Ask an Author with Laura Morelli

I am always looking for a book I can get lost in. I love the feeling of being so caught up in a book that everything else melts away and it’s just me and the story.

One of the things that is almost guaranteed to give me those feelings is a compelling story set in a beautiful place, and that is exactly what Laura Morelli’s The Keeper of Lost Art is. She kindly agreed to speak with me for Ask an Author, and I so glad she did because I think you’re really going to enjoy this one!

1. Can you tell us a little bit about where the idea for The Keeper of Lost Art came from?

The Keeper of Lost Art emerged from the deep research I did for my previous novel, The Last Masterpiece. While researching the evacuation of Florence's art treasures during World War II, I discovered the incredible true story of the privately owned villa at Montegufoni, where Botticelli's Primavera was hidden.

The facts alone are astounding—more than 250 masterpieces stacked against the walls of a quiet villa, German soldiers requisitioning that same space, plus hundreds of refugees sheltering in the wine cellar. But what really captured my imagination was the human dimension of this story, particularly how ordinary people experienced these extraordinary circumstances.

During my research in Italy, I had the privilege of meeting the grandchildren of the humble family who guarded these priceless masterpieces during the war. Walking through those rooms, I began to see these events through the eyes of a child who wouldn't necessarily grasp the historical significance of what was happening but would feel everything intensely.

Around the same time, I read Iris Origo's extraordinary diary, War in Val d'Orcia, which documents her experience sheltering refugee children from northern Italian cities on her estate in Tuscany. The details of daily life—continuing to plant and harvest, trying to maintain some normalcy for these displaced children, navigating the complex loyalties of wartime Italy—provided a rich backdrop for what would become Stella's world.

The character of Stella simply appeared one day, fully formed in my imagination—a girl caught between childhood and adulthood, between city and countryside, between her lost parents and her newfound family. Through her eyes, I could explore both the mundane realities of wartime life and the extraordinary circumstances of living alongside some of humanity's greatest artistic achievements.

2. One of the things I find so interesting about the history of art during World War 2 is the lengths to which people would go to save these incredible works of culture. Did you find any unique or surprising ways that the masterpieces from the Uffizi Galleries—or any other institutions—were hidden from looting?

Oh yes! The efforts to protect art during World War II were truly extraordinary. In Florence alone, art officials evacuated thousands of priceless works in just a matter of weeks, distributing them across some 39 different hiding places throughout Tuscany. What struck me most was how these hiding places were often the most unassuming locations—private villas, farmhouses, monasteries, wine cellars, and even train tunnels.

One of the most surprising methods I discovered was the incredible brick "beehive" structure built around Michelangelo's David at the Accademia Gallery. Since the 17-foot marble sculpture was too fragile to move, they hired masons to completely encase it in a protective brick tower. The photographs of this structure around the sculpture are surreal.

The resourcefulness of these art professionals was remarkable. At the Uffizi, they made careful decisions about which works could travel and had to be protected in place. They sandbagged monuments, churches, and historic bridges that couldn't be moved—though sadly, this protection wasn't enough to save most of Florence's bridges when the Germans destroyed all but the Ponte Vecchio during their retreat in 1944.

What I find most moving is how ordinary people became guardians of extraordinary treasures. At Montegufoni, the real-life inspiration for Santa Lucia in my novel, Guido Masti was a humble driver who suddenly found himself responsible for hundreds of masterpieces, including Botticelli's Primavera. He was paid just a handful of lire per day for this tremendous responsibility, working with his brother-in-law to provide 24-hour surveillance. When German soldiers requisitioned the villa and even suggested burning the paintings, Masti cleverly distracted them with choice bottles from the villa's wine cellar while secretly sending his daughters to safety.

3. I want to be sure to ask about your decision to focus The Keeper of Lost Art on Stella, a young girl, and Sandro, a refugee child who shelters in Stella’s family villa. Why did you decide to write about these two children, and what do you hope readers will learn from the bond that Stella and Sandro share in this book?

In my previous historical novels, I've written about art professionals—curators, conservators, or artists—people who already had an appreciation for art and understood its significance. With The Keeper of Lost Art, I wanted to do something different. I was drawn to the idea of exploring how a masterpiece like Botticelli's Primavera might appear through the eyes of someone who had no prior knowledge or experience with art.

There's something uniquely powerful about that adolescent phase when we're trying to make sense of both ourselves and the wider world—it's the perfect moment for art to become transformative. For Stella, discovering Botticelli's Primavera coincides with her awakening to adult complexities. As she learns to look deeper at the painting—to see beyond its surface beauty to its layers of meaning—she's simultaneously developing the capacity to understand the complicated adults around her, the ambiguities of war, and her own identity.

Sandro's character emerged as a natural counterpoint to Stella. With his artistic talent but failing vision, he represents another way of seeing—one that relies less on physical sight and more on emotional and intuitive understanding. The bond between these children forms across boundaries of experience, origin, and perspective, showing how art can create connections even in the most divided times.

I hope readers will take away several things from Stella and Sandro's relationship. First, that art isn't just for experts or scholars—it can speak deeply to anyone who approaches it with openness. Second, that during times of darkness—whether war or our current crises—art can provide solace, perspective, and hope. And that the greatest acts of courage sometimes come from the most unexpected people!

4. Not only is Italy the setting for your wonderful books, you’ve also lived there! How do you think that level of familiarity with the country and its culture has influenced you as a writer? Are there challenges to writing about a place you know so well?

Italy is where I go to fill my creative well. It’s a country with so many incredible “surface attractions,” yet having lived, studied, and worked there, I feel fortunate to be able to quickly immerse myself instead in its daily rhythms. When developing fictional characters and specific settings, this immersion into the details of mundane life is so helpful.

For The Keeper of Lost Art, I spent time in the countryside southwest of Florence, walking the same paths my characters would have walked, observing how the landscape changes throughout the year, and talking with people whose families lived through the war in these locations. When researching at the Uffizi archives, I could look out the same windows where the art officials once contemplated how to save the gallery's treasures, and read their hastily prepared handwritten inventories.

Getting things done in Italy is all about knowing people who know people. I’ve been fortunate to get access to places and information that I would never have found unless someone showed it to me. Italians are incredibly generous. During my research trips, I've been invited into homes where people share family stories, show me documents and photographs preserved for generations, or reveal some surprising, jaw-dropping detail that would never appear in a book or academic article.

There's always the danger of over-romanticizing a place that so many people around the world love. Italy can be a complicated, frustrating place. I try to show both the beauty and the complexities of Italian life, especially during the fractured loyalties of the war years. Ultimately, my goal is to transport readers to Italy—not just the picture-postcard version, but the living, breathing place with all its contradictions, challenges, and enduring beauty.

5. One of the things I really admire about you is that not only are you a talented author, you also hold a PhD in Art History and teach as well. Can you tell us a little bit about your courses?

Thank you! Teaching art history remains one of my greatest joys. I've been teaching for more than 30 years now, and I'm still as excited about it as when I first started. After years of teaching in traditional university settings both in the U.S. and Italy, I now teach exclusively online.

Art history is about beautiful objects, of course, but mostly, it’s about stories and people. My approach to teaching art history focuses on storytelling above all. Beneath every great work of art lies a fascinating story—about the artist, the patron, the historical moment, or the subsequent adventures of the artwork itself. These stories make art accessible and relevant to everyone, not just specialists.

These stories are what drew me to art history in the first place—and I’m not alone! I have a diversity of online students from teenage homeschoolers to retirees in their nineties, from dozens of countries around the world. Some are preparing for trips to Italy; others are art enthusiasts who don’t have the opportunity to travel. Great art speaks across boundaries of time, place, and background.

For me, teaching and writing are complementary passions. The research I do for my courses often sparks ideas for my novels, and the storytelling techniques I use in my fiction inform how I present art history to my students. At heart, both endeavors are about connecting people with the incredible stories of art history in ways that feel relevant and meaningful.

I share invitations to my courses in my Tuesday newsletter; sign up at lauramorelli.com/subscribe.

6. I can never resist a book recommendation, so I want to be sure to ask what you’ve recently read that you want more people to know about.

I have tremendous respect for novelists who can write a well-paced story with beautiful literary language and sensory detail that sink you into a historical time and place. Some of my favorite historical fiction authors include Geraldine Brooks, Ken Follett, Anthony Doerr, Tracy Chevalier, and Maggie O'Farrell. I recently re-read Karen Maitland’s The Plague Charmer, set in fourteenth-century England. It’s my kind of book—dark and immersive and full of sensory elements. The sounds, smells, tastes, and sights of plague-stricken medieval villages may make some readers’ toes curl, but I felt I was there! That’s the magic of a great historical writer.

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Laura Morelli holds a Ph.D. in art history from Yale University and is an award-winning, USA Today bestselling historical novelist. Laura has taught college students in the U.S. and in Italy. She has covered art and authentic travel for TED-Ed, National Geographic Traveler, Italy Magazine, CNN Radio, and other media. Laura is the author of the popular Authentic Arts guidebook series that includes Made in Italy. Her historical novels, including The Night Portrait, The Gondola Maker, and The Last Masterpiece, bring the stories of art history to life. You can find out more about Laura’s books at https://lauramorelli.com/.