A project that stems from a daughter’s observation of certain behaviours of her mother affected by Alzheimer’s disease .
The sharing of these images on social media, under the name Mamma Mia Museum, highlights the need to share these fragilities with the outside world. Through the transformative power of art, they acquire visibility and a new form.
The displacement of objects, the combination of seemingly distant elements, and other strange juxtapositions are captured with quick and furtive photographs, reflecting the need to transform and interpret these apparitions as creative and poetic processes rather than errors.
Working in the contemporary art world, the author of this project found herself forced, at the beginning, to bring her mother to “work,” including meetings, exhibition openings, and installations,trying to remain somehow connected to her profession. She even started to observe her mother’s gestures and eccentricities from the same point of view she used to interpret art works, rediscovering in her mother’s casual gestures the same poetic obsessions that drives artists to creation.
Mammia Mia Museum is therefore a series of photographs that sometimes show her mother at exhibitions and museums, and other domestic moments in which certain movements of objects seem to create works of art.
The “art family” surrounding the author immediately recognized the potential of these images, inspiring the creation of a dedicated artistic project.
The Mamma Mia Museum inscription is a Poetrick by artist Stefano Calligaro, also transformed into a ceramic plaque to hang outside the front door, like the entrance to a real museum.
Each image is given a title, a metaphor of the impossible challenges that caregivers are forced to face every day.
Since her mother’s illness began in 2020, Becagli has had to balance work and caregiving, feeling the full weight of a family caregiver, including bureaucracy, family, and the practicalities of life. She has no time for private life. What’s left is dedicated to work, to maintain an income and a foothold in reality.
Serena Becagli, (Florence, 1973), lives and works in Signa (FI). She holds a degree in Phenomenology of Styles from the DAMS (University of Bologna) and works in the promotion, production, curation, and communication of exhibitions and cultural events, as well as in the drafting and coordination of editorial projects, collaborating with various organizations, galleries, museums, and independent spaces.
Opening Thursday, April 2nd, 5pm – 8pm
From April 2 to April 24th
LdM Gallery, Via de’Pucci, 4 Florence
Curated by: Špela Zidar
Gallery coordinator: Špela Zidar
Gallery intern: Alexandria Swanson, Isabella Walejko
LdM Gallery Interview: Serena Becagli
LdM Gallery: How has your relationship with your work and your mother changed, if at all, given how intertwined the two have become? To put it another way: you’ve mentioned being “forced” to bring your mother to work meetings, exhibitions, and installations. How did this merging of your professional and private lives impact your mother’s well-being and your own “grip on reality”?
Serena Becagli: My relationship with work has changed significantly; I have much less time to devote to it than before. I find myself constantly checking my watch because I have to get home to relieve the caregiver—even when I’m at an exhibition or an opening—which can sometimes come across as rude or superficial.
In the beginning, when Mom was still mobile, I took her with me as much as possible. It was partly a way to “save money”: with what I earn as a freelance artist, paying for a caregiver often cost more than the job itself paid. But in the end, it turned out to be a very beautiful and stimulating experience for her. I’ve had to learn to let go of many things, which was often painful and carried the risk of isolation. For me, sharing these images was like creating a small museum at home—a place where, despite the difficulties, something magical could happen.
LdM Gallery: The titles are described as metaphors for the challenges caregivers face. Can you talk about your process for naming each image?
SB: Working with artists teaches you the tricks of the trade. When my mother fell ill, I was part of the Estuario collective in Prato. At the time, we were working on a project called “Making Contemporary Art,” and artist Roberto Fassone led a workshop on creative processes, including a lesson on his quirky methods for titling works. He was a great inspiration and one of the first people to encourage me to turn this into a structured project.
The title of each image is crucial and a very fun part of the process. Furthermore, the title of the entire project was created by artist Stefano Calligaro as part of his Poetricks series. The “Poetricks” are simultaneously artworks, minimalist poems, and tools used to redefine the boundaries of art and language. I love the idea of exploring those boundaries.
LdM Gallery: How has this project affected your personal experience of caregiving? Did the act of making art change how you cope with your mother’s illness? What do you wish people who have never experienced Alzheimer’s would take away from this work?
SB: Bringing this project to life has lightened the burden of caregiving. I often say I’ve journeyed from curator to caregiver, but deep down, I’ve always been a curator who “cares” for projects. My friend, the artist Lori Lako, and I coined the phrase “I don’t cure, I care,” and that has always resonated with me.
Being around artists and observing the processes through which they transform things helps us perceive reality differently. I’ve tried to find levity in what is actually very heavy. Many caregivers who see this project are moved because they recognize the weight of this reality. It has also helped me establish a different relationship with those around me; I’ve learned to ask for help. I hope people realize how vital it is to support a caregiver, even with the smallest things—for us, even ten minutes is life-changing. Some people complain that we don’t see each other anymore, perhaps without truly understanding what I am going through.
LdM Gallery: Do you see this project as part of a larger conversation about illness, care, and visibility in contemporary art?
SB: This project was born almost by chance—or perhaps out of desperation—and yet it is garnering so much attention. I was invited to speak at a medical conference and was amazed by the doctors’ enthusiasm. It made me realize that this project transcends the narrow confines of the art world, which sometimes risks only speaking to itself.
LdM Gallery: You have stated that you want to show there is “nothing to be ashamed of” regarding the illness. Why is visual art a more effective tool for this than traditional medical or social discourse?
SB: We often imagine the art world as something glossy and perfect—all openings and drinks. For me, taking my mother to a museum or gallery was like lifting a veil and freeing myself from prejudice. Artists were often the first to look after my mother during public events. Illness is a part of life, and artists have a unique way of transforming and expressing fragility and suffering.
LdM Gallery: Does the playfulness and creativity with which you approach this serious situation have a therapeutic effect?
SB: Definitely. It helps defuse the tension and makes it easier to communicate with the outside world.
LdM Gallery: To me, you are a kind of superhero. How much courage did it take to speak about a topic so delicate and personal? Were you ever reluctant to share it, or was the project born from a need to be seen and helped?
SB: Thank you for the compliment! Sometimes I feel like a “supergirl” too when I think about how I’ve managed to endure this and everything I’ve given up. Sometimes it hurts deeply. But I’ve met extraordinary people on this journey, like the workers at AIMA (the Italian Alzheimer’s Association), who gave me the strength to never give up.
At first, I was afraid to make these images public, mainly out of respect for my mother’s privacy. A conversation with the psychologist at my mother’s day care center was the turning point. I went to her for support, but we ended up discussing my photographs. She encouraged me to organize the first exhibition and even suggested the project’s first subtitle. She eventually purchased a photograph as a symbol of art’s transformative power. The project is certainly a message asking for help.
LdM Gallery: How is the project working as a catalyst for connection? Do you have any direct experiences to share, and what would you like to see improved?
SB: Since the first exhibition at Palazzo Vecchio in 2024, I’ve received countless messages from people facing the same struggles. People from all over the world have written to me, moved to tears because they saw their own stories in my photographs.
I often correspond with Pietro, an artist from northern Italy who lost his mother but finds encouragement in my work. Another artist, Daniela, also had a mother with this terrible disease; we had known each other for a long time through work, but we only connected deeply once we shared this common bond. I want this project to bring caregivers together to share ideas and support one another. Sometimes it takes very little to help. I can’t lift my mom alone, so I’m not ashamed to call my neighbors for help. It’s a simple twenty-minute gesture, but it builds a more aware and supportive community.
LdM Gallery: If there is one thing you want a visitor to take away from the exhibition at the LdM Gallery, what would it be?
SB: I hope people understand the beauty and necessity of art—of learning to interpret unconventional languages. In a world that races toward profit and ruthless consumerism, knowing how to pause in the face of fragility and care for others might be the only way to save ourselves.
About LdM Gallery
The LdM Gallery is a project by Istituto Lorenzo de’ Medici, an interdisciplinary space where academic research and artistic experimentation meet within a professional setting.
[email protected] www.ldminstitute.com [email protected]
