My name is Rachele Studer, I am an Actress. It’s been ten years since I started to work as living model in Secrete Rome’s Ateliers, places where painters (professional and not) join each others to paint togheter an alive subject. My relationship with painting comes from childhood (actually I still paint as a child – I never studied that discipline). My father, ex blues-man ( if it make any sense quit blues) taught me very soon to play guitar (never got his swing) and to sing. At eleven Circus took me for the first time on stage (actually on the street). Me and my best girlfriend (two little girls, a blonde and a brunette, wearing 70’s leather jackets – mine red hers green) performe in couple juggling and clownerie acts and some little acrobatic spectacularities. In this kind of childish golden age of mine, I start to study theatre, music (especially violin), sing and jazz dance. At forteen I debute in Theatre playing Fagin from Lionel Bart’s musical Oliver Twist (comparing to ten years old children, fourteens as me had definitely physique du rôle to play adults!) Classic Liceaum took me away every creative instinct, apart for love for poetry and mouth organ. After a year of law, at twenty, no luggage neither money, I go, alone, to London. There, after some unordinary works and ordinary troubles, I start study english at Eynsford College and embark with indipendent theatre companies, especially the Young Actors Theatre. Between London fumes take place my first experiences in fashion indie editorials and I got a job as Make-Up London Academy model.
After night in dancing londoner clubs, learning from strangers, the crazy idea of an autodidact way in Jazz Dance comes to me. And, in one of those nights, I decide to go away. I take a pullman to Dover’s white cliffs, and right there I board for France. I travel a solitary trip from north to south; then I go to Spain, tormented by a single question: who am I?
I arrive to Portugal, till Sanctuary of Fatima and there, finally, as a seal on my heart, consecrate my vocation. (No, not as nun). As Actress.
I go back to Rome to get actorially trained in my mother-tongue. Morning in Theatre. Afternoon studying. Evening dancing lessons. By night, working in clubs to affort what I do by day.
Dance takes me to stage with a show from the Macbeth directed by Ivan Ristallo, the favourite of Lindsay Kemp. I study dubbing for a while and attend to the Giulio Ferretti’s radio, who gives to me a little space in his show schedule, where I present my radiophonic show called “Radiotramp”.
Finally I get my Diplome at the School of Drama run by Isabella del Bianco and Cristiano Censi and I play Nina from the Seagull. But the fever for trains comes back to visit me, and so then, after Nina, a summer morning I take a train to Geneve, and then Vintimille, and then for Menton and Nice, and right more to Paris. In Paris I enjoy an acting for camera Masterclass run by Charles Weinstein in english and french, by day. By night, I work in a Coyote Ugly style slum. By afternoon, I study french. In my days off, I walk looking for jazz basements, hidden in windy parisien boulevards. Often I paint (always in my childy way) by the river, or by a door, and I discuss with street painter about meaning of Art in our times. I don’t know the answer. Desperately looking for it. A curse - for which every time I build up a kind of stability I have to destroy it putting meself again on the road - comes back to visit me. So I take a train to Rome, travel companions are Kerouac and Céline. In Rome, I take part to the postgraduate Drama School, where I increase my advanced level knowledge of Linklater. Valentina Villa, a real master to me, takes us to the stage with “Tis pity she’s a whore” by John Ford, where I play Annabella. A morning, sky is blue as sea and I enter in a theatre in Trastevere, called for an audition. On the stage there is a boy with a blue shirt improperly unbottoned on the chest. I don’t know how, but that colour invades as bucketfuls the walls, the floor, the curtain and everything I see around me. We almost touch the knees each others, casually. And the blue in the room turns to red, as my cheeks. No need to say we loved each other on the stage firstly and in the life then. What I can call my Art, after that rendez-vous, has blossomed as a rose under the warm sunshines of Spring. It’s the time of Bonnie in “Hurlyburly” and Daisy Fay in “The Great Gatsby” for which I wrote the first national adaptation for theatre. From that experience, there is a click in me: about poetry and writing. I write a script in Rome dialect and in verse that I present in Theatre in a short version. I start a dense production of independent short-movies that takes me to debut officially in Cinema playing Mara Cagol, the founder of Red Brigates, in “All the money in the world” by Sir Ridley Scott, who teaches me tricks that nobody has ever told me in fifteen years. A month later I start to compose my first album (I told you my father had been a blues-man!) that I stop for technical blanks. I decide to study seriously so here starts my training in lyric and jazz singing with Sarah Biacchi, a training that opens me eyes and heart. My first official composition comes for two short-movies that I direct during the first lockdown in 2020. But directing is something I already met in my life. Two years before, I tried to realize a production of Jamaica Inn, gothic novel from Daphne du Maurier, experience for which Flavio Bucci, the pirate, acts for me one his last and unpublished performances (in video), and Glauco Mauri give his voice to my George IV. Jamaica Inn, after months and money lost, is still unreleased. And I can easily call it the greatest torment in my life. In the meanwhile I got penciled as main character for a film by Adamo d’Agostino, produced by Giuliano Monni and directed by Efisio Scanu. We shot in Naples. In 2020 I found a society of self-representation and artistic production. Maybe I’ll put pieces togheter, in the end. The road keeps hunting me as a ghost. I breathe , wait, and embrace signals in my life. Not very understanding.
Right in the painting, in the end, I discovered my modus operandi……
Paint yourself and your own characters.
Let explode brighting colours into your own flash, let dig shady cutting blows.
Be what you imagine.
Imagine yourself as you want to be.
Paint yourself on your own history’s canvas,
In order to make the Opera’s life
much more vivid than the Person’s one.