Nina Battaglia shared their story and experiences with us recently and you can find our conversation below.
Hi Nina, thank you so much for joining us today. We’re thrilled to learn more about your journey, values and what you are currently working on. Let’s start with an ice breaker: What is something outside of work that is bringing you joy lately?
Lately, simply spending time in nature has been bringing me a deep sense of joy. As an artist, nature has always been my most important source of inspiration, but as I’ve gotten older, it’s also become a grounding force for my well-being. I’ve grown to appreciate the seasonal shifts in a way I never used to, especially the colder months which I once dreaded. Now I see them as moments of rest, reflection, and quiet inspiration. In many ways, this joy is still connected to my work. Nature is my greatest collaborator; I need it in order to create!
Can you briefly introduce yourself and share what makes you or your brand unique?
I’m a working artist and educator and I’m currently in my final year of the Printmaking MFA program at Ohio University, where my thesis focuses on my family history and our enduring relationship with the natural world. My research examines the resilience found in both legacy and plants; how ancestral knowledge survives, adapts, and continues to nourish us across generations. I’m fascinated by the ways shared experiences shape identity and culture. Much of my work revolves around the questions: Who am I, and who would I be without the people who raised me? I aim to honor the labor, traditions, and myths that have shaped my family and, by extension, myself.
One story that threads through my current work is my family’s history of cultivating fig trees and how this practice migrated alongside my relatives. The land they arrived in was different. In Calabria, fig trees grew wild; in Northeast Ohio, they struggled. My grandfather kept a living piece of the “old country” in a wine-barrel planter: a deep purple-fruited fig tree. After his passing in 2009, that tree was propagated many times over, each cutting carrying the same lineage.
In Ohio, the tree could not simply be planted in the ground. It had to adapt. Each winter, it was brought indoors to escape the cold; each summer, it was wheeled back outside to soak in the heat. Left in the ground, it wouldn’t bear fruit in time. So year after year, the tree was ushered in and out, tended with care. And because of this ritual of persistence and memory, we could still taste figs in Ohio’s late summers. This act of tending, of keeping something alive across distance, climate, and time, is at the heart of my artistic practice.
Okay, so here’s a deep one: What’s a moment that really shaped how you see the world?
Visiting my immigrant family’s homeland was a formative experience. Being immersed in the landscape, food, and stories that shaped the generations before me shifted how I understand identity, belonging, and culture. It connected me to something larger than myself, a lineage, and it continues to influence the questions I chase in my work.
If you could say one kind thing to your younger self, what would it be?
I would tell her not to second-guess the moments that feel like sparks— those intuitive nudges toward inspiration or action. They always lead somewhere important. I’d also gently remind her to appreciate where she is, even when things feel uncertain. Every stage, even the uncomfortable ones, is part of becoming who you’re meant to be. Honestly, it’s advice I still feel like my future self is telling my current self all the time.
Next, maybe we can discuss some of your foundational philosophies and views? What’s a cultural value you protect at all costs?
Cooking. For me, it’s a way of staying connected; to nature, to my family, to memory. Whether I’m preparing a meal alone or sharing the kitchen with others, everything I make carries a lineage. Sometimes it’s in the ingredients themselves, other times it’s in the inherited knowledge of how a dish comes together. Cooking is a sacred ritual, one that nourishes both body and spirit and keeps ancestral stories alive. Just the other day, my family, who are mostly vegetarians, made homemade sausage for the rest of our relatives for the holidays. We did it because it’s a tradition, a way of honoring where we come from, and a way of connecting with both present and past generations. Moments like that remind me how food holds culture, memory, and love all at once.
Before we go, we’d love to hear your thoughts on some longer-run, legacy type questions. When do you feel most at peace?
I truly feel most at peace when I’m cooking! It becomes a meditative practice, a way of slowing down and being fully present. I also feel deeply at peace when I’m gardening, harvesting, or preparing ingredients. There’s something profoundly satisfying about tending to something, nurturing it, and finally reaping the rewards of that care.
Contact Info:
- Instagram: ninabattaglia.art
