At four years old, she walks into the dance studio, proudly wearing her pink leotard and a slightly crooked bun. After just a few minutes, it’s clear: she’s the most awkward one in the group. Her feet go left, her arms go right, and all she dreams of is going back home for her snack.
 But at some point, as if in an ’80s movie redemption arc, the clumsy character transforms. The little girl who stumbled over the steps becomes the best in the class.
 After fifteen years of studying classical dance, a knee injury forces her to change direction. She enrolls in theatre, following a natural calling: even when she danced, she never felt she was just giving shape to movements, but telling stories. Carmen, Giselle, Odile, Odette, Esmeralda—archetypes of different women she cared deeply about bringing to life.
 A few years later comes a wild proposal: a leading role in a Turkish TV series about human trafficking. In one month she learns Turkish and moves to Istanbul. She stays for three and a half years, becomes the “Turkish–Neapolitan,” and learns that one can survive even 24-hour shoots, black tea every half hour, and—above all—the impossible challenges.
 When she returns to Italy, she brings with her a suitcase full of experiences, languages, and endless curiosity. Today she continues to work between Italy and Turkey, and wherever an inspiring project takes her.
 She dreams of portraying women of all kinds: ordinary, extraordinary, strong, fragile, ironic, funny, clumsy, sensual, educated, ignorant. Because she feels a bit like all of them. She strongly believes in the transformative power of actors and that a body or a face should never be a limitation.
 She believes in art as a way to know oneself and reinvent oneself. She writes, dances, paints furniture, experiments. But she still moves with the same clumsiness as that four-year-old girl—only now, when she stumbles, she turns it into part of the choreography.