Rugiada di Fragoline

In the Rugiada di Fragoline wallpaper the paper stays as much the protagonist as the drawing: it is a wandering watercolour, free and never repeated, where the pigment tells of its own hand. I belong to this style — the wandering watercolour, with its transparency that feigns nothing — and I declare it from the first glance that falls on the cream-coloured paper.

What I see, and what I offer, are wild strawberry plants gathered in a single breath: trifoliate leaves with toothed edges, slender tendrils twining between the clusters of fruit, small five-petalled white flowers with ochre hearts, and ripe berries speckled with tiny pale seeds. The cadmium red dissolves at the edges into pink and powder, where the wash has stopped and formed a pale halo, a tide line that the time of the pigment has left to dry on the paper.

The composition breathes: a large cluster of berries and leaves gathers just right of centre, while sparser sprigs, single leaves and tendrils move away towards the margins, letting the pale ground speak as much as the colour. It is a minute, suspended garden, which in the Rugiada di Fragoline wallpaper becomes quiet company for childhood: a sight that invites you to stop, to count the seeds, to follow the vein of a leaf with a finger.

At WallZad we choose to respect this apparent fragility: every print run keeps the tremor of the brushstroke, because true care does not tame the gesture, it keeps it.