Play is a form of resilience, a way of staying open even when the world feels closed.
Francesca HeartEcologies of Play, Fantasy and the Mediterranean Sea | Francesca Heart

Francesca Heart is a Milan-based musician and dancer who uses myth, transformation, and nature in creating soundscapes focused on the physical experience of movement.
She works with found and collected sounds, both natural and machine-made, that blur and blend what is real and what is an augmentation of it. Playfulness underpins her creative process, resonating through her work and transporting listeners into dreamscapes that are energising, revitalising, and meditative.
Her most recent album, Sphinx Nouvelle, was released in October 2024 by the pioneering label Leaving Records and immerses listeners in a cinematic experience for the ear, as Heart intertwines real architectural visions, imaginary tales, and primordial feelings.
Movement and dance have been central to your creativity; how do you think having a childhood filled with dance has influenced you?
Dance, for me, has been a way of actively participating in the flux of life. As a child, I learnt that movement has a language of its own. It teaches you to be fully present, to sense the passage of time through the body, and to experience and negotiate space in a way that is both physical and emotional. The body is an instrument, not just of movement but of memory and intuition. The language of dance remains with me; it’s in the rhythms I hear and the way I respond to sound. For most of the tracks, I begin with an image as a choreography, allowing it to unfold, expand, and breathe—then contract, pause, be still and evolve.
How does the physical experience of listening to, moving and interacting with music impact what you create?
Music is a tactile substance that you feel before you understand. The sensation of listening is an immersion, a plunge into a river of vibrations that align the body’s inner clock with the cosmic, the universal rhythm.
When I interact with sound, I try to inhabit it. It’s like being submerged in an inter-dimensional current, one where the boundaries between self and sound break down.

On your latest album, Sphinx Nouvelle there are multiple tracks that seem to blur and blend natural reality and fiction. The track In Alto Mare submerges the listener into a water-based soundscape or dreamscape. Is the blending of natural and artificial sounds a natural or a priority in capturing and mixing sounds?
The blending of natural and artificial sounds feels almost instinctual to me. The boundaries between what’s real and what’s imagined are not always as clear-cut as we think; they’re more like shifting layers. Water, for example, is both real and symbolic. It’s an element we can touch, yet it’s also a vessel for dreams, memories, and emotions. In In Alto Mare, I wanted to create a space where the listener could experience that fluidity, the way the physical world and the imagined one can intertwine. I think it’s about letting them coexist and letting the sounds from both realms speak to each other. The artificial elements in the music—processed sounds, digital manipulations—don’t feel separate to me but part of the same organic flow.
In an age of AI, the distinction between reality and virtual is constantly blurred. How do you see AI-generated sounds being incorporated into creative processes such as yours, which also rely on blending and blurring?
I’ve not yet ventured into the world of AI-generated sounds, though I’m aware of its growing presence. I am fascinated by some aspects of it, how it behaves as a collective brain and I’ve used it for dream interpretation. As of now, my questions are more concerning its regulation and environmental impact.
My question is, if profit guides our every technological step forward, can we really call it evolution?

Incorporating Mediterranean landscapes and mythology seems to be a common thread in your work. What kind of commentary do you aim to evoke on the current period we are living in and our relationship to the natural, artificial and virtual worlds?
The Mediterranean is a place where the past and present often collide. Its landscapes are steeped in mythology but also in the contrasting realities of our present. For me, drawing on Mediterranean landscapes, myths and iconographies is a way of reconnecting to something ancient, something that often feels lost in our modern, technology-driven world. My work is not about trying to recreate the past but about finding relevance in those echoes today, like whispers of shared memory, dormant spirits that can vivify our relationship with the land. In roots we flourish.
The myths of the Mediterranean are about transformation, about the fluidity between the real and the imagined, the natural and the divine.
When I think of mythology, I’m not referring only to its storytelling but to a creative and initiatory relationship with the land. In an age of virtual realities and artificial environments, we need to remember that we are still part of a living world and that the natural world, despite all the noise, has wisdom to offer us if we listen.
The sounds and rhythm of Water Passages on the album Sphinx Nouvelle transform and evolve throughout the track. Is aligning with natural rhythms an inherent part of your work and creative process? If so, what rhythms within nature do you see as pivotal for you?
Yes, the rhythms of nature and the architecture that celebrate nature, like grottoes, temples, and churches, are constantly informing the process. I am moved by the silence they create or by the feeling of reverence they evoke.
When it comes to pivotal rhythms, I can’t make a distinction between natural and artificial ones; it can be the sound of church bells, of an old fashion ad, of frogs in the pond, of phone ringtones, of electrical cars. I’m drawn to repetition, playfulness, sensuality and romance.
Water Passages is actually produced by US artist Splash Blade. I asked them to listen to the whole album and create a BONUS track, like the ending titles of a movie. They wanted to capture that sense of transformation that plays out throughout the record.

There is a playfulness and freedom in the way you record, which is reflected in the music you produce. Why do you think being playful is important and how do you keep yourself open to being playful even in times of uncertainty and crisis?
Playfulness, for me, is about freedom—freedom from expectation, from the weight of perfection. It’s an openness to possibility, to exploration. I want to feel free to make mistakes and to follow the sound wherever it leads.
In times of uncertainty or crisis, play is even more important. It’s a way of reasserting agency, a way of pushing back against the heaviness of the world.
It’s easy to get caught up in the seriousness of everything, but I believe that play is where new ideas emerge. When you’re playful, you’re not bound by what you know; you’re free to step into the unknown to find something unexpected. In that sense, play is a form of resilience, a way of staying open even when the world feels closed.
We live in a time of content saturation and stimulus. Does your process of recording and blending multiple sounds reflect or refer to the constant acoustic noise that we are surrounded by, especially in urban landscapes?
Usually I am seeking to cancel the noise and find stillness, so I try to pick what I like and leave out what I don’t. I am a bit sensitive to noise or to fast and prolonged speech, so I try to select with my attention what I can take in, often failing and feeling overwhelmed. For instance, when I walk in Milan, I am obsessed with the sound of the steps that certain shoe heels make; it’s very clean, calming and elegant. I have also been really inspired by trains; if you sit at the Milan central station for a while, it’s just magical—a choreography of pipes and drones. There is this one tram I take almost every day, the 16, and it has this sparkly high-pitched drone that is very beautiful.

There is a meditative thread that runs through your music, which opens a space for contemplation and connection. Do you see restoration with nature as an undertone of your work? And do you think there is more inclination to create with this in mind?
Restoration feels a bit out of reach; there is definitely a contemplative purpose and undertone.
We all live in an interconnected ecosystem, and our stories are inseparable. Do you consider your creations to embody this universal approach?
Yes, whether in dance or in music or both, the relation between the elements sparks more magic than the single elements themselves.
Interview by Anna Borrie