Within the light, everything transforms. Marianna Tomaselli for What’s in a lamp?

An illustrator and creative director, Marianna Tomaselli creates images that seem to freeze a moment of transition: instants in which something is about to happen or has just occurred. Her visual language – where aesthetics are always accompanied by a narrative layer – grows out of her experience in illustration, animation, and directing. The result is imagery that suggests rather than explains, built as fragments of a broader story, with particular attention to light as an element capable of shaping space and guiding the viewer’s gaze.

This is precisely what happens in her series for What’s in a Lamp?. Bahia, Twiggy, Uto, Hoba, Plena, and Le Soleil become true narrative triggers: the central elements from which illustrations take shape, giving rise to essential, warm, lived-in domestic environments in which, within the light, something happens – a detail is activated, a gesture takes form, the atmosphere shifts.

Each illustration is conceived as a self-contained scene, but also as part of an ideal sequence, where light plays a central role: not as a decorative feature, but as a presence that defines and constructs space, activating quiet relationships between objects, settings, and everyday gestures. The lamp never imposes a story; it suggests one, leaving it to the viewer to complete.

The chromatic choices support this vision through a reduced, clean, contemporary palette that engages in direct dialogue with the design of Foscarini lamps. Color never distracts, but reinforces the light: red, the brand’s iconic hue, appears as a measured accent, while shades of blue build depth and atmosphere, allowing warm light to emerge.

Accompanying the lamps, Tomaselli introduces a recurring presence: a cat. A universal symbol of home, warmth, and everyday life, it becomes the silent companion that moves through the series, a living presence that observes the light, seeks it out, and approaches it, helping to make the environments feel authentic, intimate, and recognizable.

Your work often originates from images that seem to freeze a suspended moment, as if something has just happened or is about to happen. How did this way of looking at the world and images take shape in your artistic journey?

I think it comes first and foremost from a personal trait: I’ve always been fascinated by moments of transition, when something is about to change or has just changed. I’m a big fan of thrillers, and perhaps this has influenced the way I tell stories through images. In thrillers, tension often lies in the moment before the revelation rather than in the event itself. It’s a suspension that I find very powerful visually as well. Working on book covers in this genre also taught me how to suggest a story without showing it completely.

You have a background spanning illustration, animation, and creative direction. How do these fields interact in your work today, and how do they influence the way you build an image?

I began my career working in fashion, taking part in trade fairs and runway shows, an experience that deeply shaped my sense of aesthetics, attention to detail, and understanding of luxury—particularly Made in Italy.
Later, I spent several years in the creative department of a production company, working on both live-action commercials and animation. This taught me to think about images in a structured, project-driven way, not just aesthetically. Every frame must have an intention, a rhythm, a narrative function. Even when I work on a single illustration, I build it as if it were part of a sequence: I ask myself what happened before and what might happen next. For me, even a single image is always part of an ideal sequence. Today, my work emerges from the intersection of aesthetics, storytelling, and a project-oriented vision.

If you had to describe your visual language in just a few words, what would they be?

I would say: suspended, emotional, and narrative images. I’m interested in telling emotions and moments of life without describing them explicitly. I prefer to suggest, to leave space, to create images that feel like part of a larger story.

How does your creative process unfold?

It depends very much on the project.
When there is creative freedom, as in this case, I always start from the subject: I ask myself what emotions it evokes, in what context I imagine it, and what personal interpretation I can bring to make it authentic, not just visually appealing.
My goal is not to decorate, but to offer a point of view. When there are multiple subjects, I focus strongly on the relationships between images, seeking a harmony that makes each one strong individually, but even more meaningful as part of a whole. I’m interested in building a recognizable visual line, where each image stands on its own yet gains strength through dialogue with the others.

In your series for What’s in a Lamp?, you imagined Foscarini lamps as objects that don’t simply turn on a light, but alter the behavior of space and things. The lamp always remains central, yet the surrounding scene seems to respond to its presence. Can you tell us about the inspiration behind this concept?

In this series, I wanted to shift the focus from the lamp as a simple object to light as an active element.
I was interested in showing how light can change the perception of space: defining geometries, creating voids and solids, transforming surfaces and objects into scenographic elements.
The lamp remains central, but it is its light that generates the scene.
I was also inspired by American modern realism, particularly Edward Hopper, where light plays a fundamental narrative role. His luminous cuts construct space and suggest emotions without the need for explanation.
I tried to bring that same idea into my illustrations: a light that doesn’t decorate, but tells a story.

The cat is a recurring element throughout the series. What role does this presence play for you?

I chose the cat as the connecting thread of the series because it introduces a living presence without defining a story too precisely.
In a way, it acts as a substitute for the human figure, which would have been more characterizing and made the scenes overly narrative. The cat, instead, keeps the images open and universal.
It is also a powerful symbol of home and everyday life: it brings warmth and intimacy, transforming geometric, designed spaces into lived-in places.
Its presence makes the atmosphere more domestic and cozy in a natural, never decorative way. Moreover, the cat has a spontaneous relationship with light: it seeks it, observes it, moves closer to it. It was therefore the ideal subject to convey a light that is not only functional, but welcoming.

You chose a very reduced, clean, contemporary palette. What is your relationship with color, and what role does it play in these illustrations?

I chose a reduced, contemporary palette that dialogues with the design of Foscarini lamps, which are very clean and essential objects.
I wanted color not to distract, but to support the light, leaving it the leading role.
Red, the brand’s iconic color, appears as a recurring accent: a note that activates the scene and creates visual continuity throughout the series.
Blue tones, on the other hand, help build atmosphere, adding depth and allowing the warm light to emerge.
I deliberately chose a hand-drawn mark and textured brushes, because I wanted the style itself to reflect the idea of craftsmanship and uniqueness that characterizes Foscarini. I didn’t want images that felt too digital or perfect, but rather living surfaces, where the gesture and a more human dimension are perceptible.

The compositions in your series clearly follow a very precise visual grammar. How did you establish these formal rules at the beginning of the project? Were they rigid guidelines, or did they evolve intuitively?

My approach is very intuitive, especially in the early stages.
I don’t start from rigid rules, but from an idea of atmosphere and visual rhythm. The first images help me understand the direction the language is taking.
Then I begin to observe the relationships between images: what returns, what works, what creates coherence.
In this project, the visual grammar developed progressively. Once all six illustrations were completed, I refined certain elements to make the language more uniform and recognizable. It’s a balance between intuition and structure: intuition guides the beginning, structure arrives to give coherence to the series.

Is there an image or lamp in the series that you feel is particularly meaningful for you? Why?

I’m very drawn to outdoor lamps, because they have the ability to create atmosphere even in open, less defined spaces.
The Uto lamp, with its very clear cone of light, creates a sort of luminous room within the outdoor space. I like it because it makes the boundary of light visible and clearly conveys the transformation between what is inside and what is outside.

What does creativity mean to you?

For me, creativity is the ability to look beyond the established framework of reality. It’s about interpreting what we see every day and giving it a different reading, sometimes overturning its meaning. It doesn’t mean inventing something completely new, but discovering unexpected possibilities in what already exists.