It was only last week that I learned my friend and great Italian-German artist, Tony Stella—a man of immense generosity—has passed away. The very first thing I did was call a priest friend to ask for a novena of Masses for his soul. I say this not to boast, but to immediately highlight something that modern society stubbornly tries to hide: the soul, and eternal life.
I want to send a warm, heartfelt embrace to Tony’s wife, his parents, and his entire family. I was deeply shocked and saddened by this news, which has left me reflecting on so much. As is custom in these moments, I would like to share how I first met dear Tony and how, over time, we became friends.
A few years ago, after finishing my novel Once Upon a Time in Rome, I needed someone to design the cover. My friends urged me to draw it myself, since drawing has always been one of my passions, but I wanted a professional—someone who dedicated their life to the craft. After months of searching, I came across a poster that deeply moved me, and I wrote to its creator: Tony Stella. At the time, I hadn’t yet grasped the true stature of the artist, nor did I realize he was among the most sought-after in the world.
He replied via email almost immediately, telling me he had already worked on a drawing of my father, and we arranged a Google Meet video call. It turned into an incredible 45 minutes of profound human and artistic connection. He asked me to tell him the plot of my book, and by the end, he enthusiastically accepted the job. When I asked him for his rate, he nobly replied that he would do it as a passion project. I tried to make an offer again, but he declined—he was going to do it for free; I just had to send him some reference ideas.
About a month later, I opened my email and found his gift. The book cover was far beyond my expectations—a true masterpiece. I was moved to tears by such baffling generosity.
Over time, we exchanged countless messages on Instagram, mostly talking about the golden age of cinema and how modern films convey so little. When I went to Berlin two years ago for work, I invited Tony to lunch so I could thank him in person. What an unforgettable lunch that was. It was a joy and an absolute pleasure to speak with him face-to-face, and I witnessed firsthand the overwhelming passion this man had for the more human side of cinema. He captured its essence—an essence that, like me, he struggled to find in today’s movies, which have been “sunken by narrative templates.” A cinema that no longer takes risks and no longer knows how to speak to the human soul.
We also discussed a second project, for which he created a magnificent, historic poster that will be released at the right moment.
Thank you, Tony, for showing me your immense generosity. Sending another warm embrace to your wife, to your father—whom you spoke of often—and to your entire family.
Shine in Peace, my friend.
Manuel de Teffé