Our Artistic Director Marco Crispano interviewed Giulio Raffaele for the Prisma Art Prize. In the conversation, Giulio reflects on how his collecting evolved from instinct and “falling in love” to long-term research and responsibility—shaping Silent Art Explorer as a project that supports emerging artists and cultural workers. He speaks about collecting as custodianship rather than ownership, the challenges of building a healthier collecting culture, and what it means to judge emerging work within an award context.
Giulio Raffaele is an art collector and the co-founder of Silent Art Explorer, an initiative born in 2020 to share a collector’s perspective and to actively support the contemporary art ecosystem through maecenatism, dialogue, and community-building.
M.: If you had to describe your collecting style today in one word, what would it be?
G.: The word today would be “research.” And, probably, when I started, it would have been more “instinct” or “love”. It’s changed a lot.
M.: The idea of falling in love often comes up in your story. What exactly must trigger a feeling when you see a work? And how has your collecting experience changed over time?
G.: At first, I decided to acquire an artwork because I fell in love with it. I’d be at a fair, walking around, until, passing by a stand, my eye would stop on something that caught my eye. I’d delve into the work in more detail, talking to the person in charge of the gallery. At the time, I wasn’t inclined to engage with the artist: I wanted it to be a strictly personal experience. I continued like this for a few years and bought the first works for the collection that way.
In 2020, I woke up one day and realized that my life’s mission was to collect art, but above all to pursue a project to support the art and culture sector. Therefore, my goal became not only to support artists who conduct valuable artistic research and create emerging works of art, but also people who work in a wide variety of professions in the art and culture sector. Thus, Silent Art Explorer was born, co-founded with Aurora Rossini, that has collaborated to the project in the role of project consultant. I began to conceive of the act of collecting and maecenatism as a political responsibility, but above all as something that fundamentally requires a great deal of research and a deeply reflective approach.
So, I radically changed my approach: I seek out the people who create works of art to talk with them, learn about their vision, their projects, how they conduct research, the themes they hold dear, and how this translates into a work or body of work. I focus my energies on building long-term relationships that can then develop into collaborations.
From this perspective, I follow fairly slow cycles of collecting and patronage: six months of research and six months of acquisition or financing, although in reality it’s a continuous cycle. I visit galleries, artist studios, and events. I brainstorm themes, develop my thinking, and constantly try to grasp the most relevant contemporary issues.
This has led me to structure the collection along three main lines of research: one line is dedicated to gender issues and eco-transfeminist movements; another line is dedicated to the political meaning of solitude and loneliness; and then a line is dedicated to research on the political meaning of time. Here, I believe it’s important to clarify that by “political,” I don’t mean party affiliation. Rather, I mean the responsibility of building valuable human relationships and an awareness of the impact each person has on others with whom they interact.
M.: If we had to summarize what drives the direction of your research, what is it?
G.: It’s a long-term vision: a sense of responsibility towards the people who make art and those who work in the art and culture sector. A sense of responsibility towards humanity, understood as the community to which I belong. It means using the privilege I bear—being a man, having access to a certain type of income—and putting it at the service of art and culture, and through this, passing down the signs, the spirit of the present time, across generations.
M.: Since you primarily buy emerging artists, how do you distinguish a risk worth taking from a gamble? Are there signs that make you think your research can last?
G.: Before answering your question, I think it’s important to state that I constantly practice not feeling like I own the works I collect: from this perspective, I see myself as a temporary custodian of the works I acquire. Likewise, I no longer consider the artworks an investment. If we want to talk about risk/gamble, these categories don’t apply, since I acquire an artwork or finance/produce/support a project without expecting any kind of return. If we want to use the term “investment”, I could say that I consider it an investment in human value.
M.: Would you like to describe Silent Art Explorer and what was the urgency behind its founding?
G.: As I was anticipating above, the project was born in August 2020. It was a difficult period in my life; I was searching for a purpose. I woke up one morning and said: I’ve understood what my mission in life is. I proposed to Aurora – passionate as well about contemporary arts and culture – that we launch a small project: an Instagram profile to share the perspective of an emerging collector on emerging art and the contemporary world. Silent Art Explorer was born that way, as an activity to share points of view.
The first project I funded was an event called Vacunalia, in the woods near Vacone, in Latium, Italy. Subsequently, I began to put more structure, method, and thought into it. I gave the project a specific mission: “supporting emerging artists and art culture workers.”
At the beginning of 2023, Aurora and I decided to go our separate ways. So, since January 2023, I’ve been leading the project autonomously. My intention is for Silent Art Explorer to become a collective project. I’d like to involve other collectors, artists, curators, and many other professionals in the art and culture sector. I’d like Silent Art Explorer to be an organism that evolves across generations.
Starting from this vision and this mission, my dream is that when I’m 70–75, I’ll go to openings and recruit younger people, 25–30, asking them: “Do you want to continue this project?” I’d like to propose that they continue to lead it after I’m dead, following its ethical and moral principles and its mission: to support emerging artists and workers in the art and culture sector. Professions that, to date, in Italy, do not yet have the dignity of formally recognized professions.
M.: What’s the main obstacle you face in this vision?
G.: There’s a cultural obstacle inherent in those who collect: a sense of ownership and closure. I buy the work, it’s mine, I wait for it to gain value and decide whether to resell it or keep it.
There’s also a prejudice: collecting and maecenatism are seen as elitist activities. It’s difficult to bring a new vision to collecting. In fact, I believe many more people than we imagine can engage in small-scale collecting. When you start assembling many different collections, you’re creating culture: a political object.
Another obstacle is economic: I see a tendency to inflate the prices of even emerging artists. I don’t understand it, I don’t agree with it: it risks burning out the artist and alienating a large segment of potential collectors.
M.: Looking at emerging painting today: what seems alive to you and what seems already formulaic?
G.: Let me start by saying that I’m answering based on anecdotal observations, as I’m neither an art historian nor a critic. Today, I can see even emerging art as attempting to manipulate and transform the human body, seeing it in dialogue with its context.
I perceive the more “abstract” aspect, as well as the more academic figuration, as more limited. There was a period when hyperrealism was very popular, between 2016 and 2018. Then I lost interest and realized it was a bit of a bubble.
In some cases, it becomes “decorative art,” pure aesthetics. That’s fine, legitimate, but it’s not part of my vision of the function of art.
M.: What does judging within an art prize mean to you?
G.: I feel very honored: it means the community has entrusted me with a task of responsibility. I see it as a commitment to give space to people who are able to reflect what’s happening in the world today, in human reality. When I give a higher rating to one work than another, I’m influencing someone’s artistic career prospects. I try to do this as carefully as possible.
This is because behind an art prize are people who have invested days and hours preparing the application, people who scrutinize the submissions and choose the finalist works. Therefore, along with the other jurors, I am a culmination of a very laborious and demanding process.
