thank u for coming to my ted talk ✨

All photos courtesy of werunracephotos.com

This past November our Artistic Director, Mariagrazia La Fauci, shared the story of Trinacria at TEDxModenaWomen, an annual independently organized TED event hosted in the beautiful city of Modena. The theme of this year’s conference was “Shape the Future.” We are honored that Trinacria’s origin story is now one of TED’s “ideas worth spreading” and we are especially proud to be represented amongst so many great female thought-leaders from around the world!

A special thank you to the organizers, especially Fabrizio Bulgarelli, Daniela Roncaglia, and Chiara Comastri.

Check out the video! For those who don’t speak Italian, we’ve provided an English translation of the full speech below:

Creativity is Contagious: Reviving a Village Through the Power of Art

Creativity has a contagious nature, and it is an essential force for the growth of communities. If we can harness this infectious nature, we can use it to strengthen our most vulnerable communities.

I was born in the Greater Boston Area, a metropolitan region with nearly 5 million inhabitants. But my parents emigrated from Sicily, from a small village called Pezzolo, before I was born.My family’s story is a classic chain migration story, which is very common: an uncle moves to America and petitions for decades to sponsor a brother and nephews. That’s how my parents arrived in Boston, and how I became the first in my family to be born in America.

When you are the first in the family to be born in America, there are certain expectations. My parents hoped I would become a politician or a lawyer, and believe me, they tried to push me in that direction. Many first-generation kids hear the phrase, "You can be anything you want in life," but we all know that what’s also implied is, "But please, don’t become an artist." But unfortunately for my parents, I loved the arts: I loved drawing, painting, dancing—and above all, I loved theater.

However, I took my responsibility as a first-generation daughter very seriously. I studied hard, got good grades, and got into university. And at university, I met Professor Lowry Marshall.

Lowry Marshall was the director of the theater department at Brown University for nearly 30 years. She was a big personality, with blonde hair and a drawling accent. At the end of my first year, I went to her office for advice before choosing my major. Even at that age, I already knew—or rather, I believed—all the things people say about the life of an artist: that it’s a tough, vulnerable path with little hope of success except for those most fortunate. I remember sitting in her office. I expected to hear the same things I had always heard, and in fact, I said them myself. "This isn’t a realistic career path, is it?"

Instead, she looked at me, and with her signature drawl, she said: "Mariagrazia, if this is what you want to do in life, why on earth wouldn’t you succeed?"

Despite her encouragement, at first, I chose a “sensible” major and a job my parents would approve of. I continued with theater, but only as a hobby. Two years after I graduated, Lowry retired. She gave one last speech, and I remember crying my eyes out. It was her parting words, this final piece of advice, that remained in my heart:
"Above all else, decide to live your life truthfully; the cost of any other approach is prohibitive."

At that moment, I understood. Yes, perhaps an artist's path is costly and uncertain. But it would cost me far more to never try.

That was 2014. In 2015, I finally left my sensible job that pleased my parents. In 2016, I earned my Master’s in Theater Directing in London. And that same year, I finally founded the creative and artistic company I had always dreamed of.

But to explain what Trinacria Theatre Company is, I must shift from a personal story to a common one. Pezzolo, like many small villages in southern Italy, has a rich history but is facing decline.

I remember the Pezzolo from my youth: about 800 inhabitants in the summer months, a bar in the center, a restaurant, a general store, an elementary school, several shops. I remember there were always children running through the streets, their parents strolling with gelato in hand, greeting the elderly playing briscola, the scent of jasmine in the air.

Today, Pezzolo has fewer than 400 inhabitants, and every single thing I just mentioned has closed, except for one last butcher shop.

Many towns have gone in this direction. On the one hand, it makes sense that people leave these places—because who wouldn’t want to move somewhere where you could find a job, or go to a restaurant, or get a ticket to a TED Talk? But on the other hand, it breaks your heart to see the community emptying out. These are places with unique histories, cultures, dialects, and traditions. It’s like losing your roots.

It’s one thing to live in America knowing Pezzolo will always be there, full of life. It’s another thing to return each year with the fear that one day, it won’t be.

What I could do for Pezzolo, I could only do with my artistic skills. But I had this feeling that art could also become a force for change.

I decided to found Trinacria Theatre Company with the goal of valuing Pezzolo and bringing it back to its former glory, while also supporting artists—not just those who create art for themselves, but those who want to share their creative skills. Because we all have a creativity that can be awakened, just as the village could be reawakened.

Starting from my connections with American artists, I began asking them questions: Can our artistic drive bring life back to a forgotten village? And could this inspire Pezzolo’s residents too? We established an artist residency in Pezzolo, welcoming artists from all over the world: initially from the U.S., but then from the U.K., Sweden, France, Finland, Spain, Iran, Mongolia, Australia. They come to spend weeks living in disused homes, creating art in abandoned spaces.

But there is one rule: every artist who comes to Pezzolo must engage with the community in some way. They must find ways to involve the community in the creation of their art.

Why this rule? Because I wanted creativity to be contagious and to spread. I wanted my community to see these artists reimagining and reactivating the empty and abandoned spaces of the village. I hoped that, in seeing this, the community would begin to see their own spaces with new eyes. That each person would say to themselves, “Huh, I never would have imagined that this place could be so beautiful.” And in doing so, they would start imagining new possibilities for this village as well, with the thought that if this is what we want to do—together—why on earth shouldn't we succeed?

In this way, we were bringing together two vulnerable worlds—the artistic world, which always seems to be in a state of crisis, and the forgotten village. These two fragilities, when combined, can give form to a new strength, driven by creativity.

At first, people were skeptical, but after the first year, I started to see changes. They were small, at first: suggestions for next year’s festival, offers to cook for the artists, increased workshop participation. Then, beyond the festival: a concert organized in the piazza a week after the festival ended. A small B&B in development. The revival of a religious festival that hadn’t been celebrated for 32 years. Talks of reopening a bar or hosting a fair for the first time in 10 years. And my favorite: the Sentiero Bettaci.

The Sentiero Bettaci is an ancient village path, abandoned for over 60 years, that was recently restored by young volunteers. They now lead guided hikes almost every weekend.This small village, with just 300 inhabitants and no restaurants or shops, is now receiving visitors every weekend.

Now, I think the people of Pezzolo see what I saw when I began: that artists are a powerful force. An artistic movement can improve the quality of life, bring new economic opportunities, and connect us in stronger ways. And when we are connected this way, we can create new possibilities.

For years, I ran the theater company from a distance in Boston, with just one event per year, but always wanting to do more. A year ago, in October 2023, Lowry passed away.

I reread the words that changed my life: "Above all, decide to live your life truthfully; the cost of any other approach is prohibitive."

And again, those words had an effect. A few months later, I decided to move permanently to Pezzolo.

I do get teased quite a bit—and I get it, there are not many people who move from American cities to tiny Sicilian villages—but without doing so, I could never live my life truthfully.

Creativity, in Pezzolo as in other communities, spreads. And when it does, we can use it to give new shape to the future.