I was born in Rovinj, Croatia, in 1987. Currently, I live nearby, in my beloved Venice, in Italy.

As far as I can remember my favourite garments were a blank piece of paper and a black brush: everybody who knew me, believed I was to take the artistic path. Perhaps it was my urge to control the proportions, the thickness of lines tossed over the page, or it was the pressure of the eraser’s tip that lead me down that road. But maybe it was my father, a carpenter of the old trade, who has always been peeking from behind my back, frowning, telling me that donkey doesn’t look like that.

I could never tell.

The one thing I do know, is that of all the trades that I could have learned, I ended up loving the architecture. The heritage, emergency resilient designs and urban regeneration of tiny and almost vanished sites and villages, it all pointed out that finding the potential in the marginal and forgotten was one of my strongest suits. That was, kinda confirmed, with me participating in the world exhibition of the emergency shelter designs for a refugee camp in Syria, at the UN, on the East River, a few years back.

Growing up in the company of all boys, I found the weaker sex to be very annoying, predictable and in the serious lack of humour.

Of course, I was wrong.

I discovered that when I ended up in a hospital, on a women-only ward. Only there, I was able to witness the miracle and the power of our wombs, our hearts and our minds. My classical studies background had to retake all the philosophy books that I had already read and start rolling down the newly formed path, trying to decipher what feminism actually means or, maybe yet, what it should mean.

Years on, I decided to put all my research and passions together into one simple project, scratching more profoundly into the unconscious minds and fleeting worlds of us, the strong ones – girls, women, mothers, lovers, haters… or, simply: my Illustraded Dreams Diary.

Any clue to What Girls Really Dream About? I’m just starting to find that out myself, and I like what I see.



“My teeth quickly started to grow in my mouth. So much so that they would break and crackle the old ones, my mouth was full of teeth shards and blood. I was suffocating, struggling to take out the pieces with my finger.”

*This piece is the cover of NDR Issue 8.1*


The meal is served.


A giant snake comes out of me. Says his name is Mr. Stanley. He says that I don’t have to worry, he will never leave me alone. At the end he says the strangest thing, and I don’t know what to think of it, so I just keep quiet.

I think maybe I should keep him as a pet, but I don’t know what large snakes eat and is it legal to keep them in apartments.

Is it legal?


I’m riding on a beautiful virgin white unicorn, gripping a spear, enjoying being a perfect Amazon woman. But the second a thought that unicorns aren’t real crosses my mind, the magnificent animal starts to fall apart. It crumbles into pieces until it disappears into the thinnest dust, leaving me with nothing but the regret of doubting in my own dream.

And as the light breeze sways the last of the unicorn dust away, I watch it and whisper: “I should’ve believed. I should’ve believed.”

How important is to believe in a dream in order for a dream to come true?

Or, as a wise poet repeatedly asks: “Is a dream a lie if it don’t come true?”

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