SteBore: The Artist Who Wants Your Wall to Start an Argument

14 juillet 2026

Interview · By Stanislav Arnautov · Berlin · 8 min read

Most people want art on their wall to be beautiful. Stefano Borella would rather it started an argument.

The Italian illustrator — better known as SteBore — draws nuns in black sunglasses with gold teeth, a vulture raising a middle finger, and figures caught mid-scream. His work is funny and unsettling in roughly equal measure, and he is completely unapologetic about the second part. Four of his pieces now live on deckarts maple.

We asked him why discomfort is the point. (Our last interview, with Citrus Rock, was about pouring colour into the world. This one goes the other way.)

From tattoo needles to fine art

You grew up surrounded by pencils, ceramics and sculptures. How did you land on the raw, graphic style you have now?

"The style I have today mostly comes from the work experiences I've been lucky enough to have over the years: graphic agencies, publishing, and even a tattoo shop. That last one is really what gave a concrete twist to the way I draw.

Black and white, back then, was what I needed to make tattoos that were simple to execute but still effective in the final result. Eventually I left tattooing behind because it didn't give me the expressive freedom I later found in fine art."

It explains a lot. The heavy outlines, the flat blacks, the way a figure reads instantly from across a room — that is tattoo logic, still running underneath the work.

"I'm just built this way"

Your work is often described as tragicomic — chaos, irony and fragility all at once. What keeps pulling you back to that mix?

"I wouldn't call it an attraction to these themes so much as a matter of personality. I'm just built this way. I can't help but see how tragically and wonderfully ironic everything is.

Like when we feel like the coolest person in the room but we've got a booger the size of an arm hanging out of our nose. Or when we tell ourselves 'it's all going to be fine' and five seconds later life hits us like a truck. Or when we feel like God but can't even understand ourselves in our own intimacy.

If I can, I try to get a laugh out of it — that way the grotesque doesn't hurt, it becomes a chance to connect with someone else. The way I represent things is basically the representation of my own worldview."

What discomfort does that beauty can't

A lot of your art is deliberately uncomfortable. What can discomfort do that beauty can't?

"Hah, great question! Discomfort exposes you instantly.

You're in an elevator with five other people and someone farts. You can be the coolest person alive, but that whole facade you built to look like the best of the best just collapses. Either you try to keep it standing in some ridiculous way — making the discomfort in the room even worse and basically outing yourself — or everyone just quietly side-eyes whoever's closest, even if that person happened to be the President of the United States.

Discomfort puts everyone in the same boat. It makes everyone vulnerable. But then again, you can also ride that discomfort and turn it into comedy — and that's when, for me, you've won."

"Discomfort puts everyone in the same boat. It makes everyone vulnerable."

Behind the nun

Nuns in black sunglasses with gold teeth. A vulture giving the finger. Where do these characters come from?

"These characters are my way of paraphrasing bigger topics. Even here, behind the 'nun' role, there are people who desire, who feel strong passions, who get pissed off. It's tragicomic too.

Obviously, since I'm the one drawing them, they represent what's going on in my head — that's my explanation. The beauty of art and symbols is that they tell each person their own slice of truth, based on their own personal experiences. So these characters don't necessarily have to say what I'm saying."

An inflatable doll blowing soap bubbles

"I Would Like to but I Can't." — that title feels painfully human. What's the story behind it?

"This piece is part of the series IT'S NOT ALL ABOUT SEX, and it shares the same concept. All the works in that series connect desire with the essence of who we are.

Sometimes we think we want things, situations, that don't actually belong to us — that aren't really meant for our personality. I think that frustration is well captured by the pointless effort of an inflatable doll trying to blow soap bubbles."

Which is, when you sit with it, one of the better descriptions of wanting the wrong thing that we have heard.

More Italy than he realises

How does living and working in Italy show up in what you make?

"I think there's more Italy in what I make than I even realise myself. The nuns are the clearest example of how Catholic culture has surfaced in my drawings.

Elderly people, grandmothers, animals from rural settings — I live in a farming province — they're all pieces of my past and present life. I'm sure even the most harmless, throwaway drawing carries a piece of whoever made it."

The inline skater who always watched from the side

What went through your mind the first time you saw your work on an actual skateboard deck?

"Putting my art on a skateboard is a huge source of satisfaction, because street culture is a living part of my identity.

Honestly, I spent years as an aggressive inline skater, always admiring skateboarding from a distance. I've always felt like the two worlds were accomplices. It was love at first sight."

Your figures are tall, elongated, confrontational — they almost seem made for that vertical shape. Coincidence?

"I tend to favour vertical compositions, so the setup just clicked right away."

Of your four decks with us, which one is closest to your heart?

"Off the top of my head I'd say 3 Sisters — just because I think the nun character came out really well."

"Even better when someone criticises them"

This was the question we most wanted to ask. Bold art is easy to love on a screen and much harder to commit to a wall — especially when the art in question is a bird with its middle finger up, or a deck that simply reads FUCK THIS WAY.

Would you hang provocative art in your own living room? What would you say to someone who loves your work but worries what their guests will think?

"Let's start from the idea that a 'regular' piece of art — one that never became a cultural symbol — is still, and remains, a good drawing.

That said, for me it's incredible when a piece hanging on a wall does more than just fill up space: when it manages to spark a comment, even a 'that's disgusting!', and open up even a tiny bit of debate.

In my home studio I'm surrounded by my own work, and with those pieces I'm always at peace, in harmony. But it's nice when someone appreciates them — and even better when someone criticises them. That's always a reason for real conversation."

"It's nice when someone appreciates them — and even better when someone criticises them."

It is a useful way to think about buying art in general. Most of what goes on most walls is chosen precisely so that nobody says anything about it: inoffensive, colour-matched, safe. It fills the space and then disappears.

A piece with teeth does the opposite. It gives people something to react to the moment they walk in — and a room where guests have something to talk about is, on balance, a better room. (If you are new to the format, our guide to skateboard wall art covers sizes, formats and how to hang.) If you have been circling a bold piece and hesitating, that hesitation is usually the sign that the artwork is actually doing something.