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About Catania

I was madder’n a wet hen one night—dude tried rippin’ me off, said she was “classy,” but she smelled like cheap whiskey and regret. Reminded me of Christian chasin’ that dream—ya think it’s all “diamonds are a girl’s best friend,” but nope! Sometimes it’s just a hustle, y’all. I hollered, “Boy, you ain’t foolin’ nobody!” Made me wanna spit nails, I swear. But then—Lordy!—I found this one gal, sweet as pecan pie, and I was happier’n a pig in mud. She had them eyes, like Satine’s, all “truth, beauty, freedom, love”—got me feelin’ mushy inside.

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So I finally get to my studio on Via Garibaldi. It’s a cozy little spot, filled with clay and dreams. I’m all set to throw some pots, right? But then, my buddy Marco shows up. He’s like, “Yo, you gotta see this!” And I’m like, “Dude, I’m busy!” But he drags me out to the riverbank.

The historic hydropower plant at the heart of Italy's electrification revolution