The magnum opus of a lifelong creative partnership, the Fondazione Valentino Garavani and Giancarlo Giammetti opens its doors to the public for the first time in Rome’s Piazza Mignanelli on May 25. Conceived as a way to preserve and share the legacy they have built, the foundation reflects their unerring dedication to a cultivated interpretation of beauty, their passion for art, and engagement in philanthropy. Located right next to the halls of the Valentino atelier, it’s housed in a former Vatican school and printing house for Propaganda Fide, the Holy See’s dicastery for the propagation of the faith.
With the election of a new Pope, the Vatican is definitely having a moment, but this is less divine intervention than divine design. Polished to celestial gleam and christened PM23 (after its chic address: 23 Piazza Mignanelli), the newly reborn space is poised to become Rome’s latest cultural altar. It will debut with a high-gloss exhibition titled “Horizons—Red,” curated by style-savvy scholar Pamela Golbin, who edited the archival fashion pieces, with art historian Anna Coliva overseeing the selection of artworks.
While the cardinal-red nod to apostolic grandeur feels timely, red is, of course, Valentino’s holy grail—a signature so iconic it deserves its own Pantone. “It’s a dialogue between a color that stands as an oeuvre in its own right within Mr. Valentino’s body of work, and a selection of artworks in which red becomes the lens through which each artist reveals their poetic vision,” remarked Golbin. Unlike the Pinault or Arnault foundations, which primarily showcase private collections, the Fondazione Valentino Garavani and Giancarlo Giammetti charts a different course: it will host not only exhibitions, but also workshops, talks, and cultural activations, open to diverse voices, disciplines, and communities.
In a rarefied correspondence between haute couture and fine art, Valentino’s legendary red dresses are displayed amid a curated constellation of modern and contemporary masterpieces on loan from institutions, private collectors, and from Giammetti and Valentino’s own acquisitions, featuring works by Jeff Koons, Gerhard Richter, Helen Frankenthaler, Picasso, Rothko, and Basquiat, among others. “There are many exhibitions about art and fashion today, but they’re not always about dialogue,” observed Golbin. “Here, we’ve taken a theme central to Mr. Valentino’s legacy, inviting both disciplines to respond.”
Structured around five thematic perspectives—Red: In the Orbit of Beauty; The Surface of Red; Red and Identity; Emotional Landscapes; and Oneiric Horizons—the exhibition traces the Italian designer’s enduring romance with the color of passion and power, from the first 1959 Fiesta dress to the final gown of his 2008 farewell show, as well as the last piece he crafted for Natalia Vodianova in 2011. “His visual vocabulary was remarkably defined from the very beginning,” added Golbin. “That’s what makes his repertoire so timeless. I imagine many visitors will walk away wishing they could take one of these dresses with them.”
As president and mastermind of the VG Foundation, Giancarlo Giammetti now occupies an office located in the very same palazzo on Via Condotti where the first Valentino show was held in 1959—a homecoming of sorts. Palatial and opulent, the space channels high-conclave chic—picture cardinals gliding through, murmuring in awe at the juxtaposition of timeworn frescoes and the heavyweight contemporary masterpieces Giammetti has amassed over decades: slightly disturbing Bacons, monumental Kiefers, lysergic Damien Hirsts, tremulous Calder mobiles. Unfazed by all this museum-worthy magnificence, he presides behind a glacier-like slab of dark quartz serving as working desk, sun-kissed and silver-maned, radiating the kind of stylish authority that could bless couture with a glance.
Slightly dazed by the surrounding grandeur, I sat with him to talk about the foundation, his serendipitous first encounter with Mr. Garavani, the freedom of creation—and, naturalement, the beauties who’ve left their mark on the duo’s dedication to high style.
Where did the idea for the Fondazione come from?
Valentino and I established the foundation in 2016, starting with its more philanthropic side, focused on charities dedicated to the sick, the elderly, and children. In fact, we’re building a large pavilion at the Bambin Gesù Hospital in Rome—I once went to visit someone there and found myself in a huge courtyard in the scorching heat of the Roman summer, with children sitting outside waiting to be visited by doctors, with their mothers and fathers, held in their parents’ arms. There was no structure big enough to accommodate the hundreds of kids who arrive there each day. So we’re building a large, climate-controlled pavilion in that courtyard where children can also play. Since the hospital is Vatican property, everything was put on hold due to the Conclave, but work will resume soon. At the Policlinico Gemelli Hospital, we donated medical equipment during the Covid period, and we continue to support them. So the Foundation first emerged with a focus on philanthropy, and giving back.
Then I started thinking that maybe it was also time for our body of work to be remembered, but to be honest, fashion museums make me quite sad—I find them full of lifeless wax mannequins. So I wanted to find a way to make it more exciting, more sexy. We started with a theme that is foundational for us: red, which celebrates Valentino’s legacy, and his deep passion for art. But looking ahead, there are projects much more focused on education, which is the other major pillar of the Foundation. There are already many connections with artists from various disciplines who are working on upcoming initiatives.
Why the color red—where does Valentino’s passion for it come from?
He says that when he was a student in Paris, his parents gave him a trip to Barcelona. They went to the theater, where he saw a room entirely decorated in red—red geraniums and flowers on the balconies, beautiful Spanish ladies dressed in red. When I met him, and his atelier was already located in these very rooms in Via Condotti where we are now, red was already present as a leitmotif. It immediately became what we would now call a logo—a form of branding before branding even existed. But it had to have just the right kiss of mandarin orange hue. If not, Valentino would have it remade fastidiously ad infinitum.
Where did the two of you meet? There’s a sort of mystique around that encounter…
We met on Via Veneto. I was sitting at a table at the Café de Paris, and he came over to ask if he could sit with me. It was the 1960s, and Via Veneto was the heart of la dolce vita, a constant runway of actors, directors, celebrities—Hollywood on the Tiber. I was a bit of a poser there because my father had a shop on a side street off Via Veneto, so I was a regular at all the chic bars, often waiting to head to a nightclub behind Via Veneto called Il Pipistrello, which opened at 11 pm. The owner of the bar approached me and asked if a young man could join me, since the place was full. That young man was Valentino. He then asked me to give him a ride home because he didn’t have a car—I had an old, beaten automobile, not exactly the chicest limo. He had just arrived from Paris and said he was still thinking in French. I had studied French at school without much success, but I pretended I could speak it. “Oui, bien sûr, je parle français,” I told him. He looked at me like “yes, sure,” and said, “All right, from now on, we’ll speak French.” To this day, we still speak French to each other.
Love came a little later. I didn’t study much, and took lots of vacations. I had a cabana at La Canzone del Mare in Capri—my parents were quite generous. Valentino joined me in Capri that August, and that’s where our story began. He was incredibly handsome when he was young.
Beauty has always been at the heart of Mr. Valentino’s ethos. At the entrance to the exhibition, there is a large mirrored panel next to a work by Jeff Koons, made by the artist Joseph, displaying Valentino’s phrase ‘I Love Beauty, It’s Not My Fault’—a kind of mantra that has guided his aesthetic. One of the conceptual threads of the exhibition is built around this. What is your idea of beauty, and how has it evolved over the decades?
Beauty comes in many forms. It’s not only about aesthetic beauty—whether something is beautiful or ugly by purely visual standards. It’s a more abstract kind of beauty: the beauty of giving, of generosity, the beauty that inspires and creates more beauty, the beauty that can help young people to create, the beauty of dreaming. A more abstract idea, or energy, that leads to creativity, or that can soothe the spirit.
Being called Valentino, of course aesthetic harmony has always guided us, and that mirror panel with his phrase will always remain there as a sort of portal. But through the Foundation, we want to speak about other kinds of beauty—to send a signal, a message of encouragement, inspiration, and education for younger generations.
Today, beauty standards are different, even though I sometimes feel there’s a lack of measure and balance in form. I’m interested in new languages, even if they’re not easy to understand, and I’m fascinated by AI and its creative possibilities—I draw quite a lot using AI, and it amuses me. The work Valentino and I did unfurled in a time when creative constraints were different—and much less invasive than those of today. The most important thing I did was to ensure Valentino had his freedom: to do what he wanted and what he believed in. And when we realized that it was no longer possible to be free, we stepped away.
The freedom to express oneself creatively is what young people lack most today—they have to fight for it. Sadly, a story like ours, of two boys with no money, starting from scratch, I don’t think it could happen again. It was a sort of ante litteram start up, ahead of its time.
At the beginning, we were working from an apartment on Via Gregoriana, rented from a lady with lots of cats—it smelled terrible. And yet, women like Elizabeth Taylor, Marella Agnelli, and Mia Acquarone came to be dressed by us—important women of that era who had heard about us. Jackie [Kennedy] came later, when we were a bit more established—there were fewer cats. By then, we had moved to Piazza Mignanelli, though we occupied only the top floor.
Today, the biggest constraint for young designers is having to belong to a group—how can you survive in terms of business otherwise? The constant turnover of creative directors at the head of brands shows how much cynicism there is in the way fashion is managed now. The passion and energy of someone who has been with you for years no longer seems to matter to these brands.
You lived through a time full of cultural stimuli and major change. Who inspired your work? Were there figures who influenced your path?
We were like two sponges, ready to absorb everything coming from society, from what was happening around us. We learned so much because people liked us for our unpretentious attitude—a kind of naïve charm. Later on, of course, we evolved quite a bit from that! We learned everything, from how to arrange flowers on a table to how to carry ourselves.
Diana Vreeland was an extraordinary mentor. She called us “the Boys” and would come to Rome just to see our shows, through Consuelo Crespi—she was working for Vogue at the time. Rome in those years was home to incredible couture names: Patrick De Barentzen, Roberto Capucci, Simonetta Fabiani, the princess Galitzine—and Consuelo worked with them. It was through her that Valentino went to America for the first time. Her sister introduced us to Jackie Kennedy, who had seen her in a Valentino dress—a sort of brand-ambassador effect, before the term was coined. Every season, we went to New York to sell our collections, and we never let success go to our heads—that’s a lesson for young people: arrogance gets you nowhere. A few Instagram photos don’t make you a designer. We had the humility of people who wanted to learn.
Diana introduced us to the new American culture of that time—we went to see Hair with her, which was a radical and groundbreaking musical she loved. She adored that show! Through her, we met Babe Paley and Capote’s Swans, who became our clients. I met Truman Capote on Marella Agnelli’s yacht—they were very close—though we weren’t invited to the Black and White Ball. We weren’t important enough yet.
Babe Paley was the most beautiful and elegant woman we ever dressed—she was already ill, but still received us at her apartment on Fifth Avenue, where Picasso’s Boy Leading a Horse was hung in the entry hall. As you entered you were greeted by that monumental masterpiece. She welcomed us in a turban and brown charmeuse pajama set. It was pure style, with capital S. Women like Nan Kempner, Gloria Guinness—a world that no longer exists. We’ve always been lovers of beauty, style, and glamour—we both cared deeply about having an elegant house, even when we were very young with no much money. So when we had to decorate our flats, we went to Via dei Coronari in Rome, where antiques were sold at cheap prices, and asked a local carpenter to furnish our apartments—for us, he was like Peter Marino. Once, I don’t remember if it was at my place or his, as we’ve always lived in separate apartments, the wife of Henry Fonda, Countess Afdera Franchetti, came to visit— very charming—and as I was walking her to the elevator, she chirped, “Delightful, all this bric-à-brac.” Valentino and I looked at each other, dismayed.