Kristina Horackova, Prague-born artisan reflects on a decade in Rome, building an independent knitwear business at Testaccio Market.Origins and Arrival in RomeYou arrived in Rome from Prague ten years ago. What were your expectations of the city before you left, and what did you actually find? From childhood, I knew that eventually I would need to change countries. I just didn't know when or where I would go. Then one day I woke up and decided it was time. That same day I resigned from my job. During lunch break, without overthinking it, I decided Rome was the right place. I wanted to experience Italian life, learn all the gestures, ride around on a Vespa. So, still during lunch, I booked a room in Borgo Pio for three months and a one-way flight for two weeks later. The problem was I had no idea what Rome was like in August. My flight was August 1st, and I left without speaking Italian, without a job, and without much money saved. So what did I find? Complete emptiness: no work, little English, and infernal heat. At first, it seemed impossible to stay longer than three months. Was there a precise moment when you realized you would stay longer than planned? I don't think there was one specific moment, but rather a period. Through various jobs, I met an artist who had a small workshop and gallery near Campo de' Fiori. I started working there, and our breaks were spent cycling, me always as a passenger, perched on the frame, going to get ice cream. Evenings often stretched until dawn at other artists' homes, with music and an atmosphere that was impossible to recreate. During that time, it felt like time had stopped and I was living inside a film. It didn't last long, unfortunately, but it was one of the most beautiful periods of my life in Rome. The Early Years You started working as a waitress. What kind of Rome did you encounter during that phase? Fun Rome, but also very strange. Being young, I thought there was no problem staying out late every day. But working in restaurants, it was difficult to serve people having fun and then leave and go home alone in the silence. So often the entire staff would go for a drink after closing, or we'd stay in the restaurant for one more round. Even if the shift ended at 2 or 3 in the morning, I often got home at dawn. Gradually I began to feel the exhaustion and the desire to change pace and work. I realized I wasn't a night creature and that at 6 in the morning I preferred to wake up rather than fall asleep. How important was that period in building what you do today, both professionally and personally? I think it shaped me immensely. I arrived in Italy as a young professional, but here I started from zero, and that forced me to reconsider many things about my life. At the same time, I learned how to interact with Italian and foreign customers, who were highly variable and often difficult. Even today, having a market stall, it's essential to understand what customers are looking for and sometimes even anticipate it before they realize it themselves. Working as a waitress, and later for several years as a sales assistant, taught me exactly that. It's a skill I now recognize as one of my greatest strengths. From Shared Craftsmanship to Independence Initially, you rented a shop with three other people. What was that collective experience like? It was beautiful and a bit chaotic. We didn't all know each other, our friend Desirée brought us together. She and I had been talking for a while about the idea of a shared space, and when we realized we really needed it, we started looking for other people to make something bigger possible. Desirée's first thought was Francesca and Raffaella. We met for an aperitivo and immediately aligned, understanding that all of us wanted a safe place where we could freely express our creativity. Within two months we had signed the lease for a shop in Monte Mario, which we called STUDIOCOSE. Over time we became a family, and I feel very fortunate to have kindred spirits alongside me to share the same passion for craftsmanship. What prompted you to move from a shared space to building something of your own? Our studio is located in a very residential and isolated area, difficult to access. We found that perfect for closing ourselves in to work and express ourselves completely. But as soon as I gained confidence in my work, I understood this was the work I really wanted to do: produce and sell my own products. I needed a more visible space, and that was impossible there. I had a thousand ideas in my head, but I was afraid to move forward alone. Then Desirée appeared again, as always: she had found a market stall for sale at Testaccio Market. I thought she had lost her mind—I was imagining something small, maybe with financing. I went to see it out of curiosity… and within just two months I had made the investment. Today Desirée and I are partners in OK. Artisanal Concept Store. Today you're at Testaccio Market. What does that stall represent for you? It has very personal and deep significance. When I think about how I started here in Italy, I feel proud and happy, and I often get emotional. I believe, without boasting, that Testaccio Market is the most beautiful in Rome: a collective of small businesses where I truly belong. Actually, markets have been part of me forever. Back in Prague, when I was fifteen or sixteen, I participated in or organized clothing and vintage markets. I always loved it and never stopped. But I never could have imagined becoming an actual market stall owner. Life is truly beautiful, and I love the unexpected paths it takes us down. Knitwear as Art Your work isn't just knitwear, but also artistic research. When did you realize it could become more than a craft? I started understanding after a crisis. For years I had managed a small brand, Amano the Label, in which I had invested heavily. Then, the same month I had bet everything on a spring / summer collection, the war in Ukraine broke out. Inflation hit everything, several brands I collaborated with closed, orders stopped coming. I had to find another job and close the project. Fortunately it lasted only about a year, and precisely during that period I started researching recovered materials. I became deeply passionate about it: from there I stopped buying new yarn and devoted myself to 100% recycling, managing to approach an almost zero-waste philosophy. Today it's integral to who I am, every piece I produce is one of a kind. How does one of your pieces come into being? Do you start with technique or a visual idea? It depends on how I'm feeling and which yarn attracts me at that moment. I have a sketchbook full of my ideas, so I often flip through it looking at the available materials and decide on the spot, total freestyle. Other times, I feel the need to make a thousand samples and immerse myself in the algebra of knitwear. It's not so different from architecture, which I studied in Prague: first you search for a form you like, then come the calculations to understand how to realize it and make it work, or in my case, fit well. We're talking about sheets and sheets of numbers, but from that process always emerges something very technical and precise… Or at least, that's always the hope. Is there a difference between what you sell and what you consider "art"? The more time passes, the more these two categories diverge. Since I took the stall, I've had to limit my creativity, focusing on products that are easier to sell. So I gave myself a rule: first five pieces for the stall, then one completely mine, always sellable, but more personal. Over time though, the desire to make art without compromise grows, and it moves further and further from what I produce daily. My next goal is precisely to take a break from fashion and dedicate myself to my research without limits. That's why I'm looking for an artist residency as soon as possible. I believe it's exactly what I need to find myself 100%, away from the shop and products to sell. Rome and Identity For years you say you never felt like a foreigner in Rome. What has changed today? At the beginning I was quickly welcomed by a wonderful group of people, with whom I spent many years. In September I experienced a major life change and lost almost the entire foundation I had built over the years. Starting over in a new place at twenty-two is fairly easy, I was free, young, naive. Starting again at thirty-three is entirely different: you're more cautious, more selective. I still like Rome very much, but it also makes me question whether it's really my place. I believe the answer will come within a year or two, and for now I'm keeping all doors open to any new experience. Is it a personal matter related to your story, or do you feel the city itself is different? I think it's more a personal thing. I see my relationship with Rome like a relationship itself: it was a beautiful and intense love for many years, but as we grow, compatibility gradually fades. Love isn't necessarily infinite, I'll always feel it, but not with the same intensity. Rome itself has changed somewhat, but not enough to change my mind about her. This city will always be beautiful in my eyes. The Present How would you describe a typical day at your market stall today? I wake around 7:30, then go for a run or walk with my dog. After that I always stop at Mostro for a coffee with my friends, and at 10 I open the stall, often followed by another coffee with colleagues at neighboring stalls. From there it depends on the day: if it's quiet, I spend it working on my products; if there are customers, I'm fully immersed—telling our story, welcoming everyone in an easy and natural way, without those typical market phrases. The stall closes around 3 pm, and if I manage it, I head to the studio. Otherwise I teach at an academy, or if the gods allow, finally a relaxing afternoon. What types of people approach your work? Tourists, Romans, the curious? Everyone, it's a mix I'm still learning to understand. Sometimes someone arrives asking for a discount before even looking at the products; other times people arrive who do craftsmanship themselves and truly appreciate what we do. Many tourists pass through, often very curious, and they're actually the ones who love most the stories about where our materials and products come from. The variability of customers makes every day different, and after closing there's always something to tell. The Future You're questioning whether your future is still in Rome. What keeps you here and what pushes you to leave? I ask myself that every day. But I know something up there has already prepared a plan, or several plans, for me, so I move forward peacefully. One day I'll tell myself: "Ah, that's why all these things happened, to bring me right here!" The freedom I feel pushes me to change countries, but it scares me equally. I love Italy and it seems strange to think of immersing myself in another culture. So we'll see. I have no idea where I'll be even in six months… But I'm very curious about it. If you imagined yourself five years from now, would you still be behind that stall or somewhere else? I have no idea. And I really like it that way. A Broader Perspective What does it mean to be an artisan today in a city like Rome? A challenge, but not only that. Rome has a complicated relationship with craftsmanship, we're not yet at the level of other cities or countries where artisans are truly sought after and valued. Here, low price often matters more than product origin. But things are changing, and generations close to mine truly appreciate what we do and are often our best customers. That said, there are exceptions everywhere, obviously: I would never lump everyone together. If you could give advice to someone arriving in the city today with a creative idea, what would it be? Don't be afraid to be seen and heard, but without forcing it. Here everything has its own timing, and those who sell themselves too boldly often get the opposite effect. Rome works very much on connections: you need to get out, go to places, chat, introduce yourself and make new friends every day. Ph: Deniza Nugnes 

Origins and Arrival in Rome You arrived in Rome from Prague ten years ago. What were your expectations of the city before you left, and what did you actually find? From childhood, I knew that eventually I would need to change countries. I just didn't know when or where I would go. Then one day I woke up and decided it was time. That same day I resigned from my job. During lunch break, without overthinking it, I decided Rome was the right place. I wanted to experience Italian life, learn all the gestures, ride around on a Vespa. So, still during lunch, I booked a room in Borgo Pio for three months and a one-way flight for two weeks later. The problem was I had no idea what Rome was like in August. My flight was August 1st, and I left without speaking Italian, without a job, and without much money saved. So what did I find? Complete emptiness: no work, little English, and infernal heat. At first, it seemed impossible to stay longer than three months. Was there a precise moment when you realized you would stay longer than planned? I don't think there was one specific moment, but rather a period. Through various jobs, I met an artist who had a small workshop and gallery near Campo de' Fiori. I started working there, and our breaks were spent cycling, me always as a passenger, perched on the frame, going to get ice cream. Evenings often stretched until dawn at other artists' homes, with music and an atmosphere that was impossible to recreate. During that time, it felt like time had stopped and I was living inside a film. It didn't last long, unfortunately, but it was one of the most beautiful periods of my life in Rome. The Early Years You started working as a waitress. What kind of Rome did you encounter during that phase? Fun Rome, but also very strange. Being young, I thought there was no problem staying out late every day. But working in restaurants, it was difficult to serve people having fun and then leave and go home alone in the silence. So often the entire staff would go for a drink after closing, or we'd stay in the restaurant for one more round. Even if the shift ended at 2 or 3 in the morning, I often got home at dawn. Gradually I began to feel the exhaustion and the desire to change pace and work. I realized I wasn't a night creature and that at 6 in the morning I preferred to wake up rather than fall asleep. How important was that period in building what you do today, both professionally and personally? I think it shaped me immensely. I arrived in Italy as a young professional, but here I started from zero, and that forced me to reconsider many things about my life. At the same time, I learned how to interact with Italian and foreign customers, who were highly variable and often difficult. Even today, having a market stall, it's essential to understand what customers are looking for and sometimes even anticipate it before they realize it themselves. Working as a waitress, and later for several years as a sales assistant, taught me exactly that. It's a skill I now recognize as one of my greatest strengths. From Shared Craftsmanship to Independence Initially, you rented a shop with three other people. What was that collective experience like? It was beautiful and a bit chaotic. We didn't all know each other, our friend Desirée brought us together. She and I had been talking for a while about the idea of a shared space, and when we realized we really needed it, we started looking for other people to make something bigger possible. Desirée's first thought was Francesca and Raffaella. We met for an aperitivo and immediately aligned, understanding that all of us wanted a safe place where we could freely express our creativity. Within two months we had signed the lease for a shop in Monte Mario, which we called STUDIOCOSE. Over time we became a family, and I feel very fortunate to have kindred spirits alongside me to share the same passion for craftsmanship. What prompted you to move from a shared space to building something of your own? Our studio is located in a very residential and isolated area, difficult to access. We found that perfect for closing ourselves in to work and express ourselves completely. But as soon as I gained confidence in my work, I understood this was the work I really wanted to do: produce and sell my own products. I needed a more visible space, and that was impossible there. I had a thousand ideas in my head, but I was afraid to move forward alone. Then Desirée appeared again, as always: she had found a market stall for sale at Testaccio Market. I thought she had lost her mind—I was imagining something small, maybe with financing. I went to see it out of curiosity… and within just two months I had made the investment. Today Desirée and I are partners in OK. Artisanal Concept Store. Today you're at Testaccio Market. What does that stall represent for you? It has very personal and deep significance. When I think about how I started here in Italy, I feel proud and happy, and I often get emotional. I believe, without boasting, that Testaccio Market is the most beautiful in Rome: a collective of small businesses where I truly belong. Actually, markets have been part of me forever. Back in Prague, when I was fifteen or sixteen, I participated in or organized clothing and vintage markets. I always loved it and never stopped. But I never could have imagined becoming an actual market stall owner. Life is truly beautiful, and I love the unexpected paths it takes us down. Knitwear as Art Your work isn't just knitwear, but also artistic research. When did you realize it could become more than a craft? I started understanding after a crisis. For years I had managed a small brand, Amano the Label, in which I had invested heavily. Then, the same month I had bet everything on a spring / summer collection, the war in Ukraine broke out. Inflation hit everything, several brands I collaborated with closed, orders stopped coming. I had to find another job and close the project. Fortunately it lasted only about a year, and precisely during that period I started researching recovered materials. I became deeply passionate about it: from there I stopped buying new yarn and devoted myself to 100% recycling, managing to approach an almost zero-waste philosophy. Today it's integral to who I am, every piece I produce is one of a kind. How does one of your pieces come into being? Do you start with technique or a visual idea? It depends on how I'm feeling and which yarn attracts me at that moment. I have a sketchbook full of my ideas, so I often flip through it looking at the available materials and decide on the spot, total freestyle. Other times, I feel the need to make a thousand samples and immerse myself in the algebra of knitwear. It's not so different from architecture, which I studied in Prague: first you search for a form you like, then come the calculations to understand how to realize it and make it work, or in my case, fit well. We're talking about sheets and sheets of numbers, but from that process always emerges something very technical and precise… Or at least, that's always the hope. Is there a difference between what you sell and what you consider "art"? The more time passes, the more these two categories diverge. Since I took the stall, I've had to limit my creativity, focusing on products that are easier to sell. So I gave myself a rule: first five pieces for the stall, then one completely mine, always sellable, but more personal. Over time though, the desire to make art without compromise grows, and it moves further and further from what I produce daily. My next goal is precisely to take a break from fashion and dedicate myself to my research without limits. That's why I'm looking for an artist residency as soon as possible. I believe it's exactly what I need to find myself 100%, away from the shop and products to sell. Rome and Identity For years you say you never felt like a foreigner in Rome. What has changed today? At the beginning I was quickly welcomed by a wonderful group of people, with whom I spent many years. In September I experienced a major life change and lost almost the entire foundation I had built over the years. Starting over in a new place at twenty-two is fairly easy, I was free, young, naive. Starting again at thirty-three is entirely different: you're more cautious, more selective. I still like Rome very much, but it also makes me question whether it's really my place. I believe the answer will come within a year or two, and for now I'm keeping all doors open to any new experience. Is it a personal matter related to your story, or do you feel the city itself is different? I think it's more a personal thing. I see my relationship with Rome like a relationship itself: it was a beautiful and intense love for many years, but as we grow, compatibility gradually fades. Love isn't necessarily infinite, I'll always feel it, but not with the same intensity. Rome itself has changed somewhat, but not enough to change my mind about her. This city will always be beautiful in my eyes. The Present How would you describe a typical day at your market stall today? I wake around 7:30, then go for a run or walk with my dog. After that I always stop at Mostro for a coffee with my friends, and at 10 I open the stall, often followed by another coffee with colleagues at neighboring stalls. From there it depends on the day: if it's quiet, I spend it working on my products; if there are customers, I'm fully immersed—telling our story, welcoming everyone in an easy and natural way, without those typical market phrases. The stall closes around 3 pm, and if I manage it, I head to the studio. Otherwise I teach at an academy, or if the gods allow, finally a relaxing afternoon. What types of people approach your work? Tourists, Romans, the curious? Everyone, it's a mix I'm still learning to understand. Sometimes someone arrives asking for a discount before even looking at the products; other times people arrive who do craftsmanship themselves and truly appreciate what we do. Many tourists pass through, often very curious, and they're actually the ones who love most the stories about where our materials and products come from. The variability of customers makes every day different, and after closing there's always something to tell. The Future You're questioning whether your future is still in Rome. What keeps you here and what pushes you to leave? I ask myself that every day. But I know something up there has already prepared a plan, or several plans, for me, so I move forward peacefully. One day I'll tell myself: "Ah, that's why all these things happened, to bring me right here!" The freedom I feel pushes me to change countries, but it scares me equally. I love Italy and it seems strange to think of immersing myself in another culture. So we'll see. I have no idea where I'll be even in six months… But I'm very curious about it. If you imagined yourself five years from now, would you still be behind that stall or somewhere else? I have no idea. And I really like it that way. A Broader Perspective What does it mean to be an artisan today in a city like Rome? A challenge, but not only that. Rome has a complicated relationship with craftsmanship, we're not yet at the level of other cities or countries where artisans are truly sought after and valued. Here, low price often matters more than product origin. But things are changing, and generations close to mine truly appreciate what we do and are often our best customers. That said, there are exceptions everywhere, obviously: I would never lump everyone together. If you could give advice to someone arriving in the city today with a creative idea, what would it be? Don't be afraid to be seen and heard, but without forcing it. Here everything has its own timing, and those who sell themselves too boldly often get the opposite effect. Rome works very much on connections: you need to get out, go to places, chat, introduce yourself and make new friends every day. Ph: Deniza Nugnes