The first time I met Francesca was through this breakfast app -yeah, there are apps for everything, even for grabbing breakfast with other people. We met in a small, almost empty café, just a stone’s throw from my home in Prenzlauer Berg. It was winter, and the neighborhood carried that quiet, frozen charm. We clicked right away, speaking in our mother tongue -a comforting surprise when you’re far from home. Soon enough, our conversation found its own rhythm, deepening into the things that mattered—travel, esotericism, details. The kind of details that most people overlook, but that reveal entire worlds if you stop to notice. Then asking her for an interview the week after felt like the only natural step.

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Interviewer (I): So, this is all about getting to know about Francesca, the creative one…

Francesca (F): Ha! Where do I even start? I grew up in Luxembourg and moved around a lot as soon as I turned 18, becoming very interested in the creative culture emerging from the U.S. There’s this mix of influences from all over the world, and that blend of cultures really catched me. I’m especially fascinated by the music and cinema culture from the West Coast, having grown up watching those films and listening to that music.

(I): I know you started a magazine featuring creatives.

(F): Yeah! I launched it ten years ago, and it was all about creatives and entrepreneurs—why they do what they do. I’m not sure how, but I organically grew my network with people in California, since so many of the creatives were based in the U.S. It began as a print magazine, but print is expensive, so after two years I decided to go fully digital. The magazine was more of a side project, as I was only breaking even and not generating income through it. Through my network, I eventually started making money with photography and creative direction. While working on the magazine, I developed a deeper appreciation for design and gradually entered the tech world through digital design, until I pivoted into Product Design.

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(I): Well, I have seen your work, and I am curious if that mix of cultures in the U.S., your work with creatives, your shift into Digital Product Design -did all that spark your interest in ethnography? Like going deeper in different cultures through UX research?

(F): It started way earlier, I remember being 17, and telling my mother, “I'm going to Morocco to study the Quran”. She was like,  What?! But I did. I wanted to learn Arabic, to read the Quran. Why would a 17-year-old do that? I don't know. Something in me just needed to. I spent three months in Fez and learned about the culture.

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I wanted to learn Arabic, to read the Quran. Why would a 17-year-old do that? I don't know. Something in me just needed to.

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(I): That makes sense. I see that in your work -this feeling of pattern, on objects shaped by time. And that's something so present in Morocco, especially in Fez.

(F): Totally. But also in craftsmanship and art. These aren’t just objects—people put their soul and care into them. In many cultures, objects aren’t merely objects; they serve as portals to the sacred, offering deeper connections to subtle realms. They play integral roles in rituals. I mean, human life interconnected with other realms through ornaments, architecture, art and ritualistic objects.

(I): Would you say Fez is your favorite place?

(F): I don’t think I have a single favorite place. I’ve been to Thailand four or five times, and when I go, I usually stay for one or two months to train in Muay Thai. That’s probably one of my favorite destinations. I even have a sacred tattoo on my back from there. Other travels that really inspired me include Japan and the Comoros, where I went to research syncretism and Djinn mythology. My time there felt mystical as I explored the island through tales of interactions between nature spirits and humans. During my stay, there was a three-week disconnection from the mainland—no boats came in, so there was no fuel or food. Time seemed to stop, and the days merged together. We navigated by the sun during the day and the stars at night, and hunger put my body in a more sensitive state. I think that trip is hard to forget.

(I): If you look back at your childhood, do you see moments that sparked this things later?

(F): I’ve always felt connected to something else, to the more subtle realms. Now I understand it, but back then I just felt strange. It was hard to relate to people, and I was never sure why I didn’t want to do what other teenagers did. I preferred lying on the grass and watching the stars to going out to bars. I also always felt a presence around me—not in a scary way, but more as an acknowledgment. Some things simply can’t be explained with words.

These days, I try to set aside time for ancestral work, even if it’s just lighting a candle. It gives me a sense of meaning.

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I've always felt connected to something else, to the more subtle realms.

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(I): That's fascinating. Maybe, in discovering other cultures, you also found ways to connect with the intangible?

(F): Definitely. I studied anthropology for a while, and my research in the Comoros focused on syncretism—the fusion of different religious beliefs and practices. I’ve always been fascinated by how modern cultures intersect with animist traditions and how diverse societies honor spirits, revealing surprising similarities even across vast distances.

In some places, connecting with ancestors and spirits is just part of daily life. Growing up, I felt a void where that connection should have been—not  because my culture lacks it entirely, but because it’s been closed off or taken over by other beliefs (such as more formal religious practices).

Recently, I’ve become intrigued by the concepts of liminality and madness. I keep asking myself: Where does genius begin? Where does madness start? As a kid, I looked around and thought, This world is crazy. Why do people lock themselves in offices instead of spending time in nature? Why are we making everything more complicated than it is? I used to think these questions made me naive, but they still guide me.

In many ways, that curiosity led me to explore other cultures in search of answers I couldn’t find in books, at school, or in church.

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Why are people locking themselves in offices instead of being in nature? Why are we making everything more complicated than it is?

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(I): So your journey became about reconnecting with the world in your own way… through art…

(F): Art is a form of expression and inner exploration. I don’t really know why I create what I do. It just comes… I believe we’re all vessels of a larger creativity -some just have bigger antennas to receive what’s out there, some don’t know they have it or have never trained it .

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We're all vessels of a larger creativity -some just have bigger antennas to receive what's out there.

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(I): Do you think Western civilization has dulled our ability to truly appreciate this kind of thing?

(F): I think we're all born artists. For me art is a daily practice. I have the feeling that since we made art into a commodity we took away a big part of its force. Lot’s of contemporary art for me feels too “intellectual”....but  intellectualizing isn’t the same as living in.

That’s why I feel a sense of contradiction when I’m in a museum. I enjoy being able to see art, but I find many museums too sanitized—pieces seem removed from their context, their energy and power diminished. Art in a church, patterns in a mosque, masks and plants in a ritual, or paintings on a street wall all feel alive; they transport you to another place, alter your consciousness, make you pause, and connect you to other realms. I don’t have words to describe it. I’m not saying museums and galleries cannot do that, but for me, there is a disconnect.

Right now, many of the objects we create lack spiritual meaning; they are primarily functional. That’s not necessarily bad in itself, but a significant part of what humans need—connection to a larger meaning—has been forgotten. I believe this partly explains why so many people feel lost and why mental health problems arise. There’s a lack of depth in what we do.

(I): It's interesting that you say you don't have words to describe it. But when crafting your images, you have to put words to prompt AI. So, in a way, you do find the words.

(F): Yes, that’s true, but I rely on images as well. When I create with AI, I provide image references found in archives—such as old kimonos, ritual masks, ornaments, flowers, and plants. Sometimes words aren’t enough, and I also like to learn the specific terms for certain objects, fashion patterns, or rare plants. However, with very old images, we may lack the necessary words, or the AI might not understand them. In those cases, I either reference the image directly or try to find the name of the object and use it. Usually, my prompts are quite long and detailed; if I don’t get the result I want, I supply a reference image and keep iterating for hours.

That’s where all these cultural influences merge in an image, but also patterns and nature.

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Sometimes words aren't enough

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(I): Your compositions aren’t just about details... There is this overall dreamlike, mystic feel…

(F): I like to play with words, so I test prompts like “dreamlike,” “mystical,” and “spirit.” I’m not entirely sure what the AI understands from them, but I experiment to see what works best. Much of it feels random. Sometimes, I also use Midjourney’s “weirdness” setting—like 100, 200, 300—and when I sense it’s right, I stay with it. That’s the beauty of AI: experimenting, going in with an open mind, seeing where it takes you—even if that means hands with six fingers or people with four arms.

Other times, I get super detailed: specifying depth of field, crop, lighting, color palette, texture, the ethnicity of the people, and the names of plants. I spend hours refining these aspects. I think my photography background helps. Since I was twelve, I’ve studied the work of Magnum and various fashion photographers, and I believe I developed an eye for what works.

(I): You clearly immersed yourself in GenAI…

When I first discovered it, I used these tools for eight hours a day—just experimenting. You wouldn’t want to see my archive; it’s total chaos. Thousands of images in every direction. For several months, it was an obsession, but it helped pull me out of a creative dry spell after years in the creative industry.

Eventually, I missed working with my hands. I started painting and drawing again. I’m probably terrible at it, but I needed that connection. Sometimes I upload my drawings as a starting point for new AI images. We can have the technology of gods, but we are still humans.

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We can have the technology of gods, but we are still humans.

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(I): Yeah, that's true. There's a risk that by using AI we detach ourselves too much from the analog world.

(F): Exactly. I love working with AI, but one thing I find overwhelming is that the Time of AI is not the same as the Time of a human. You might think a tree is doing nothing, but it’s growing at its own speed—some trees are five hundred or even a thousand years old. They look at us, wondering why we move so fast, while we see them as if they’re standing still. AI has its own rhythm, one that isn’t necessarily right for humans; it moves too quickly and can disrupt our nervous system and our way of being. I believe we should move at our own pace and learn to work with these tools in a way that suits us—though that’s probably easier said than done.

In mythology, there is Kairos and Kronos. Kronos represents clock time: it’s linear, all about deadlines, schedules, and productivity. But Kairos is the time of mythology, the kind that exists outside daily tasks. Many indigenous cultures live in Kairos; they understand they’re part of something bigger and non-linear. Working with AI made me reflect on all this and truly feel it. And for that, I’m grateful.