The projects range from renovations to restorations of monumental palaces and churches, recovery of 19th-century villas and farmhouses to expansions, urban renewal programs and new constructions. In recent years his research has focused on the conversion of historical structures for hospitality. One example is the exclusive resort Il San Corrado resort in Noto, of the Relais & Chateaux chain, which reflects an international approach to luxury in an artifact from the mid-1800s that belonged to Corrado Nicolaci, the last Prince of Villadorata. He has completed many other projects, including simpler ones that are clearly recognizable as belonging to a territory, while also reflecting the personal tastes of the designer.

Is there a red thread that connects all your works?

Undoubtedly there is the matter of a certain approach to the project. My approach is always very delicate, erasing the ego, safeguarding and recovering the true identity of the existing natural and man-made setting.

Could you tell us the story of the old baglio that has been renovated and converted for tourism, seen on these pages?

This was a complex dating back to the late 1700s-early 1800s, in the part of Noto closer to the sea, which was deserted at the time of construction, but is now densely developed. It is intriguing because it was built so close to the sea: in history this location would seem to be almost impossible, considering the fears of our ancestors regarding devastating Saracen invasions. Instead, in this place of production inside a fortified enclosure, with small windows and very tall grates, people produced almonds, and processed grapes to make wine. Life took place entirely inside the central courtyard, or baglio, surrounded by buildings for agricultural functions, storage, production, with a central well, a beautiful cistern, and a small owner’s residence on a higher level, enhanced by a project in the Liberty style at the start of the 1900s.

What was the main thrust of the operation?

The challenge was to recover the identity and beauty of the original artifact, removing the elements that had been added over time. The intention was to avoid arbitrary interpenetrations, so I attempted to establish a congruous relationship between the functional unit of the guestroom and the spatial unity typical of the past. These two dimensions had to coincide. This led to reduction of the number of rooms, but it also brought a major aesthetic advantage. The old stalls have also been transformed as guestrooms, each with its own small private pool. The redesign of the outer pool has taken on new alignments with the linear geometry of the courtyard, and an archetypal form, similar to that of a large watering trough. For the interiors, we replaced the entire structure of the vaults of the storerooms, with various materials and suspended ceilings; we restored the old masonry and the floors in Noto stone, as in the original complex. The stone worked by hand brings out the patina of time, together with the plaster and stucco finishes, made with a mixture of lime, earth and grass. To conserve the sense of spatial unity, the bathrooms have become permeable surfaces of transparent glass inside masonry boxes clad with recycled cementine tiles. The solutions emerged day after day on the worksite, in dialogue with local craftsmen, removing plaster or opening up walls, incorporating elements from the tradition, like the iron jalousies, the walnut counters, and a few other essential signs. We had no archival drawings or documentation with which to work.

The project of a private home facing the sea in the Noto countryside was quite different. In this case, how did you develop a new house, from scratch?

Here all that existed was a grove of relatively young olive trees, on which we have inserted – in keeping with the linear geometry of the site – a long volume, an essential, rigorous typology, with a precise concept. The idea was to move one row of the trees and to replace an agricultural portion with an architectural portion – the translation of an encoded distance between trees of about 6 meters into a construction with a width of 6 and a length of 30 meters. In this constructed ‘row’ the landscape becomes the founding element of the architecture. Because in the transition from the countryside, from the north, to the sea, looking south, thanks to the perfect alignment of the openings nature pervades the spaces, establishing a dialogue with a single front and the entrance zone, where traditional dry masonry defines the access to the agricultural land. The ascent of the volume is emphasized by the cut of the small linear steps leading to the level of the terrace-solarium. Horizontally, on the other hand, the architecture is paced by the sequence of functions that take place inside the spaces. From the living area to the bedrooms (two of them, plus a small study), everything happens at intervals of six meters, and those who live inside the house can enjoy the view of two specular landscapes, that of the olive grove and that of the sea. The total interpenetration is underscored by the materials. The industrial concrete of the floors and pavements becomes the connecting factor between inside and outside; the lime plaster responds to the desire for softness, thanks to the handmade finish, while the light seems to settle on the surfaces, in mutable chiaroscuro effects. Two verandas made with lathwork generate the external promenades, flanking both sides of the volume like further weaves of the artifact, whose claddings reflect the material syncretism between Noto stone and wood.

What do materials represent for you?

They are the expression of the know-how of a territory, of culture and crafts. In my works of architecture the stones are always local, like the enamels, the glazes; the tiles are salvaged, or made by hand by local craftsmen. Artisans are the most precious resources of a place. My stubborn approach of bringing out the value of construction processes and techniques of the past, without necessarily using today’s technologies, is my way of designing an authentic experience of Sicilian life, without worrying about industrial perfection or performance.

How would you explain the driving force behind your architecture?

It is undoubtedly the genius loci. I don’t think, at a distance of one year or ten, that I could conceive of a project that is different from the one already made. I cannot start drawing, making a sign on the territory, until I have first understood what would be the most suitable thing for that particular place. My repertoire is generated there. Obviously I make use of the knowledge of materials, previous experiences, what I have seen and lived, or know from memory, but the interpretation of the spirit of the place is what guides me to apply my grammar in a different way each time. This is not the most convenient choice, on a professional level, but it is what brings the most satisfaction, because it conveys a deep love of my roots.