Young artisan keeps Italy’s richness alive

Elisa Nepi knows, with every stitch and soft-leather skin she touches, that she and her family are holding tight to a fast-disappearing art.

She and her father are among the few in this city who still hold the key to a family-run studio for leather craft. Every day, the two sit, with hammer or needle in hand, and pound out a living.

Italy once was known for such handmade leather goods. Today, as Chinese imports flood the market and Chinese immigrants fill factories commissioned by Prada and other designer shops, the Nepis’ small shop is a reminder of the back-alley enterprises that once thrived in Rome and Florence.

“There was time when Florence was the place for leather,” said Elisa Nepi, 31. “But then people sold all their shops to make big money. They sold those shops to strangers. . . . “That was part of Italy’s richness and it’s gone.”

The store at Via dei Chiavari 39, near the famous fruit-and-flower market of Campo dei Fiori, was born before Nepi was. Her parents, Fulvio and Simonetta, were college students in 1972, landing back home in Rome after a summer vacation on the island of Ibiza.

Wandering one day, they noticed a small olive oil store for rent for the equivalent of $40 a month. On a whim, they plunked down the money and figured that, between sociology classes and study, they could fashion themselves as leather craftsmen.

Within a few months, the young couple realized that their skill could be much more than a hobby.

Fulvio, now 57, spent his time working the natural rawhide leathers wildly popular in the 1970s and selling them on the street. He made his mark stitching what were essentially sturdy lunch-pails for Italian laborers -- bags that turned out to be popular satchels for young foreigners. Thousands of Americans who were trekking through Italy for the first time, in the breakthrough era of cheap airfares, often left with a modest Nepi original for 11,000 lira -- about $10.

The Nepis rented the one storefront and eventually bought the slightly larger one next door. Their store, named Ibiz, evolved as something akin to an extra living room for the Nepis’ two children, and a place where neighbors came to chat and passersby could buy an authentic if somewhat predictable leather bag.

Until the day that their daughter Elisa did something totally unpredictable: She failed her university entrance exam.

Suddenly, the young woman who had expected to study physical therapy -- she liked to work with her hands -- had lots of time on her hands. She turned to Ibiz with new purpose. She learned how to tramp the pedals of the store’s old sewing machine and master the finer points of stitch. (No simple task there: The 50-year-old, second-hand machine was once owned by a costume maker who stitched sandals and belts for the movie “Ben Hur.”) She also embarked on leather-buying trips with her father, who knew the best tanneries in Tuscany.

Nepi soon realized that she loved the work, but she also wondered whether she and the store had a future with leather craft.

Six years ago, Italian women wanted only designer bags. Even sales among young tourists were in decline. Nepi made a deal with her parents: She would take over the store and take on the challenge of trying to survive as a Roman artisan.

The younger Nepi wandered the fashion streets of Rome -- she still walks down and around Via del Corso every Sunday -- and noticed how women of every age relied on handbags. She thought they wanted classics and colors, modern colors that could go from day to night. Bright blue, maybe. Orange, well, why not? Details on an Ibiz handbag had to be distinctive, with bits and pieces of real handiwork, but not overwhelming. Gold chains, she said, were never an option.

The young Nepi followed her father’s first idea: good leather would always sell. But the young woman had a keener eye for what makes a high-quality Italian borsa. Supple skins only from Tuscany, which she and her father believe produce the most elegant leather in the world, were a necessity.

The storefront shop expanded into chairs -- made-to-order pieces for the discerning buyer -- even as handbags held priority. Belts, wallets and key chains were salvaged from handbag remainders. Durable cotton thread, nothing else, bound all.

“Every morning, I come in and I check the bags. I think: When people enter the store, what they see is mine,” Nepi said.

What they also see is a remarkable display of workmanship. In a city of over-the-top, Ibiz has found a way to produce handbags in brilliant hues -- yellow is a color of this summer -- and of notable quality and value.

Others have noticed. Ibiz now is part of the Japanese shoppers’ circuit and listed in top tourist guides. This year, Ibiz rates a mention by some tony American guides, including the discerning Context Travel.

When asked how long she expects the good times to last, Nepi shrugs. She can only vouch for the handbags, and those, she bets, will be around for another generation.