the constant need for novelty, understood as a new object. I am returning to a more analogue dimension, made of materials already present, of slow processes: from sustainable knitwear to analogue printing. For me, these are small acts of rebellion, a way of saying that one doesn't always need to add, but rather learn to use what exists. I have realised that a limit is not a lack, but often a space that activates creativity. And that change, even personal change, passes through here.

Let’s try to consider Cittadellarte as a living organism. Which part do you feel is most fragile today? And which, instead, is more mature than you would have imagined?
If I think of Cittadellarte as a living organism, today I see a fragility linked above all to perception and impact. In a historical moment where words are everywhere, the risk is that they fail to always translate into legible and accessible actions. A distance still exists, at times, between the languages used and the ability to truly reach people. At the same time, I believe there is a difficulty in evolving certain relationships and systems at the speed that the present requires. It is a solid organism that resists, but one that should perhaps allow itself more of the possibility of unlearning and transforming. On the other hand, what I see as more mature—and perhaps I am biased here—is the educational work. Accademia Unidee has a concrete capacity to activate critical thinking and to accompany people in translating values into actions. It is a space where change can truly happen. Perhaps it is precisely from there that a broader evolution can start: investing in the new generations not as a prospect, but as an active present.

We live in a time where we are exposed daily to images of extreme pain, yet we often remain immobile. What kind of emotion is indifference? If the latter were a work of art, would you destroy it like a breaking of Pistoletto’s mirror? Indifference today is primarily a form of defence. We live immersed in continuous images and information: it is inevitable that, at times, we protect ourselves. But there are situations in which it is no longer just defence; it becomes a responsibility. We can no longer afford not to be empathetic. When I remain immobile in front of certain images, it is not an absence of reaction: it is incredulity, it is anger that must find a direction. The risk is confusing, not knowing what to do, or doing nothing. In reality, action can even be minimal: talking about it, taking a stand, choosing consciously. If indifference were a work of art, I imagine it as loud, disturbing, and almost unbearable. I wouldn't preserve it: I would make it visible until it generated rejection. In this sense, yes, it should be broken, but even before that, it must be recognised. In practical terms, I believe that change happens on two levels: strong acts, which should come from those with power, and slow, daily transformations that start from the people. It is there that indifference can be truly dismantled.

In the dominant media narrative of conflicts, numbers often replace faces. What responsibility does art have in restoring humanity where political language erases it? Can art reactivate empathy without falling into the spectacularisation of pain? Let us also keep in mind that the word of the year for 2025, according to the Oxford Dictionary, is "Rage Bait", indicating content created to provoke anger and indignation, particularly on social media.
For years, the media and politics have been transforming pain into “rage bait”: content designed to make us angry, exploiting our negativity bias, and transforming information into a tool for manipulation. Numbers instead of faces, simplification instead of complexity, disinformation. Art, however, can overturn this dynamic: it shows people, contexts, and stories, and seeks real empathy. There is no need to spectacularise; there is a need to give depth, a possibility of connection and action. On a small scale, artists and courageous practices become dissent, education, and activism: the only concrete antidote to indifference and media manipulation.

When you turn off the lights in your office, what emotion remains lit?
When I turn off the lights in my office, a light of optimism and responsibility remains lit. I think about what has been built and all the possibilities that still await us. I am accompanied by the presence of the people with whom I share ideas, creativity, and visions: even in non-work conversations, I feel ideas and hopes sprouting—the collective vision of creating something that can have a concrete impact. There is little frustration, because for me, every obstacle is simply an invitation to find alternative paths and new solutions.