Throughout 2026, the Journal of Cittadellarte hosts a series of interviews with the Foundation’s collaborators, all invited to respond to the same set of questions. Cittadellarte in the Mirror—the name of the series—positions itself as an exercise in listening and self-reflection that moves across different roles, practices, and sensibilities, offering a plural portrait of the organism that is Cittadellarte. The questions touch on some of the most urgent issues of our time—from social transformation to responsibility, from education to indifference, from the risks of artistic action to the possibility of reactivating empathy—and function like a mirror: they do not seek definitive answers, but ask those who respond to take a stand, to expose themselves, and to question their own role in the present.

In this sixth episode, the mirror turns toward Elisabetta Gallana, who works within the Learning Environments and Education Office of Fondazione Pistoletto with the belief that education is the primary driver of social change. A pedagogue interested in educational design, Elisabetta is convinced of the need for continuous research into modes of learning and interaction between people and with the environment. Moving between theory and practice, errors and experimentation, in the following interview Gallana reflects on the centrality of communication and language, on the role of art and storytelling in countering indifference, and on the importance of accompanying learning through experiences, relationships, and practices—never taking anything for granted.

The year 2025 ends as a year in which the word “transition” seems to have lost strength, replaced by a widespread sense of fatigue and a return to logics of power, war, and closure. In this context, does it still make sense to speak of responsible social transformation, or do we need to change our vocabulary and rethink our practices?
I believe that speaking about responsible social transformation still makes sense, but only if we begin with a conscious use of words. Today, the term “transition” risks appearing empty if it is not supported by real practices and by a language that regains weight and meaning. We live in a time in which communication is constant and relentless—we hear and read countless words every day. For this reason, it is increasingly urgent to carefully select the words we use and to choose our vocabulary with precision.
As Paulo Freire argued, dialogue is not only an educational tool but a political and pedagogical practice of freedom: it is through dialogue that words become transformative action. This is why I believe it is essential to restore strength and meaning to words, avoiding the automatic use of war metaphors in everyday language—“to fight,” “enemies,” “to bombard”—which normalize conflict even in thought. Rethinking practices inevitably involves linguistic responsibility: social transformation and the conscious use of language are inseparable.

This year as well, Cittadellarte has operated both locally and globally: from China to border Europe, from the Mediterranean to East Asia. Bringing an installation or a demopraxic work to places marked by history, conflict, or symbolism exposes art to unpredictable interpretations. How important is it for the Foundation to accept this risk?
Accepting risk is essential, because only through action is it possible to experiment and learn. Risk is not recklessness, but something that is consciously evaluated and chosen to be faced. There is even an education in risk, in which an environment is prepared so that a person—like a child—can learn to read a situation, measure their own abilities, and decide how to approach it.
In the same way, in the work of Fondazione Pistoletto risk must be accepted, but always accompanied by care: clarity of language, attention to communication, and deep relationships with the contexts that host the work. Making the meaning of an installation legible means respecting the people, cultures, and histories involved.
Art cannot be a message imposed from above: it must enter into dialogue with places and with those who inhabit them. Accepting risk therefore means assuming an educational and social responsibility, grounded in the care of words, symbols, and relationships.

In 2025, what does it mean to educate for responsibility in a world where algorithms, artificial intelligence, and automation seem to increasingly reduce the space for conscious human action and, in this sense, authorship?
In 2025, educating for responsibility means first of all educating for autonomous and critical thought and action. It means teaching how to use tools—algorithms, artificial intelligence, automation—as instruments rather than ends, restoring value to slow time, reflection, research, and doubt.
In an era in which artificial intelligence and algorithms seem to orient choices, language, and timing—often anticipating and accommodating those who write or act—it becomes essential to reaffirm everyone’s right to explore at their own pace, to compare different points of view, and to remain in uncertainty. Every child, and every adult, has the right to this space of autonomy.
Language is a central aspect. The use of artificial intelligence can contribute to an impoverishment of vocabulary, as it tends to reproduce already codified patterns. Educating toward a rich, articulated, and personal language means restoring power to the individual and to their critical and creative thinking. Through words, people can name emotions and build awareness of themselves and others.
In this process, error is not a failure but a fundamental tool for learning. Educating through language means educating toward a personal expressive style, in which one can experiment, make mistakes, and play with words as Gianni Rodari did. Error becomes the way through which free, creative, and responsible thinking develops.

During your time at Cittadellarte, what do you feel you have unlearned? Is there a belief you would now let go of?
During my time at Cittadellarte I have unlearned the idea that education can be linear or definitive. I have understood that growth—both professional and personal—arises above all from encounters with others and from the quality of the relationships built over time. I have also let go of the belief that accumulated experience is in itself sufficient. Every new dialogue, every encounter with different contexts, generations, and perspectives, calls into question what one thinks one knows and continually redefines the meaning of educational and creative work. In this process, unlearning becomes a form of openness: a way of remaining available to change and to listening.
As Alvin Toffler stated, “The illiterate of the future will not be those who cannot read or write, but those who cannot learn, unlearn, and relearn.”

Let us consider Cittadellarte as a living organism. Which part feels most fragile today? And which more mature than you might have imagined?
If we think of Cittadellarte as a living organism, one of its most fragile parts today concerns the difficulty of connection between Cittadellarte and a portion of the Biella population that is culturally more distant. This fragility should not be read as a lack, but as a sensitive area that requires attention: time, listening, and continuous work on language and relationships.
At the same time, what appears more mature than I might have imagined before starting to work here is the ability to attract artists and intellectuals at both national and international levels, generating dialogue and exchange on a global scale without losing its local grounding. In Freirean terms, this maturity lies in the capacity to create spaces for real dialogue and critical exchange. Fragility emerges where dialogue struggles to activate.

We live in a time in which we are daily exposed to images of extreme suffering, yet we often remain immobile. What kind of emotion is indifference? If it were an artwork, would you destroy it like Pistoletto’s breaking of the mirror?
Indifference is not something to destroy, because destroying would mean losing memory. It is often a form of protection, a fear that manifests both individually and collectively.
Precisely because of this “defensive” nature, it becomes a major social weakness. As Martin Luther King stated, the deepest pain is not caused by the violent words of the wicked but by “the appalling silence of good people.” This silence immobilizes both individuals and communities in the face of hatred and violence; it is a pain born from feeling invisible in the eyes of others, from perceiving that one’s suffering generates no resonance in another.
Pistoletto, too, in breaking the mirror does not destroy: he transforms. With the breaking of the mirror, the way of reflecting changes—it is a shift in perspective and gaze. Likewise, indifference should not simply be erased but crossed, broken open. Like error, indifference can become an opportunity for learning if it is observed, recognized, and understood. Through relationships, dialogue, and storytelling, indifference can be broken and become the starting point for a creative, critical, and responsible movement—not the end of reflection, but the beginning of a new reflection.

In dominant and media-driven narratives of conflict, 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 spectacle of pain? Also considering that the Oxford Dictionary’s word of the year 2025 is “rage bait,” referring to content created to provoke anger and outrage, particularly on social media.
In media narratives of conflict, numbers are necessary, but they become truly meaningful only when contextualized and accompanied by storytelling capable of restoring faces, stories, and complexity. The problem arises when data are isolated or manipulated, bent to a political or ideological message rather than presented clearly and coherently. In such cases, language stops informing and begins to deform reality.
Art then has the responsibility to humanize data, restoring depth to what has been reduced to figures or slogans. It can do so by building empathetic narratives that do not sensationalize pain but invite careful observation, reflection, and dialogue. In a context marked by rage bait and easy indignation—which often arise precisely from distorted narratives and the instrumental use of information—art can act as an antidote. It can choose complexity over simplification, depth over shouting, care for language over provocation. In this sense, art does not amplify conflict but opens a space of responsibility in which empathy is not an immediate emotion but a conscious practice.

When you turn off the lights in your office, which emotion remains switched on?
A sense of continuity remains switched on. What is born from passion for what one does does not switch off with the lights: it remains in memory, in shared words, in thoughts that continue to move.
It is an emotion linked to the constant dialogue between thought, language, and action, which makes educational and artistic work something that does not belong only to the office space but continues beyond it, into the time that follows.