Sheila Concari reigns over an unusual herd, both audible and visual. This is a pack that follows her in serried ranks and obeys. It hardly raises terror. Those domestic wolves certainly do not tear through the darkness of forests screaming death, nor scattering blood on dreams. Instead, they behave as civilized beasts, merely whispering worldly comments. Politely arranged as wallpaper or hanging from the ceiling, these wolves seem to have a scent of the nursery. But to observe them more closely, these human wolves - so human, too human - reveal another side of fantastic. This lupine company is however made ​​only by and of males. This little world seems to invert the exclusively feminine one, which moves the unfortunate tale of Red Riding Hood. Illuminated by a light, what shape could they project?  It is not for me to offer a psychoanalytic reading of her work. Unlike many artists Sheila Concari does not use the excuse of youth’s trauma to justify her work.
Somewhere, in a garden between Parma and Como, her childhood is closed. The viewer remains outside wondering what’s hidden behind these high walls. We do not know. But who cares!

Chanted, repeated, whispered, as obscure ritual incantations, animated or inert images, words and sounds invade the space around. Derived from cloning or any genesis that ignores diversity, Sheila’s wolves seem destined to grow without limit. Her work follows a compulsive obsession. In a process akin to trance, her images wearisome to automatism, show something that remains foreign to consciousness. In a kind of naïve witch’s potion, the artist combines the invocation of the mystery with the candor of her means of expression. In her work there is a lady’s work, a sort of aesthetics of the precarious and unfinished, that she perfectly assumes. Recovered paper, wrinkled, glued, sewn. In her drawings as in her poems mixing languages ​​and words with barbarous grace. But for Sheila magic does not exclude a sense of humor: invoking the spirits of nature, according to her multiple transformations, Sheila Concari invites the shaman into her boudoir.

by Claude d'Anthenaise, curator

Bad Children

She Wolf Suite