Sometimes—though rarely—we are granted a glimpse of something much greater, far beyond ourselves. A fleeting shift in perspective that pulls us out of our daily lives, almost out of our own bodies, beyond the familiar, where we encounter an immensity too vast to be contained or grasped. An experience of the sublime: simultaneously beautiful and disorienting. In those moments, our sense of self and of scale is subverted. We are reminded of our smallness and fragility, even if that reminder inspires more humility than fear. It loosens the boundaries of the self and opens us up to a deeper sense of connection: with the world, with others, with the vastness that surrounds us.

The Latin word *sublimis* evokes that which is elevated, exalted, transcendent. It is that which transcends a threshold, which goes beyond. The sublime cannot be produced or commanded, only invited; it cannot be translated, only suggested.

Ironically, it is in exploring the sublime—the vast, the grandiose, that which lies beyond—that Fiumani’s work finds its greatest restraint. The abundance of references, motifs, and color is increasingly framed within larger forms. Images and symbols nest within one another, forming layers of meaning that contain, rather than eliminate, their associative excess. The vase, a symbolic vessel of memories and stories, contains without completely enclosing: a container is also defined by its capacity to receive, and by its openness.

This shift toward restraint is literally embodied in a new series of welded metal works. The sheet of steel is not merely a surface to be worked on, but a structural component of the work itself. Welding demands intention, control, and sustained physical engagement—in contrast to the intuitive flow of associative painting. The works become exercises in channeling impulse into intention: giving form to energy.

Perhaps this is also what it means to draw near to the sublime. Encountering something that lies beyond us requires openness and sensitivity—a willingness to let ourselves be moved. But openness without structure becomes formless. To invite the immensity, we need the capacity to receive and contain—even if only for a few brief moments—that which we can never fully grasp.