Twenty-five years ago, I embarked on a journey to rediscover artists whose voices had been lost over time. This isn’t about placing blame or uncovering conspiracies; it’s simply that their work has slipped through the cracks in our fast-paced world. My curiosity was piqued by connections to figures like Robert Frost and Sherwood Anderson, leading me to seek out Julius John Lankes in vaults across the country, Ernesto Deira in Paris and Buenos Aires, Calzada and his determined efforts to reconstruct the streets of Havana, Joy Brown and her early experiences under master ceramist Shige Morioka, Julio Silva and his deep connection to Julio Cortázar’s works, Andrés Waissman and his exploration of Jewish roots on canvases with his unique “multitudes,” and most recently, Attilio Piccirilli and his brothers, as I strive to rescue Italian-American sculpture from the shadows of modesty and obscurity.

There are many other artists I’ve brought back to light through my films. Often, all it takes is a tip from a Good Samaritan to uncover their existence; other times, I encounter champions of these artists who are eager to share what has been lost—or better yet, what I can learn from their lives. Through my cinematography, I aim to project their work into the future, almost like a conspiracy to give them a second chance to be revisited and reinterpreted.

Recently, I had the privilege of learning from Rosa Berland about the extraordinary life of Edward E. Boccia, a St. Louis native with deep Italian cultural roots. After years of resurrecting great artists, I believe I’ve found another one worthy of the challenge, time, and effort. If you haven’t heard of Edward E. Boccia until now, this might be the perfect opportunity to do so. If all goes well, we’ll soon have a film in progress, and Boccia’s life and art will find their place in public and academic libraries, reaching new generations of art enthusiasts