Dear Antonia,
I hardly know where to begin, except with the feeling I experienced while visiting the museum dedicated to you — a mixture of wonder, melancholy, and admiration.
In every room, among the towering sculptures, the sensual drawings, the love letters, it almost felt as though your presence could be sensed — silent, elegant, full of grace. I listened to your story, I observed the works born of your own talent, but also those born from the love you inspired in René Letourneur and Jacques Zwobada. Two artists, two friends, two men who loved you deeply — each in his own way — to the point of transforming their lives, their art, and even their friendship. You were an overwhelming source of inspiration for them, capable of creating both beauty and pain.
I was particularly struck by the “coup de foudre” room, where René’s love for you was so powerful it upended everything. And even more so by the “obsession” room, where Jacques’s torment and passion seem to speak through the bronze he shaped. But what moved me most was your gaze — in your drawings, your watercolours, your soft lines. There was life in what you created. There was soul.
It felt like stepping into a novel — yet it was real. And even though the final chapter of your life was tragic, the museum manages to return to us your essence: a woman who was free, sensitive, cultured, fragile and strong. A woman who left her mark not only on those who knew you, but also on us who came long after.
Thank you, Antonia. Because through art and love, you succeeded in leaving a trace so powerful that it still moves us today, making us reflect on how deeply creativity and emotion can be intertwined.
With respect and admiration,
Matteo Ferramosca