Présentation de l'artiste
Alessandro Silverj
Alessandro Silverj (Rome, 1991) works primarily in the darkroom, where he prints and manipulates both his own photographs and archival images. He brings together materials from different moments in time, combining personal negatives with recovered photographs and altering them through cutting, layering, multiple exposures and physical interventions.
His work weaves past and present by placing everyday gestures and family memories in dialogue with historical material, exploring how cultural habits, inherited fears and long-lasting social patterns continue to shape experience.
For him, photography is a path that evolves over the years and intertwines with his life, becoming a way to question what keeps returning in images and in stories.

Artist statement
PRESENCE
On August 29, 1523, Margherita, known as Madregna, was accused of witchcraft.
Tortured with rope, she confessed to practicing sorcery and attending a sabbath.
She was condemned and burned alive at the stake. Her property was seized and
redistributed according to Inquisitorial customs.
Centuries later, her voice still echoes.
Between the 15th and 18th centuries, fear and superstition took root across
Europe, fueling the systematic persecution we now call the witch hunts. These
were not isolated moments of hysteria, but sustained campaigns rooted in
political, religious, and social control. The main targets were women, midwives,
healers, widows, the poor, those who defied the roles assigned to them.
Accusations could arise from almost nothing: a fever, a failed harvest, a
neighbor’s envy. Folk rituals, knowledge of plants, or even physical traits became
evidence of a pact with the devil. Witchcraft was the name given to any form of
female autonomy.
The Inquisition and civil tribunals developed legal systems to prosecute these so-
called witches. Torture was used to extract confessions confirming a worldview
that needed enemies. Manuals like the Malleus Maleficarum shaped both
ideology and method, legitimizing violence in the name of moral order.
Though men and children were also accused, nearly two-thirds of those tried
were women. Their bodies were inspected for “devil’s marks.” Their deaths, by
fire, hanging, or torture, were meant to serve as public warnings. Fear had to be
made visible.
The last execution for witchcraft in Europe was that of Anna Göldi, in 1782, but
the mechanisms of control persisted. In fascist Italy, women who resisted
domestic roles were confined to asylums, labeled “mad,” “malacarne,” or threats
to state ethics. Emotion itself became a pathology.
Even today, the logic of punishment remains. Femicide is the brutal echo of those
fires. Women are still burned alive, symbolically and literally, for refusing
submission. They are killed by partners, ex-partners, family members.
The methods have changed, but the meaning has not.
This is not just history. It is legacy. And it demands reckoning, not in numbers
alone, but in memory, voice, and justice.













