As an artist with aphantasia, when I'm asked to imagine something, like a whale, no image or scene appears in my mind. For me, imagining is like staring into complete darkness: no tastes, smells, sounds, or images. This characteristic has led me to deeply reflect on my way of thinking and creating. Unlike those who "see" vivid images in their minds, my imagination involves conceptual thinking. Returning to the example of the whale, I don’t see a mental image, but I know it has a blowhole to breathe, a huge mouth, a fan-shaped tail, and I can even perceive its texture: smooth, glossy skin with shades of blue, gray, or black. Instead of creating a detailed image, I think about the "whaleness" of the whale, focusing on the essence of the concept rather than visual details. My creative process doesn’t start with internal visions but with ideas. Without ready-made images in my mind, I construct each project piece by piece, like a puzzle. I can truly "see" my idea only once the work is finished, and that’s precisely what drew me to illustration, photography, and design.
Using Conceptual Thinking to Interpret Other Artists
For example, I had a project in mind where I set out to create a series of illustrations inspired by The Story of a White Whale Told by Herself by Luis Sepúlveda using mixed-media and hand-created textures. This Story of a White Whale is told by the white whale, the last of her kind, living in the cold waters of the southern world, where the sea remains unspoiled. In this region, the "People of the Sea," composed of marine creatures, and the "People of the Land," a village of indigenous people, coexist in balance and mutual respect. However, this harmony is shattered by the arrival of the white men, whale hunters, who bring destruction and disrupt the marine ecosystem. I chose the collage technique to create illustrations inspired by this story, which allows me to transform abstract ideas into tangible and meaningful images. As a starting point, I read the book, focusing on the metaphors and messages it aimed to convey. I also watched the movie Moby Dick, which provided valuable visual details and helped me immerse myself in the sea’s symbolism and its narrative power.
For this project, it was crucial for me to use only recycled materials, turning what would have been waste into something new and meaningful. I repurposed used letter-sized paper, transforming them into canvases on which I created textures using ink and unconventional tools instead of brushes. Dry leaves, sponges, fabrics, plastic, and even toothbrushes became key players in the creative process, allowing me to achieve unique and unexpected textures.
This was not just a creative act but also a gesture of respect for nature, in line with one of the book’s central themes. Creating with recycled materials was a concrete way to reflect on sustainability and the value of reuse.
"The sea belongs to no one, yet it belongs to everyone. It is a world of silences and mysteries, where every creature has its place."
– The Story of a White Whale Told by Herself, Luis Sepúlveda
I experimented with water to achieve different saturations of black, and once the textures were ready, I cut and assembled the sections to bring my ideas to life. After scanning them, I worked digitally to refine the colors and add the whalers. In my imagination, these became fragile paper boats—seemingly harmless compared to the sea’s power but equally dangerous to the whales’ lives.
This process, which might seem simple, is a constant discovery for me. Without mental images to follow, where I’m guided solely by conceptual thinking, I let myself be guided by what I see or touch during the creative journey. It’s an approach that requires patience and curiosity but allows me to experiment without visual biases, focusing on the essence of concepts.
I created these illustrations as a tribute to Luis Sepúlveda, who died in 2020 due to COVID-related complications.
"We whales don’t need to see the sky to know it exists. We feel it in every breath, in every wave that caresses us."
– The Story of a White Whale Told by Herself, Luis Sepúlveda
Having Fun With Pure Conceptual Thinking
After completing the series of The Story of a White Whale Told by Herself illustrations, I still had many sheets full of hand-created textures that I didn’t want to waste. I decided to create a new collage, this time without a specific theme or story to follow. The result? Two monkeys in space fighting over a banana. It was a moment of lighthearted creativity, where I imposed no rules on myself, letting the scraps and textures suggest the direction and pure conceptual thinking be my guide.
Using Image Cutting Collage to Open Infinite Interpretations
Another technique I use to create my art is image-cutting collage, which allows me to use conceptual thinking to transform existing elements into something new and full of meaning. This 1956 piece by Richard Hamilton entitled Just What Is It That Makes Today’s Homes So Different, So Appealing? is an icon of pop art that explores the symbols of everyday life and consumerism. In my piece, I wanted to reinterpret the visual language in Hamilton’s 1956 piece with references to our time.
The purple sphere at the top represents the sun, its enormity an allusion to global warming and the urgency of the climate crisis. The Dyson vacuum cleaner blends with vintage clothing, a clear nod to second-hand culture that merges modernity with nostalgia.
I don’t consider it my job to define what the viewer should see. I prefer to leave room for the observer’s imagination, allowing them to find their own meaning, guided by the details, symbols, and contrasts of the composition.
For me, this is the true charm of image-cutting pieces: it doesn’t offer definitive answers but opens up infinite interpretations that can be simple or profound, personal or universal, depending on who stops to look at it.
I created two of these pieces: one remained in France, in the kitchen of my old home in Lyon, where I lived during my Master's degree. The other I gifted to my former photography professor in Naples, who, coincidentally, was painting her house in the same colors. A curious coincidence that made the piece perfectly suited to that space.
Using Conceptual Thinking to Produce My Thesis
I also used the collage technique—using only digital images—for an editorial project I created for my communication design thesis, called Male Contraceptive Pill. Using conceptual thinking for this project, I bring together professions that often seem diametrically opposed, like design and medicine, to explore their relationship and the role design can play in raising awareness about health and wellness topics.
The project consists of packaging reminiscent of a medicine box and a leaflet, where I included key information, a summary, usage instructions, and even side effects as if it were a real pharmaceutical product and the book containing the research. The main focus is the contraceptive pill: from its development to the challenging journey it faced for acceptance, eventually imagining the future with the idea of a male contraceptive pill.
Pillolo Maschile, the product’s name, invites readers to set aside stereotypes and prejudices to reflect critically and openly on a topic often considered uncomfortable. Every detail of the project—from the graphics to the concept—was designed to spark curiosity and new perspectives.
You Don’t Need a Visual Imagination to Create
As Elina Cerla highlights in her article Visualisation and Why We Don’t Need it to Make Visual Art, embracing aphantasia as an integral part of oneself can turn it into a true strength. Artists with aphantasia are not limited; they simply use a different set of tools. In my case, I rely on conceptual thinking, intuitions, abstract ideas, tangible materials, or sketches. For me, aphantasia is a stimulus, an opportunity to explore the world and translate it into creations that don’t stem from internal visions but from an ongoing dialogue with my surroundings. My creative process was profoundly influenced by the teachings of Professor Daniela Pergreffi during an illustration course I attended six years ago, where the very idea of saying, “I can’t draw,” was forbidden. That course opened me to a universe of creative possibilities through unusual techniques: drawing with closed eyes, starting from random concepts or words, working with textures, creating from scribbles or color stains, and even reinterpreting marks left by other students.
This experience taught me that art is never rigid or predefined but an open space, a continuous dialogue where everyone can bring something of themselves. Creating doesn’t mean following a precise vision but discovering, experimenting, and letting the process guide the outcome. Ultimately, it is in this openness and freedom that art finds its most authentic strength.
