Chapter 22 Medardo Maseroli, the Man Who Believed in Me
Very soon, our conversations went far beyond ceramic tiles alone. We spoke about entrepreneurship. Responsibility. Family. Trust. One day, he said something I have never forgotten: “You can lose an order, but never lose your credibility.” Those words have remained engraved in my heart forever. Because, in the end, credibility may be an entrepreneur’s greatest capital. Everything else can disappear. A company. A contract. A factory. But as long as people continue to trust your word, you can always begin again. Medardo saw that I was willing to work without counting the hours. He knew I did not hesitate to travel thousands of miles for a customer. He understood that selling a product was not enough for me. I wanted to understand. I wanted to improve. I wanted to build something with others.
Little by little, a bond of mutual respect grew between us. To me, his confidence was worth far more than any contract. When someone so experienced believes in you, he also gives you the courage to go further than you ever thought possible. Medardo did not merely offer me opportunities. He entrusted me with responsibilities. And responsibility may be one of the greatest gifts one human being can give another, because it means that someone truly believes you are capable of carrying it. At an important moment in my life, he went even further. He supported me with one hundred thousand Belgian francs. At the time, that was a considerable sum. But what touched me most deeply was not only the money. It was the trust behind that gesture. He believed in me. He believed in my projects.
And he was prepared to turn that belief into action. His support did not merely give me greater financial freedom. Above all, it gave me renewed courage. I felt that I was not alone. That a man of experience and wisdom saw possibilities in me whose full extent I perhaps did not yet recognize myself.
That was precisely where the strength of our collaboration lay. Medardo was also much more than a businessman. He was a very well-known sculptor. His art revealed another side of his personality. The sensitive man. The artist who looked not only at outward form, but also at what lived deep within the human being. He worked with stone, yet knew how to make feelings visible in it. Peace. Joy. Sadness. Hope. Perhaps that is why he understood people so well. A sculptor does not look only at what is visible on the outside. He tries to discover what is hidden within. After his death, a very special and moving gesture awaited me. According to his final wish, I was to be the first person allowed to choose a work from his collection. His wife Rita and his sons Yvan and Igor honored that wish and gave me the opportunity to select a work myself.
I was deeply moved. It meant that Medardo had thought of me before he died. Of all the works I could have chosen, I selected a sculpture that touched me immediately. Carved from white Carrara marble, it represented the Madonna. The work had two different faces. When I turned the sculpture, I saw on one side a Madonna who expressed repose, peace, and happiness. On the other side appeared an entirely different face. It was the face of a woman in white with a sad and sorrowful expression. It was the same work. The same stone. And yet each side told a completely different story. Of all the works I could have chosen, I felt that this one was meant for me. It showed the two faces of life. Joy and sorrow. Hope and pain. Calm and turmoil. Light and darkness. One cannot always exist without the other. Like every human life, mine too is made up of bright days and dark days.
The Madonna in white Carrara marble, created by Medardo Maseroli and entrusted to me after his death.
Of trust rewarded. And trust sometimes betrayed. Of successful projects. And lost dreams. Perhaps that is why the work touched me so deeply. It reflected something of my own life. The man who always wanted to keep moving forward. But also the man who often carried his worries and grief deep within himself. To me, this sculpture was far more than a work of art. Medardo had carved it himself from white Carrara marble. His hands had shaped the stone. His thoughts and feelings continued to live within it. The fact that, according to his final wish, I was the first person allowed to choose a work remains one of the most personal and precious testimonies to our friendship. When I look at the sculpture, I think of Medardo. Of the opportunities he gave me. Of everything we built together. Of his faith in me. But also of the pain left behind when someone disappears from our life forever.
In the years that followed, when I had to make difficult decisions, I often thought back to our conversations. Not because he had an answer to everything. But because he had taught me to ask the right questions. And the right question is sometimes worth far more than a quick answer. Only after he was gone did I truly understand how profoundly he had influenced my life. Some people leave buildings behind. Others, successful companies. Medardo left me something far more valuable. Memories. His trust. And a work in which his hands, his soul, and his friendship will remain present forever. I remember a man who was willing to place his trust in others, sometimes even before they had fully proven themselves. A man who judged people by their character, not only by what they could accomplish. Even today, when I say his name, I feel the same profound gratitude.
Not only because he helped me grow professionally. But because he confirmed something in which I had always believed. Business always begins with people. And a sincere handshake can sometimes be worth far more than a hundred-page contract. That is why Medardo Maseroli will always hold a very special place in my heart. Not merely as a business partner. But also as a friend. As a mentor. As an artist. And as the man who, at one of the most important moments of my life, said to me, “Keep going. I believe in you.” Sometimes a single sentence is enough to change the course of a person’s life. For me, Medardo was that man.