Carlo D'Anselmi and Andrea Luper: Private Weather

LATITUDE Gallery is pleased to present Private Weather, a two person exhibition featuring recent works by Carlo D'Anselmi and Andrea Luper. Though their paintings unfold in strikingly different settings and visual tones, both artists return to a shared concern: the body as a place where experience gathers and takes shape. Each attends to the subtle exchange between inner life and the surrounding world, asking how we come to exist within the spaces we inhabit, and how those spaces quietly shape who we are.

The title Private Weather gestures toward an atmosphere that belongs not to climate but to consciousness. It suggests that each body carries its own conditions of light, pressure, and temperature—subtle environments shaped as much from within as from without. Across different settings, both artists unveil that existence unfolds like weather: changeable, embodied, and deeply personal.

Carlo D'Anselmi turns toward moments of solitude, depicting figures quietly withdrawn within luminous, open landscapes. His palette remains vivid and clear, allowing expanses of color to breathe around a body that often folds inward yet appears settled in its surroundings. Creatures inhabit the same space, sharing the stillness of the scene without overt symbolism. These scenes feel less like specific locations than like self-contained climates shaped by light, color, and proximity. Beneath their apparent ease, the works reflect on how interior life takes form through the environment. Nature does not function as backdrop but as an outward extension of the figure’s condition. The animals, rather than advancing ecological narrative, register as subtle projections of inward emotion, making visible what might otherwise remain unspoken. In this way, solitude becomes not isolation but a quiet alignment between self and world.

Andrea Luper continues to paint from the rhythms of urban domestic life, extracting charged moments from the flow of the everyday. Water spills without interruption, pigeons settle briefly on a balcony, and figures are caught at the instant a gesture seems about to shift, as if time had just been pressed into pause. Her forms are exaggerated yet rounded, carrying both weight and elasticity, while the surface retains a disarming ease. Beneath this apparent lightness lies a subtle tension, a sense that something is always on the verge of movement. Rather than constructing an inward psychological stage, Luper works from the immediacy of lived space. The apartment becomes a site of unguarded presence, where the female body appears alone, and self-possessed. Within this ordinariness, the body asserts its own weight and autonomy. The tension that lingers in her scenes is not crisis but awareness—a recognition that to occupy space fully, without performance or retreat, is itself a form of quiet freedom.