With QUIET, Vittoria set out to explore the subtle, often surprising magic of connecting with someone — whether through friendship or something more. She has always been drawn to those rare moments when another person reflects back a part of them that’s usually kept tucked away — the awkward, quiet, or strange parts — and makes one feel completely at ease. With the right person, those parts don’t just feel accepted; they come alive.

This film was her attempt to make that feeling visible. It begins in stillness and solitude —two characters, each in their own world, unaware of the other. Their movements are private, inward. But when one notices the other, a quiet exchange begins — hesitant at first, then playful and curious. There’s no dialogue, only physical language. She chose to keep the soundscape silent during this early part to emphasise the fragility of that initial connection. The music only enters once something clicks — once there’s a shared rhythm, a sense of trust. That moment felt worth marking, not with words, but with sound.

As their bond deepens, the film cuts to a new space: suddenly, we’re on top of a hill, surrounded by golden light. It’s not a literal climb, but a visual metaphor — a rise that reflects the emotional shift between them. Their connection has reached a quieter kind of fullness, and the world, for a moment, seems to bend gently around it.

QUIET is about those soft, in-between moments when connection happens — not loudly, not instantly, but slowly, almost shyly. It’s about recognising someone else in your strangeness, and letting them in. The film is awkward, a little humorous, and above all, honest. I wanted to create something that captures what it feels like to be seen — and to see someone else in return.