Florencia Ferraco Doesn’t Separate Art from Life—and That’s the Point

My friend Florencia Ferraco is an awesome artist—I’ve known her for many years. She’s also married to one of my closest childhood friends. I’m lucky to have had the chance to see her work evolve up close over time.

Flor lives her art. Not in a dramatic, tortured-artist way, but in a steady, grounded, get-your-hands-dirty kind of way.

She’s based in London, originally from Argentina, with a few years in Australia thrown in. That mix shows up in her work—not as obvious references, but as something quieter: a sense of movement, of cultural memory, of being rooted and restless at the same time.

Flor is a multidisciplinary artist. She paints, draws, sculpts, and works with ceramics. Her work is textured, physical, and deeply emotional—the kind that makes you feel.

It’s also dense with detail. The linework is phenomenal. Every inch is packed with loops, orbs, and textures that echo microscopic biology. The compositions often emerge from a single point and explode into these tangled, living masses.

Her work is too intricate to be casual. Her pieces are worked through, sat with, probably wrestled with. And yet, they don’t feel heavy. There’s humor here too—eyeballs peeking out, playful patterns, mouths that feel both silly and threatening. It’s like the artist is asking: what’s hiding beneath the surface, and do you really want to see it?

Flor’s work gives off a kind of ecstatic discomfort, like something is always shifting. Like you’re being let in on a secret that might be beautiful or might be unsettling—or both. They don’t offer resolution, and that’s the point. They sit with complexity. They’re not trying to make you feel good—they’re trying to make you feel.

Her instinct to make as a way of working through things led her to train as a drama and movement therapist. She now runs a practice in London, where she helps others use creativity the way she does: as a way in, a way through, a way forward.

In her practice, there are no sofas, no clipboards, no clinical detachment. Instead, there’s space to move, to make, to be quiet, to express whatever doesn’t come out in words. She works with people facing real-life stuff: illness, identity shifts, stress, burnout—the kinds of things that don’t fit neatly in a diagnosis.

Flor’s art and her therapeutic work are connected at the core. The same care, attention, and intuition she brings to her studio, she brings to her clients. Her therapeutic work is about making space—internally and externally—for something to shift.

I love Flor—and I respect her. But more importantly, I believe in the work she’s doing. And I think you might too.