Books and Stories
Notes of a Russian Signora: What the Guidebooks Don't Tell You.
Think you know Italy because you've seen the Colosseum? Forget it. Real life begins where the tourist trails end.
This book - is a witty, lively, and slightly ironic guide to Italy's hidden side. The author moved to the land of wine, bureaucracy, and timeless traditions, where she discovered that the real Italy isn't hidden in museums — it's in the art of skillfully bending the rules and finding common ground.
We invite you to take a stroll with the *Russian Signora* — a woman who traded Russian everyday life for Italian temperament. This book is a collection of true stories: how do four grown men fit into a tiny Fiat 500 (and why do they need to)? Why are Northern and Southern Italy two different planets that still haven't agreed on the rules of the game? How can you tell a Milanese from a Neapolitan by the way they speak? And what is the secret of that lighthearted approach to life that we're all chasing after?
No overused facts about the Colosseum. Just real observations, curiosities, and plenty of humor. Discover how the most beautiful country in the world really works — through the eyes of a fellow countrywoman.
If you want to see Italy not through a souvenir shop window but from the inside — this book is for you. Warmth, humor, and a pinch of Italian sunshine in every chapter. Want to experience Italy "by taste"? Russian Signora will tell you everything that remains hidden from the tourist's eye.
The story of an inheritance:
how dad made me an artist
Two letters on every picture
My father was a man who could do everything. Graphic arts and painting, woodcarving and sculpture, industrial design, and even... children's attractions. He designed entire park zones. At the very beginning of Perestroika, he submitted a project for Gorky Central Park in Moscow. I still remember that scale model: a little donkey pulling a cart filled with children, and a fairytale city for birds on the pond. Back then, it felt like a miracle. A miracle that, alas, remained only on paper.
I grew up inside this miracle. Dad used to carve real wooden brigantines for me. I remember spring: all the boys in the yard were launching matchboxes in the streams, while I had a real, fairytale sailboat. My first art school was our joint plein-air sessions. At the zoo, he would draw a giraffe from life, and I, sitting on a tiny stool, would diligently sketch a turtle.
At home, we worked side by side: I would sculpt or draw, and he would come over, watch, and offer advice. But the best times were the evenings when Dad would take albums of Levitan or Vrubel from the shelf. He didn’t just show the paintings—he told their stories, explaining how the artist built the composition and searched for light. Perhaps that’s why, even as a child, I could talk solemnly about "color palette" in a museum, drawing a crowd of smiling visitors.
Dad believed in me. When I was ten, he organized my first exhibition. The guestbook still holds the comments of artists who came to see my work back then. I remember his lessons: "The line must sing," he would say, "now becoming strong, now almost vanishing." And the symbolism that later appeared in my own paintings—that is also his school.
My father, Vitaly Evstigneev, was an artist. It was he, who taught me the basics of composition and perspective. Dad believed in me. I remember his lessons: "The line must sing," he would say, "now becoming strong, now almost vanishing." And the symbolism that later appeared in my own paintings—that is also his school. He also created my logo – two letters, E and D (Evstigneeva Daria), inspired by his own monogram of E and V. This logo, like a talisman, is present on all my works.
I wasn’t even ten years old when my father caught me focused on an important task: I was drawing a story. I only remember that it was a leaf from a squared notebook and a simple pencil, but the plot was taken from life and truly deserved attention! It was a multi-figure composition with deep meaning.
It was then that I first learned the true meaning of graphics and composition. And yes, I was solemnly presented with high-quality paper and a professional pen.
All my "early" creations were pulled out from drawers and other secret hiding places to be carefully examined by the head of the family. Then, a family council was held, where I was surprised to learn that I possessed a genuine talent. From that moment on, I was tasked with "reworking" all my sketches into a proper format to be presented to the public.
I worked honestly for several months. Finally, all my works were framed, and a special notebook was prepared — for reviews.
The exhibition was held in one of the halls of the Union of Artists, so the visitors were "well-prepared" professionals. I still keep that very notebook, where respected artists left incredibly inspiring feedback about my work.
My father has been gone for many years now. But he is always with me—in every line, every color, and every story. I am infinitely grateful to him for everything he taught me and for the love of creativity that he passed down to me. Such an inheritance is more precious than money. Thank you, Dad.
In honor of my father, I took the creative pseudonym “Daria de Vital”, where Vital refers to the name Vitaly. And to the question of why I live in Italy, I answer with a joke: my full name is Daria Vitalievna (V Itali evna). Where else I should live?
It’s a pity that only this notebook has survived. But then again, isn't that quite a lot?
Reviews from the Past
The Dictatorship of Color
«There is a remarkable story in my biography that I call a "clash of artistic methods."
It happened at art college, where I was studying in the textile department. I was preparing for the end-of-semester composition review — a "hard-won" piece where every line and nuance resulted from six months of persistent labor. On my board was a fabric design in the softest pastel tones with delicate decor.
The Genetics of Taste:
From Kitchen Debates to Understanding Matisse and Kandinsky
From Kitchen Debates to Understanding Matisse and Kandinsky
What does it mean to "grow up in a creative environment"? It means artists gathering in a cramped, smoke-filled, five-meter kitchen to discuss paintings and art. Of course, they didn’t just do this in the kitchen, but everywhere an exchange of ideas could happen. It was in the epicenter of these debates and conversations that I grew up.
Speaking Art
Daria de Vital is the artistic pseudonym of Daria Ozerova
© 2025 SpeakingArt
