Giulia Soldati

Giulia Soldati is an Italian designer based in Amsterdam whose practice explores food and touch. Her sensorial approach to eating, exploring, and consuming food sparks a connection to touch we seem to have forgotten. We had a chat with her discovering how touch opens doors to conviviality, politics, and creativity.

In a few words, what does your practice consist of? Do you have a routine? 

My routine always changes as my practice is composed of different explorations. I make ceramics and use them for my dinners, and I am also a baker. I used to work part-time for a bakery and, at that time, my routine was very different from now. I loved waking up early as it purposefully shaped my life. My routine is ever-changing and is shaped by the events I'm planning. This allows me to have a studio wherever I go, whether it’s visiting markets and bakeries, cooking, researching, or connecting with people. This is my current network for an inclusive creative space. 

What sparked the idea behind your sensorial dinners project?

My social design MA project was the starting point of my practice with food. I created “Contatto”, a dining experience where I eliminated objects from the eating moment and studied instead, ways for hands to become eating tools meant to gather sensorial information about what we eat. I then developed a series of gestures and movements meant to bring the food close to one’s mouth. I wanted to reject automatic actions and, inspired by other cultures, refused the Western standard approach to eating. For me, it was not about judging which approach is better, but rather inviting people not to be afraid of putting their body (in this case, their hands), in contact with what they’re going to eat. I’ve always considered it a paradox to put something into your body that you’re reluctant to touch. Because of this, I believe there is an urgent need to come into contact, to experience touch not only as a way to know the materiality of food, but especially as a way to get closer to food and invite people to question where it comes from, who made it, or why was it made on the other side of the world. I see touch and its gestures as ways to become more aware of consumption, realizing that we make political choices every time we ingest something.  

What creative questions, ideas, and thoughts are behind your practice?

The first question I ask myself when developing a dinner is: What conversations and what sensations do I want to stimulate and what part of the hand do I want to use? I take into consideration how a person will move their hands and what feelings that specific movement will provoke. For example, I imagine something cold sitting on the fingers or think of a dance between two hands feeding one another. During these moments, I’ve realized that touch is very personal and everyone has a different approach to it, often biased by notions of what is clean and what is not. I believe that dirtiness and cleanliness are part of a system that defines this. While cleanliness is associated with order and control, dirtiness is thought of as the exact opposite. In other words, when a standard is set, prejudice follows, and in regards to eating, it often derives from being distant from the food itself. Not without reason, all my dinners or events begin with a collective hand wash. Before eating, I guide everyone through the act of washing their hands, an in effort to make them more aware and intentional about what they are doing. It is a starting point to enhance the perceptiveness of the hands in the prospect of the dinner. 

Can you share a personal story or experience of yourself initiating a creative process and how your hands played a crucial role?

This is a funny question because my current investigation of bread came precisely through the realization of being in process. I have always been fascinated with bread, not only as the base of nourishment for many cultures but also as the archetypal symbol for feeding and being fed. So, when I realized I didn't know anything about bread, I reached out to a bakery in Amsterdam, Broodbakkerij Ex, and began an internship there. I knew I needed to use my hands to understand how bread works and needed a practical experience for me to actually learn.

Once I began, I immediately fell in love with baking and being part of an incredible team of women, each motivated by strong values in sustainable agriculture and community. Very early in this learning stage, I realized I had to release control and let the bread do its work, intuitively following a process that exceeded my ownership. Baking taught me how to be in process: It began with my hands and I somehow trusted that process, indulging in the movements of the dough and the ingredients I was using. I believe that a process is daunting only before you begin it. You may step back because of the time and effort it’ll require, or set such high expectations that you’ll only refrain yourself from beginning. Bread taught me that there’s fear only in the first step, but once you enter the process, you can’t help but continue. Once that happened, I saw myself being connected to a larger process, one where baking made me not only a baker feeding bread to people but a feeder in my practice. What for many might be just a loaf of bread, is for me a metaphor for all the steps behind it: the seed, the land, the farmer, the miller, the baker - I love to think of it as a symbol for a broader conversation around food. Bread brought me ease in initiating a creative process, one that is still very inspiring for my work and creative journey with people. I’ll always remember the happy faces of our clients leaving the bakery. 

How does a slow and reflective approach to your craft impact the final outcome of your work?

I often start with a research question, but I’m also aware of how that can sometimes be limiting. The nature of food is very practical, and I feel that starting exclusively from theory defeats the very nature of the subject. In a way, I am trying to do both: theoretical research and practical experimentation, reflecting on the outcomes of that experiment, and tracing meanings from those signs rather than getting stuck in big words. I would translate this method into a slow physical approach. It’s physical in my need to be in contact with the substance and slow in not having expectations in the process I see unfolding before my eyes.

An idea can take months or years to develop, and I am confident, and patient, that it will flourish in the right moment. With my background in design in Milan and the fast-paced life that comes with it, I know that delivering at least ten new projects per year is an expectation from everyone around you. I have taken another direction where, instead of constantly producing new content at the expense of quality, I focus on collaboration, reflection, and care.

How much is your creativity influenced by others and/or your community? If you collaborate with others, how do gestures and communication through hands/gestures contribute to the collaborative process?

My intuition and curiosity only become real when I put them into a social context. For me, it is a reality check to see whether others consider what I’m proposing valuable, to ultimately see whether there’s actually a need. People’s curiosity motivates me to keep working and keep seeking communication with others, not just to agree with one another, but also to disagree and challenge what’s being proposed. Food embodies this concept as it is a plurality in itself, it contains a whole system. Unless you grow things yourself, you are already relying on others. Community and collaboration are key within the food system and it would be detrimental not to embrace everyone involved in this process. Having recognized a bigger societal need to embrace community, I want to explore further what it actually means to do so, both in my own research and collectively.

Similarly to making bread, when you collaborate with others you are asked to let go of your own authorship and instead to co-create something previously unimaginable. In my work, I try to remove barriers by feeding my guests hand in hand. This creates a relationship of trust which is very unique to that moment. 

What tips or suggestions would you offer to individuals who may want to deepen their creativity through manual practices in their everyday lives? 

Touch everything! Touch and make without being afraid of the outcome. Or make bread! You’ll be working with something alive and that you can only control up to a certain point. Baking is a great exercise to let go of control, something which I’m personally still working on. I’m consistently reminded that releasing control of an outcome allows you to receive something unexpected, and it’s always a beautiful surprise. 

All images are courtesy of Giulia, intervew led and faciliated by Viviana Calvagno.