We interviewed Jago, the “sculptor of the present.” He told us about his art his favorite places in Italy, stopping in Naples.
When you meet Jago, what strikes you is his clarity and depth. Jago—real name Jacopo Cardillo, born in 1987—speaks with a calm, enveloping voice, but his thoughts are sharp and incisive, never clichéd. He hesitates only when broaching topics he rarely discusses.
They call him 'the sculptor of the present' or the 'new Michelangelo'. When he talks about his artistic vision, he’s unstoppable: as enthusiastic as a child yet as pragmatic as a businessman. In just a few words, he makes it clear that his vision is still in its early stages and that, even though his journey is already paved with success, it’s just the beginning.
We spoke to him virtually while he was in the UAE for a stop on the Amerigo Vespucci World Tour, where his bronze (she) David is aboard the ship. The marble version is displayed at the Jago Museum, the exhibition space he opened in Naples in 2023. In 2024, Jago Into the White, a documentary about his beginnings, premiered at the Tribeca Film Festival.
But in this interview, we delved into other topics. We started with his artistic journey and soon wandered into other areas. We wanted to ask about his connection to Italy and his favorite destinations, trying to create a curated itinerary guided by his perspective.
Here’s what he shared.
Let’s start with the right foot with a super simple question. Jago, who are you?
It’s the hardest question, not simple at all! I’d say anyone who knows the answer is either lucky or already fulfilled. I’m lucky because I don’t know. Let’s say I keep insisting on this journey of self-discovery to achieve my best self.
If I had to define who I am, I’d rather talk about what I continue to be: a child, curious and enthusiastic, who persists—stubbornly—in approaching the world with a childlike attitude. That’s how I move through life and drive all my projects. Curiosity and enthusiasm are the two ingredients that fuel creativity. What often happens over time is that we lose these ingredients, and that’s when we stop being creative—or convince ourselves we’re no longer creative or never were. But the truth is, we all have these two ingredients, and we can nurture them.
So, as a curious child, artist, and sculptor, you have a very hands-on, material relationship with creation. What are you working on right now? How are you getting your hands dirty these days?
My projects are long-term, so I’m getting my hands dirty pretty much the same way I did yesterday. But my work now involves many things. Beyond the pure act of creating an artwork, which is my direct responsibility, there’s an entire world that supports our journey: the museum and its related projects, new exhibition spaces and their management, relationships with investors. And then there are ongoing projects, like this massive David I’m working on. The smaller version has already traveled the world aboard the Amerigo Vespucci, and now we’re here in the UAE for the same reason. It’s amazing.
Speaking of this large David, rumors say it’ll be displayed in Naples, replacing the smaller version currently exhibited there. Is that true?
For now, the creation is happening in Naples, but its final destination? Who knows. It depends less on the location and more on the site’s ability to host and support the artwork and its vision properly. As for the museum... maybe there’ll be others. We’ll see.
You’re an artist straddling the past and the future. On one hand, your approach is almost classical; on the other, you experiment with techniques and how your work is experienced—like opening your own space for the public to see your pieces. What’s the role of art for you today?
Nothing. (Laughs.)
It’s such a big word that it’s impossible to summarize its meaning. We give it such a vast significance. Of course, art can be an incredible tool. At its highest level, it can bridge distant worlds, synthesize ideas words can’t express, unite intentions, and instantly analyze reality.
When it comes to art, I often shift the focus. I grew up in a small town—Anagni—where when people say, “That kid’s an artist,” they really mean, “He doesn’t know what to do with his life.” So, I say, “I’m a sculptor.” That’s something anyone can understand. My grandma gets it, everyone gets it.
Art often becomes this concept we burden with the expectation of saving something. But who says art will save the world? It’s the world that needs to save art.
The world can destroy beauty in an instant, just to push a certain agenda. It’s up to us—artists, creators of beauty—to protect art from the world. Whether art cares about the world, we’ll never know, and frankly, it doesn’t matter. But we can serve art, continuing to create despite the human destruction we see daily.
But who says art will save the world? It’s the world that needs to save art. It’s up to us—artists, creators of beauty—to protect art from the world.
Is there a connection between the language of art and the language of the subconscious?
Good question. Yes, absolutely, always. The subconscious constantly manifests itself, whether we’re aware of it or not. I think our entire lives are an expression of the subconscious, to varying degrees of awareness.
If you’re in tune with your subconscious and listen to it, it’s incredibly valuable because it can guide your will. I give a lot of weight to my subconscious. When I have a wild, wonderful idea, I want my subconscious to be my best ally, pushing me to pursue it.
Life often distracts us from that little voice in our heads. When you’re young, for example, and you share your ideas with family, it’s common for parents to project their insecurities, saying, “Let it go.” This continues in school and elsewhere until you settle into a comfort zone. And when you have a good idea, you’re the first to block yourself, saying, 'Let it go'.
What is your relationship with spirituality? Is it something that interests you?
No, I am completely uninterested in spirituality, but I am fascinated by it. I am an observer who stands there, without judgment, allowing myself to be traversed by all the spirituality in its marvelous diversity. What truly interests me is faith, as trust. This is closely tied to my natural ability to transform the things I imagine into physical objects. That act of translation is entirely a matter of faith. When you face a massive block of stone, what drives you to strike the first blow with the hammer, seeing in your mind alone what it will become? If not faith, what is it?
What is your connection with Italy?
Italy has always been and remains the center of my interests because it is where my artistic and entrepreneurial activities are based, even though they increasingly extend worldwide.
Italy is the place of my family, my roots. I am in love with it and somehow fall more deeply in love with it every day.
That said, I have a talent: I can feel at home anywhere in the world. I have never suffered from being far from Italy, even when I lived elsewhere. Yet, my relationship with Italy remains special. To me, Italy is a platform of beauty. In such a small space, you find the excellence of centuries, traditions that have intertwined and layered over time, and in one way or another, they continue to exist, resist, and emerge despite everything.
I currently live in Naples, which has a super power of cultural identity and cross-pollination. My relationship with this city, too, is one of love and perpetual infatuation. It is a relationship that naturally includes conflict, struggle, and even moments of hatred. But in the end, I always find myself falling more in love with it. I am proud of what we are building here.
Speaking of Naples, is there a particular reason why you chose this city for your first museum?
I’d say it’s the other way around—Naples chose me. It’s a cliché, I know, but in my case, it’s really true. It all began in 2017 with the project for the Figlio Velato (Veiled Son), which is now exhibited at one of the museum's locations: the Church of San Severo Fuori Le Mura in the Chapel of the Bianchi. At the time, I was living in New York, but I had already had some contact with Naples and had begun to get to know and frequent the city. In fact, Il Figlio Velato was conceived specifically with Naples in mind. We inaugurated it there in 2019.
Even though I was still living in New York, my connection with Naples gradually solidified. I had my collaborators there, and I had grasped the potential of this place as a catalyst for creativity. So, when I decided to return to Italy in 2020, it was only natural to reconnect with my Neapolitan partners: the San Gennaro Foundation and the La Paranza Cooperative, who today are like family to me. I needed a studio, and we identified the Church of Sant’Aspreno—which was abandoned at the time—as a key location in the heart of the Sanità District. From that point on, I began channeling my work and vision into this physical space, which today serves not only as a base for my work but also as a symbol of innovation and rebirth. It has contributed to the neighborhood’s ongoing regeneration, which is now tangible and visible.
Let’s play a little game. Imagine a foreign friend asks you for travel advice in Italy. Where would you tell them to go?
I don’t have a single answer—it’s impossible. If you take a map of Italy and point randomly, you’ll always find something wonderful, something historical, something fascinating that aligns with your tastes for exploration. That’s the incredible thing about Italy: you can’t do this almost anywhere else in the world. Everywhere in Italy is a manifestation of beauty and cultural cross-pollination. So, you can’t go wrong—this is the truth. Of course, we have suburbs with their challenges and issues, but there’s always a historic center somewhere. You’ll always find something interesting, something traditional, and something worth lingering over, rather than just passing through. I’d tell my friend, “Take your time in Italy. Get lost. Italy is welcoming, everywhere. All roads in Italy lead to beauty. So, get lost.”
That could be a beautiful tagline for a campaign! But let’s say your friend insists. If you really had to suggest one starting point, what would it be?
Sanità District. That’s where I was catapulted, and Naples, to me, is Sanità. I lived there and hardly ever left because I didn’t need to go anywhere else—it’s a world unto itself.
I can only give advice with a sense of the warmth I was taught by the people who live there. I speak as “an adopted son,” with profound respect because I have nothing to teach about Naples.
I always say that in Naples, simple things are difficult—like parking a car, which is practically impossible. But a miracle? That can happen. Something difficult becomes simple. You have a project? You can make it happen. Want to move Mount Vesuvius? You’ll find four crazy people willing to help.
Speaking to your friend again, what itinerary would you suggest they follow?
I’d tell them to start in Naples, then head to Anagni, where I grew up, and see the Sistine Chapel of the Middle Ages. Then head to Rome and visit the capital. From there, they can decide whether to go back south or head north. I’d tell them not to miss Sicily, which was also the destination of my honeymoon. I visited Lampedusa, and Spiaggia dei Conigli (Rabbit Beach) is absolutely stunning.
I also love Milan, Turin, the entire north. It’s honestly overwhelming how many amazing places I’d like to mention.
Take your time in Italy. Get lost. Italy is welcoming, everywhere. All roads in Italy lead to beauty. So, get lost.
Back to Naples. Are there lesser-known places that you think deserve more attention and would like to share?
I can name three, all on the way to Sanità as you come down from Capodimonte: the Fontanelle Cemetery, the Catacombs of San Gaudioso, and the Ipogeo dei Cristallini. These are three unique and underappreciated spots, and they’re also part of our museum’s offerings (the Fontanelle Cemetery will soon reopen for visits). For me, these three are unmissable.
Is there an authentic experience you’ve had in Naples or Sanità that made you say, “This is something I won’t see anywhere else in the world”?
Yes, definitely. I always share this story when people ask about a specific piece of work—my Pietà, the first one I created while living in Sanità. One day, I was in Sant’Aspreno while renovations were underway. The door was half-closed. A woman from Sri Lanka entered—there’s a significant Sri Lankan community in Sanità. She walked up to the piece, which was almost finished, and started praying. Imagine this church filled with rubble. She gazed at it and began to pray. Then, she crossed herself, kissed her hand, touched the sculpture, and left.
I was near the altar, watching from a distance. I didn’t intervene. I could have gone to her and explained that the piece had nothing to do with religion, but I didn’t. If I had, I would have lost the opportunity to understand that our work must also serve as a container for the meanings others give to it.
That was a revolutionary experience for me, an epiphany. I realized that the value of artistic creation doesn’t necessarily reflect the author’s intent or the meaning they wish to convey. That day in Sanità, I learned that if you stay silent and truly listen, you might learn something.
What do you think is the mistake people make when visiting Naples?
Being a tourist in Naples is a big mistake. Naples doesn’t need tourists. Naples needs lovers—people who want to fill themselves with beauty, feel at home, enjoy its hospitality. And, most importantly, it needs respectful people. Tourists rush, devour places, are often distracted, sometimes careless. They don’t have time. Naples doesn’t need tourists—it needs Neapolitans.
If you come to Naples, you must feel Neapolitan, become Neapolitan. You must fall in love. When you come, prepare yourself for this love affair, and treat the city as if it were your own. Love it from the first moment and leave as someone deeply in love.
Naples doesn’t need tourists. Naples needs lovers—people who want to fill themselves with beauty, feel at home, enjoy its hospitality. If you come to Naples, you must feel Neapolitan, become Neapolitan.
Is there a place in Naples, not a museum or institutional art space, that inspires you and that you’d recommend seeing?
Via Partenope, at 6 a.m. I walk there every day on my way to work. It’s 7 kilometers, but I do it gladly. And I wouldn’t drive in Naples even if you paid me! If you want to see something beautiful, go to Via Partenope at dawn. Watch the sun rise behind Vesuvius as it gradually illuminates Castel dell’Ovo and then Posillipo. You’ll be bathed in that first light. It’s a stunning experience.
Final question. Do you have a project or dream related to Sanità that you haven’t yet realized but would like to?
More than dreams, I have concrete, long-term projects. For the museum, the primary goal is to complete the restoration work and fully return the church and museum to the public, beautifully renovated and revitalized.
Then, of course, the plan is to expand the collection, give space to new works, and send others out into the world, so they return even stronger. Another priority is to ensure that the young people currently managing the museum—La Cooperativa La Sorte—can continue to grow and create similar experiences beyond Sanità District. I also hope to establish more museum projects that can connect with one another.
I don’t leave much room for dreams. If I want something, I make it happen. Dreams don’t belong in drawers. You need to take them out and bring them to life as soon as possible.
