Lancia

Lancia captures a precise instant: the moment when the fish’s body cuts the water and everything else becomes wake.
Recovered metal sheets turn into taut fins, screws suggest muscles and joints, and the empty spaces speak of acceleration.
Here, reuse is not a trick, but a language: a grammar of cuts, joints, and balance that declares motion even at rest.

Up close, Lancia reveals an inner rhythm: parallel lines chasing each other, studied angles that suggest routes, currents, and changes of direction.
It speaks of courage and departures—those moments when you decide and go.
Its energy is clean, almost athletic, yet never rushed: this is the speed of the sea, which is never frenzy.

At home, Lancia works like a sign. It does not shout, but it attracts.
It loves side light, where shadows strengthen the profile and make it even more dynamic.
It invites you to imagine, each day, a new trajectory: not a decorative object, but a presence that moves the eye and reminds you that a step forward is always possible.