Wander in Trapani: Where Coral Speaks Through Craft

Trapani’s coral heritage is a centuries-old tradition, where these marine treasures inspire the creation of exquisite jewels and sacred objects — expressions of both nature’s wonder and the soul of the city’s cultural identity.

Sense of Wander: ★★★★☆

This branch of Trapani coral at the Agostino Pepoli Regional Museum offers a glimpse into the city’s prized treasure — coral, often revered as “red gold.”

TRAPANI, Sicily — Much like gold, coral has captured human imagination since antiquity — not only for its beauty, but also for the myths it carries. The ancient Greeks and Romans believed coral was born from the blood of Medusa: when Perseus beheaded her, drops of her blood fell into the sea and hardened into red branches upon touching seaweed.

Off the northwestern tip of Sicily lies Trapani, a coastal city where the Tyrrhenian Sea once offered more than just a livelihood — it yielded red coral, a treasure drawn from the ocean floor. These fiery-hued branches were shaped into objects of awe by the hands of master artisans and cherished across centuries.

The earliest known mention of Trapani’s coral appears in the writings of Arab geographer al-Idrisi. In his Nuzhat al-Mushtaq (The Delight of Those Who Yearn to Cross the Horizons), completed in 1154, he praised the coral of this region for its exceptional value.

By the 15th century, coral-rich waters near Trapani and San Vito Lo Capo attracted skilled Jewish families from the Maghreb. Known for their mastery in working coral, they cleaned, shaped, and polished it into spheres, olive forms, tiny bosses, and delicate curved motifs. The discovery of new reefs in Tabarca between 1530 and 1535 gave rise to a flourishing coral industry throughout the early 16th century.

You might be surprised to hear this, but it was Trapani’s coral legacy that drew me to the city. Yet as I wandered its streets, I found few visible traces of this once-glorious tradition — the industry declined toward the end of the 18th century with the disappearance of coral reefs.

For those curious to treasure-hunt these “red gold” from the sea, I recommend a visit to the Agostino Pepoli Regional Museum (Museo Regionale Agostino Pepoli), just a short ride from Trapani’s historic centre. Inside, you’ll find exquisite jewels and sacred objects from the 17th and 18th centuries, crafted by the hands of local master artisans.

Coral, alongside other natural treasures like mother-of-pearl and ivory, comes together in the creation of this mid-18th-century nativity scene.

A display of liturgical objects adorned with coral, featuring the famous hanging lamp crafted by Matteo Bavera (right).

On the museum’s first floor, a corridor lined with long display cases greets visitors — several devoted to coral. One piece in particular stopped me in my tracks: a monumental hanging lamp.

Bulbous in shape, the lamp resembles those found in mosques, yet it once hung in the Chapel of the Crucifix in the church of San Francesco d’Assisi in Trapani.

Made of gilded copper, nearly every inch of its surface is encrusted with tiny coral pieces shaped like commas, tabs, and pods. The technique used is known as retroincastro, the oldest known method of setting coral — each element into a drilled metal surface, held in place with a glue of pitch, wax, and fabric fibers (tela), then sealed with an engraved copper backing.

The openwork along the edge of the lamp mimics lace design of the time, adorned with coral inserts and white and blue enamel. What makes this piece remarkable is that it bears the name of its maker: Fra’ Matteo Bavera, along with the date of its completion — 1663. A lay friar of the Minor Conventuals, Bavera was born around 1580–81 and is credited with other masterpieces in the museum’s collection, including the celebrated Crucifix and Chalice. His signed works have become key reference points for scholars reconstructing the history of Trapani’s coral artistry.

A close-up of Matteo Bavera’s hanging lamp reveals the intricate “retroincastro” technique.

Beneath the lamp stands another masterpiece — a baroque jewellery box from the late 17th century, adorned with coral and finely chiseled silver. At each corner of the lid, a caryatid stands, all pointing toward the central scene: the evangelical episode of the Annunciation. Likely a wedding gift for a noblewoman, the box blends craftsmanship with sentiment. The Annunciation — a blessing for motherhood — and the four coral hearts beneath the caryatids together evoke the ideals of spousal love.

Compared to the hanging lamp, the coral on the box is carved in high relief. Yet both share a style described as a tappeto — an Arab-Islamic-inspired “carpet-like” pattern of dense decoration, echoing a period taste for horror vacui, the fear of empty space.

This 17th-century jewellery box, lavishly adorned with carved coral motifs and figurines, carries delicate symbols of love.

Creating such intricate coral pieces required three distinct roles: the fishermen or corallai who harvested the coral, the maestri corallari who cleaned and prepared it, and the sculptors who transformed thicker branches into expressive forms. The corallai sold raw coral to the masters, who scraped off the orange outer layer (coenosarc) and reduced the branches with a file or grinder into smaller, usable forms — spheres, commas, pods — some pierced and strung into necklaces, rosaries, or bracelets.

Sculptors, using burins and chisels, worked the larger branches into figurative art. One of the finest examples is a Crucifix — also attributed to Fra’ Matteo Bavera — carved from a single branch (apart from the arms). Christ’s body is rendered with astonishing detail: ribs visible, muscles tense, and legs hanging naturally with the pull of gravity. Under the lighting of the showcase, it radiates a chiaroscuro effect that heightens its emotional power.

Coral’s vivid red hue made it more than just decorative. It came to symbolise blood, vitality, and sacrifice — a spiritual material suited for carving Madonnas, saints, crosses, and amulets. In Christian iconography, it often stood for Christ’s Passion.

A close-up of the Crucifix, its meticulous craftsmanship attributed to the skilled hands of Matteo Bavera.

A close-up of a monstrance adorned with delicate coral motifs and white enamel.

A close-up of a chasuble — the outermost vestment worn by clergy during Mass — where the presence of coral beads accentuates the floral patterns in gold threads.

Detail of an altar frontal, commissioned by the Jesuits of Trapani and crafted by Messina’s skilled embroiderers, where delicate coral beads are embroidered onto a shimmering base of silk and silver threads.

One piece I found especially touching was a rosary necklace made of gold-plated copper beads, each adorned with pine nut-like coral pieces. Hanging in the centre is a six-petal flower, also adorned with coral. Among the tiny pieces are some cut in the shape of miniature crosses like delicate whispers of faith.

Coral wasn’t limited to ecclesiastical use — it became personal adornment. One bracelet on display tells the myth of Venus’ birth from sea foam, as recounted by Hesiod. Flanked by clamshell-like segments, the central piece shows Venus emerging from a shell, crowned by a winged cherub. This bracelet, along with the museum’s collection of coral jewellery, testifies to the harmonious partnership between Trapani’s coral artisans and its gold- and silversmiths.

This beautiful rosary necklace is adorned with tiny coral pieces in a myriad of shapes.

Drawing inspiration from Hesiod’s myth, this 18th-century bracelet exudes a classical charm.

This coral bead necklace from the early 18th century features a whimsical silver pendant of a personified sailboat.

In ancient texts from Pliny the Elder to medieval lapidaries, coral was believed to have apotropaic powers — protecting infants, warding off evil, healing ailments. Such coral amulets in the museum include pendants, umbilical bands, and rosaries worn through different stages of life.

One highlight is the largest known “fig sign” (mano a fico), a hand gesture commonly found in southern Italy: a closed fist with the thumb protruding between the index and middle fingers. Like the mano cornuto (horned hand), it was worn as a talisman against the evil eye.

These amulets — magical in their symbolism — reveal how coral bridged the sacred and the secular, the spiritual and the superstitious. Worn close to the skin, coral offered both protection and beauty — a shield crafted by nature, shaped by human longing.

Steeped in history and meaning, Trapani coral forms the soul of southern Italy’s talismanic tradition.

Carved from a single branch of coral, the “fig sign” (mano a fico) is used as an amulet to ward off the evil eye.

In Trapani, coral artisans eventually formed a guild to regulate and support the booming trade. In 1591, Francesco Pugnatore recorded twenty-five coral workshops in the city, each employing several artisans. Commissions came from the Church, nobility, and wealthy patricians — ranging from chalices and monstrances to domestic items like trays and caskets.

While the reefs may have vanished over the centuries, coral never truly left Trapani. During my visit, I stopped by Rossocorallo, a jewellery shop run by Platimiro Fiorenza — one of Trapani’s last coral artisans. Inside, I was mesmerised by wonders carved from coral: nativity scenes, crucifixes, even a lobster rendered with astonishing life-like detail.

I had the pleasure of meeting Fiorenza during my visit — a gentle, humble man. Born in 1944, Fiorenza began working in his father’s workshop at the age of six. Decades later, his hands still carry the memory of the sea — and a tradition that refuses to fade. In 2013, he was named one of Sicily’s Living Human Treasures. We exchanged stories of jewellery, and I told him about my training in jewellery design and making in Florence more than a decade ago.

To me, Fiorenza’s dedication speaks to the legacy of countless coral masters — most of whom remain anonymous to this day. A jeweller himself, he embodies the artistry of Trapani’s master craftsmen in coral, gold, and silver.

Here in Trapani, coral is sacred. It is storytelling. It is art.

Just a short walk from Trapani’s train station, Rossocorallo awaits visitors with its coral wonders.

This vividly sculpted lobster, seemingly crawling straight from the sea, is the work of Trapanese artisan Platimiro Fiorenza.

A boy blowing a horn amidst a Nativity scene crafted from coral by Platimiro Fiorenza.

Reference:

Giacalone, M., Novara, L., & Scandariato, D. (Eds.). (2013). Il Museo Interdisciplinare regionale Agostino Pepoli. Trapani: Associazione Amici del Museo Pepoli.