Domenico Romeo articulates a vision of his artistic practice shaped by three interwoven identities: his own artistic persona, the graphic design initiative dubbed “METAPROGRESSO” and the solid environment known as “AVAMPOSTO PROGRESSIVO” This adaptable space is central to his work, allowing for seamless transitions between various pursuits.

With the rebranding of his graphic studio to Metaprogresso, Romeo signals a strategic shift. No longer confined to client deliverables, the studio aims to cultivate a sense of community and collaboration through independent projects. By integrating editorial work, digital initiatives, and exhibitions, the studio seeks to express its alternative vision while encouraging authorship.

I want to begin by discussing the evolution of symbols and language in your work. Your art often revolves around cryptic symbols and an abstract visual alphabet. How has your understanding of visual and written language evolved over time, as you've worked across different media—from graphics and design to sculpture? You started with calligraphy, right?

Yes, my journey started with a fascination for typography—particularly gothic characters, but also Japanese calligraphy and Arabic scripts. Early on, I was captivated by the creation of typographic characters. Over time, I moved from studying typography to deconstructing it. I didn’t approach calligraphy in the traditional sense—I never focused on writing words or letters. Instead, I used calligraphy to break down and transform characters into abstract forms.

Eventually, I created a cryptic alphabet where each symbol represented a letter, and even space and punctuation had their own distinct symbols. I worked on this project from 2012 to 2014, inspired by authors like Tolkien, who invented their own alphabets. But the deeper I went, the more I realized this process could take a lifetime.

As I evolved, I moved away from the formal study of language and letters, shifting towards a more instinctive, abstract expression. The forms grew larger and more complex, but the fundamental structure remained—everything was still rooted in calligraphy, even as it became less recognizable.

Later, my need to express this alphabet became more instinctive through live performances involving music and visuals.

The game changed once I started exploring space and materials. I began constructing temporary structures—assemblies that could be built, dismantled, and reconfigured. The alphabetic process was still there, but now it extended into three dimensions, using iron poles and custom joints to create an ever-evolving language of materials-

So the medium shifted, but the core principles remained.

Exactly. Just as an alphabet can generate infinite texts, my system can create endless structures, depending on how you combine the elements. The process is the same; only the materials change.

It's impressive how you've stayed true to that core throughout your career, even as your methods and mediums have evolved. Now, moving on—how has your experience in the fashion world, particularly your work as a head graphic designer at Off-White, influenced the technical materials and forms you use in your large-scale sculptures, like the nylon and iron elements?

My interest in technical materials actually predates Off-White. I’ve always been drawn to technical clothing—brands like Stone Island, CP Company, and North Face, which I encountered through subcultures in the early '00s. Nylon, for example, became a second skin for me, and it naturally found its way into my sculptures, becoming the skin to the iron “bones.”

Working at Off-White, and especially with Virgil Abloh, amplified something that was already part of me: a hybrid approach to the process. Virgil, through his new approach to design, emphasized that you don’t need to define yourself within one discipline. That philosophy resonated with me—I’ve always believed in applying my authorial process across multiple fields. What Off-White gave me was the space to fully embrace that idea and let it grow.

How long did your collaboration with Virgil last?

It started in 2015 and went on until November 2021, till the end! Around 6–7 years. I came in just as Off-White was taking its first steps—early collections, the brand wasn’t yet widely known, but there was already serious interest. I had the big opportunity to co-create a new vision for a fashion brand, through my graphic design. I pushed hard to finally make my field fully recognized in fashion, elevating it as driver for a new luxury concept brand. Thanks to Virgil that has strongly believed in graphic design from day zero, we’ve changed the rules of the fashion system, driving all the other brands to adapt their collections to ours.

Right, that was an exciting time. Let’s shift to the relationship between art and space. Your installations have a profound interaction with the spaces they occupy, often transforming them. How do you approach that relationship? Do you see the space as an integral part of the work?

Absolutely. There’s no installation without considering the space first. The space dictates the work, not the other way around. It’s the foundation—the first step in the process. When I’m tasked with creating an installation, my initial focus is on the space itself. I overlay ideas, first analyzing the space, and then shaping my intervention based on what the space expresses to me.

The user’s experience is defined by that interaction. It’s never about imposing a work on a space, but rather allowing the space to shape the piece.

That’s quite distinct from many artists who often start with their concept and only later think about how it fits into a space.

I don’t start with a finished work in mind. For example, when I was preparing for an exhibition at Marcel Paradise in Milan, I originally envisioned something infrastructural—a ramp or a bridge. But inspiration struck elsewhere. I was in Bari, visiting the San Nicola stadium—a breathtaking structure, projected by Renzo Piano for the 1990 World Cup. Alone in that massive stadium, I felt an overwhelming emptiness that I wanted to replicate.

I began working on an inflatable structure to evoke that feeling, but the literal translation didn’t sit right with me. Eventually, my assistant Angela suggested to consider the storage placed in a corner of the gallery, the most remote side of it, at the opposite of the entrance.—almost like a prelude before reaching the gallery. It created this dynamic where the journey through the space built anticipation for the final piece. In the end, it was the space, not the initial concept, that dictated how the work evolved. From a very geometric terrace placed in the center of the space, it became a pink blob hidden in the storage.

Interesting, and your choice of material—particularly the pink color for the blob—what’s the reasoning behind that?

Pink was unexpected, even for me. When you think of something that’s growing or shifting, like a blob, pink feels like a natural choice. It adds an almost unsettling quality to the piece. Normally, I avoid color, preferring a muted or camouflage palette. But every exhibition is a chance to challenge myself and my own system. Pink felt like a deliberate provocation—ironic, safe, even politically correct, but here, it created anxiety as much as my previous full black iron structures exhibit.

It sounds like a pivotal moment in your work, breaking away from your usual aesthetic.

Exactly. It was about pushing past(fast?) my own boundaries, confronting what I’d been comfortable with—like the iron structures that had become associated with me. This time, the iron was minimal, more like a fence that was eventually consumed by the pink form. It was a departure, but still aligned with my core narrative. Even when I work with materials like resin or ceramics, the essence remains the same. The medium evolves, but the message is consistent.

It’s interesting to see you experiment with new tools while staying true to your vision.

For me, the concept drives everything—not the aesthetics, not the trend-chasing visuals that look good on Instagram but lack depth or meaning in real life.

Exactly. I want to shift to your Berlin project in 2022—ANM_PEX_002_BER_22. It seemed to merge anthropology and architecture. What led you to explore these fields through art, and how do you approach the connection between human identity and urban environments?

Anthropology is a central theme in my work. Edoardo Totaro, who has a background in anthropology, is one of the few people who pushes me to think more critically about my process. He is the one who writes about my exhibition concepts once I defined the core. He curated Eat, the pink blob exhibition in Milan, October 2023. Often, as artists, we act on instinct, not always fully aware of the deeper threads we’re pulling. Edoardo helps me recognize the underlying narrative in my work.

In terms of the Berlin project, I was still reflecting on the symbolism of the cross, which is a crucial theme in my art. The largest piece was a cross-shape footstep wall made by poles three meters high. The longer axis of the cross cut the gallery in two parts, creating two different paths. The user, once entered the door of the gallery, should choose the side to approach the experience.

My structures reflect a sort of human being shape. they are bone-like, with layers, referencing both human form and the way we shape our environment. Man creates his space, just as I shape the exhibition space to communicate my message. There’s a constant dialogue between the two—how the environment depends on the person inhabiting it.

That's fascinating. Shifting gears, your background in street art plays a crucial role in your expression, especially in relation to cultural and subcultural influences. How have these influences evolved in your work?

It’s important to clarify that while my connection to street art is well-known, it doesn't encompass my entire artistic journey. I prefer to categorize my work as public art, rather than street art, as I never practiced graffiti. My larger pieces emerged from collaboration with galleries that featured public art, offering me the chance to work on expansive surfaces. Between 2012 and 2013, I completed fewer than ten large-scale murals, which garnered attention and led to my identification as a public artist. While I don’t regret this label, it often oversimplifies my work and the broader spectrum of artistic practices.

Regarding subcultures, I have always been fascinated by English subcultures, particularly the Skinhead and Mod movements. It’s essential to note that the Skinhead culture I admire is rooted in a political and anti-racist ethos, distancing itself from the misconceptions often associated with it in Italy. My interest lies in the aesthetics, music, and social dynamics of these groups, particularly their relationship with football culture.

I have studied various subcultural phenomena, from punk to rock, gaining a deeper understanding of their impact on fashion. These influences inform my artistic vision, yet I lament that contemporary subcultures no longer possess the same vitality they once had. Previously, gatherings in public spaces fostered a sense of community; today, social media has diluted that essence, diminishing the collective experience.

The influence of fashion and culture has shifted significantly, especially with the impact of social media. It seems traditional patterns have broken down, leading to a more uniform aesthetic. Do you believe that subcultures still exist, or have they been transformed?

Reflecting on my experiences before and after social media, I can assert that while certain subcultures persisted up to 15 years ago, their presence has diminished. Today, subcultures, particularly those associated with stadium culture, such as casuals and ultras, still exist, but there’s an unfortunate flattening of styles. The diversity of genres and clothing has diminished, leading to a homogenized fashion landscape.

I notice that many young people now adopt a style reminiscent of Marseille, a city rich in history, yet everything seems to align with dominant sportwear brands.

Absolutely. At the stadium, you often see groups of 30 to 40 individuals all dressed in black North Face jackets, devoid of individual style that once characterized such spaces.

The vibrancy of real punk culture in London or Northern Europe, and the emergence of subcultures during that time, seems unparalleled. The Gabber scene in the Netherlands also comes to mind.

Indeed. My engagement with club culture began around 15 years ago, following my departure from football. However, I’m witnessing a similar flattening in this realm as well. Many cities, including Milan, have seen a decline in their club scenes, with fewer venues available and a noticeable absence of the original spirit.

Speaking of music, how did your collaboration with Cosimo Damiano for Nextones Festival come about?

The story is quite unique. In July, specifically on July 20, we presented a project we called Nijn. It aimed to express our desire to engage with a new world and create innovative narratives. The evolution from our initial discussions in January to July was remarkable.

Damiano and I have known each other for about ten years. We’ve shared countless conversations about music, but we had never considered collaborating until a pivotal moment at Ruggiero Pietromarchi's house, the creative director of Terraforma and curator of Nextones s. He suggested creating a live performance together, and both Damiano and I realized “why we’ve never thought about it before?”

This prompted us to communicate more frequently and develop ideas, even before our gig at Nextones was confirmed. We decided to move forward with our plans, confident in the strength of our collaboration. The scale of our work during the festival exceeded our initial budget, driven by our commitment to artistic expression. Our collaboration remains active, and we are exploring new perspectives and directions.

Incorporating your installation into Nextones, how did that shape the overall live experience?

The live performance was a carefully crafted integration of lights, installations, and music, designed to convey our intended narrative. The stage setup evolved alongside the music, enhancing the overall experience. A month before the exhibition, we asked Lara Damaso, an amazing artist/performer and member of our artistic family, to join the project for this first act.

The green laser layers in the installation were amazing. The visual structure was dark, punctuated by the three squares.

Exactly. We concluded with six lasers projecting a green cross from the floor to the wall, creating a grid that defined a new, three-dimensional space. This intervention aimed to redefine the environment and encapsulate our narrative effectively.

To conclude, how do you envision your studio evolution in the coming years?

I perceive my identity and the surrounding world through three distinct lenses. The first is the Domenico Romeo identity, which encompasses my artistic and personal dimensions. The second pertains to design and graphic elements, referred to as “METAPROGRESSO". These two identities coexist within a broader entity I term “AVAMPOSTO PROGRESSIVO”. This physical space serves as a crucial foundation for our discussions.

The progressive avant-post is significant not only for housing my ideas but also for facilitating personal and graphic exploration. It adapts to various needs, as almost everything within it is on wheels, allowing for dynamic reconfiguration. Whether preparing for a show or adjusting workspaces for functional or conceptual purposes, the flexibility of this environment is essential.

From an operational perspective, Metaprog, the graphic studio, will rebrand as Metaprogresso. This change reflects our evolving approach to graphic design, emphasizing personal and communal growth alongside delivering client projects. We aim to foster community, not just through client interactions but by creating independent spaces for editorial projects, web initiatives, and exhibitions that articulate the studio's transversal vision. Over time, I foresee an increasingly integrated relationship between the artistic aspect of my work as Domenico Romeo and the graphic side of Metaprogresso. Ultimately, the ideal scenario would be to harmonize these two practices into a singular entity, though the specifics of that integration remain to be seen.