What are your expectations for 2026?
I feel that 2026 is approaching like a tide — steady, inevitable, and carrying new possibilities. For years, Cassandra Venice has grown in the shadows: from mythic whispers in the canals of Venice to award-winning visions worldwide. Now the project stands on the threshold of its next incarnation. I expect 2026 to be the year where the universe expands — not merely in scale, but in depth.
My hope is to meet the people who understand the soul of this project: the mythology, the climate urgency, the fragile beauty of a city that mirrors our own fears. I see 2026 as a year of movement: Venice, Marbella, Los Angeles, Berlin — creative currents flowing between places where art and risk still matter. And within that movement, I expect clarity to form: the moment when the feature film or limited series finally steps out of the mist and begins its true journey.
What projects are you currently working on?
Cassandra Venice remains at the center of my creative universe. The new 17-minute film, “When Cassandra Venice Speaks,” is more than a short — it is a seed. A proof of concept that carries within it the emotional code of the larger story. Navina, the child with the paper boat, became the light in the labyrinth; the Hybrid Vision brought myth into dialogue with technology; and now this film becomes the compass for everything that will follow.
But creation never moves in one line. While Cassandra’s world grows, a second project is quietly taking shape — a minimalist, radical meditation on artificial intelligence. Its working titles, “A.I.²,” “A.I.³,” “A.I.⁴,” hint at exponential change, at the idea that intelligence doesn’t grow — it multiplies. This story is still searching for its protagonist, the one figure who can shoulder its philosophical weight. When that person appears, the film will ignite. This is the first time I speak of it publicly.
And waiting patiently in its own corner is a third creation: an ART installation concept for Marbella. A project written completely, then carefully stored away when Cassandra Venice demanded front-stage attention. It is a work that requires a specific painter — someone who understands silence, texture, and emotional resonance. Once that collaborator is found, the project can be awakened almost instantly.
So my current work exists like a constellation: films, visions, and hybrid forms orbiting one central idea — that cinema is not merely seen, but felt.
What would you ask event organizers to do to support independent artists like yourself?
I would ask for courage. Courage to give space to the filmmakers who refuse to fit into predictable boxes. Courage to programme works that challenge structure, form, and comfort. Independent artists thrive when festivals choose soul over symmetry, vision over trend.
I would ask for encounters — genuine ones. Curated conversations where filmmakers, producers and dreamers can meet without the noise of spectacle. Rooms where ideas are exchanged before business cards. Creativity is born in moments of recognition, not competition.
And finally, I would ask for radical openness toward new cinematic languages: hybrid forms, A.I.-assisted imagery, myth-driven storytelling, climate allegory. The independent world is not a smaller version of the industry; it is its laboratory. Support the laboratory, and the future of cinema becomes richer.
What vision or desire currently guides your artistic choices?
I am guided by a desire to create work that feels ancient and urgent at the same time — stories that speak with the voice of myth yet look directly at the world we are shaping today. I want to make films that breathe: images that linger, silences that reveal, characters who carry truths people would rather not hear.
My choices follow a simple compass: beauty, fragility, authenticity. If a project does not touch those three, it does not belong to me. Cassandra Venice taught me that the most powerful stories rise from places on the edge — cities balancing between water and sky, people balancing between hope and denial.
Ultimately, my vision is to craft cinematic experiences that echo long after the final frame. Films that do not close, but continue living inside the viewer. Films that ask questions quietly, like tides beneath sleeping cities.
