From this perspective, sound plays a central role in bringing an emotional temperature to the work. In Andreoni’s practice, it functions not only as a device but also as a privileged material: Klang als Bedeutungsträger, a German expression that translates literally as “sound as a bearer of meaning”. In the philosophy of language, the concept of Klang als Bedeutungsträger concerns the semantic, phenomenological or poietic value of the acoustic and material dimension of words—an aspect Andreoni also explored during his master’s studies at the Dresden Academy of Fine Arts with Scottish artist Susan Philipsz, winner of the 2010 Turner Prize. This sustained attention to sound as a medium—to the relationship between sound and space, and between sound and architecture, with a constant awareness of sound’s specific technical properties—serves to convey its semantic, psychological and even sculptural dimensions. As is often the case in his work, Andreoni does more than devise a soundscape: he gives sound to space—and, by extension, to objects and matter—establishing continuity with the perceptual experience of those who will share that field of frequencies, in a broader sense that cuts across disciplines.

Among his more recent projects, it was undoubtedly the 18th Quadriennale di Roma that brought his work most prominently to the attention of art professionals in Italy. Selected by Francesco Bonami, Andreoni created the sculpture Un tout sans fin (2025) for the occasion, drawing on a recording made in Nemours in 2024 of Claudia Cardinale, then eighty-six, singing the celebrated Roman song “Sinnò me moro”, written by director Pietro Germi in collaboration with composer Carlo Rustichelli and sung by the latter’s sixteen-year-old daughter, known professionally as Alida Chelli. The work, which won the 2026 Talent Prize, consists of an octagonal travertine baptismal font containing an underwater speaker that transmits the voice of the celebrated Italian actress, who died in 2025. At its centre, a bronze object that once belonged to Cardinale depicts two elongated figures holding hands to form an arch, their slender bodies joined in a circle that imaginatively expands the space of the basin, almost radiating outwards. By bringing together these different elements—the baptismal font, the recorded voice and the objet trouvé—Andreoni rethinks sculpture from an entirely renewed perspective. He introduces an emotional and sensory (perceptual) dimension that, articulated in this way, creates a short circuit with a material such as travertine, so quintessentially associated with Rome, its accumulated layers of history and a certain sense of remembrance that seems to offer an underlying interpretative key to the artist’s practice as a whole.

Psychogeography and détournement—drawn from Situationism—are two categories that Andreoni reactivates in his practice, adapting them to two distinct yet interacting spheres. On the one hand, the psychogeographic drift is employed, in a broader sense, to structure the fundamental relationship between work and space, and between work and architecture. It connects the spare aesthetic described above to a more pervasive poetic sensibility that, following Romanticism, we might call Sehnsucht—a term that resists translation into Italian, evoking an intense longing, a desire held in potential, something Andreoni frequently gives material form to in his work. On the other hand, détournement—the reversal of meaning—shifts attention from the object to the event, introducing another fundamental dimension of the artist’s research: phenomenology as a philosophical discipline.

Parallele Prozesse (2020) is a sound installation comprising two ship propellers whose movement, driven by analogue motors, is recorded and relayed through two loudspeakers. Microphones record the displacement of air caused by the rotating propellers; in this way, the sound of antimatter is fed back into the space, reintroduced as an additional layer of meaning. In a sense, sound and movement serve to materialise this overlapping of time—present and past—so that, with each rotation, the rift in the air can subsequently be reconstituted through the rhythm of sound. It is a reconstitution of the invisible, approaching the phenomenon not merely as something contingent but, above all, as something constitutively bound to our being-in-the-world (Dasein). “The plough wounds the earth, which closes again in its wake. Likewise, a ship cuts through calm waters. Yet the waters become calm and still once more, because nature is sovereign,” writes Umberto Galimberti in La natura inumana, in which the philosopher reinterprets themes from the first stasimon of Sophocles’ Antigone and Aeschylus’ Prometheus Bound. The plough and the ship symbolise human action and technē, through which humankind seeks to alter, dominate and bend the natural world to its own purposes—an act of hubris that soon reveals its impermanence in relation to the natural order of the world.

In Parallele Prozesse, the reference to philosophy is clear, particularly to phenomenology—which, in German-language philosophy of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, came to designate an entirely new way of approaching the “phenomenon”. Andreoni developed this interest not only during his formative years but also through sustained, in-depth study, exploring the field until it became a conceptual extension of his practice. His starting point is the category of intentionality, which challenges the entire framework of modern philosophy and its dualistic separation of subject and object, humanity and world. Through phenomenology, Andreoni invites us to rediscover the mutual inherence of self and world, recognising that we move naturally within the world rather than being tragically separated from it. Perhaps a similar impulse informs one of the works the artist recently exhibited at Salon am Moritzplatz during Berlin Art Week, as part of If There is Tension, a two-person exhibition with Pharaz Azimi, curated by Silvia Russo. I don't wanna meet the King (2026) is an installation comprising ten hacked toy parrots, each compelled to fly endlessly along its own trajectory, accompanied by a loud sound. The birds’ movement generates a form of tragicomic chaos implicit in their dual nature: as objects—the toys—and as archetypes—the projection of a Western desire for the exotic, detached from the phenomenal reality of these birds’ own nature, subjected here to détournement and hacking. The distorted perception of these birds—the pirate with a parrot on his shoulder, the domesticated parrot—betrays a lack of awareness of the importance of learning and social life for parrots, which in these respects often invite comparison with mammals. The flock in I don't wanna meet the King speaks of a rejection of authority, of the emergence of a state of tension that could potentially erupt into a conflagration. At the same time, its tragicomic vein draws on Agamben—another thinker particularly admired by Andreoni—taking as its starting point the “stubborn anti-tragic intention” that the philosopher attributes to the Western subject, and particularly the Italian subject: the impulse to find a way of surviving an inner fracture by favouring the life-affirming resolution of comedy over the catastrophic ending of tragedy.

Drawing on Agamben’s thought, memory becomes, for Andreoni, a radical act of liberation: it restores contingency to the past, reopening what seemed definitively closed. Rather than recalling events in order to crystallise them, it releases them from immutability and returns them to the realm of possibility. The past thus ceases to be a sentence or a monument; it becomes once again something unfinished that asks, here and now, to be allowed to happen again.

Sulla scorta della lezione di Agamben, per Andreoni la memoria diventa un atto radicale di liberazione: restituisce al passato la sua contingenza, riaprendo ciò che sembrava definitivamente chiuso. Non si tratta di rievocare i fatti per cristallizzarli, ma di sottrarli all'immutabilità per riconsegnarli alla sfera del possibile. Il passato smette così di essere una condanna o un monumento; torna a essere un’incompiutezza che chiede, proprio oggi, di poter accadere di nuovo.