Click here to read the interview in the original Italian.
In Italian, before the term “lighting designers” was applied to those professionals, they were known as “light givers.” In one sense, the name literally means lighting the wick or flipping the switch, but in another sense, it implies almost divine abilities. Someone not just lighting a stage but illuminating truths, bringing the story out of the shadows.
Internationally renowned lighting designer Marco Filibeck embodies both interpretations, updating and adapting lighting for opera to expand its visual language, while also firmly establishing lighting as part of the story unfolding onstage. He has said that his approach is to have the “hands of an electrician and head of a lighting designer, which means to have the humility of wanting to learn from the bottom up.” This humility and desire to explore has been evident since the beginning of his career, when he took a step down from a successful career as a rock concert designer to join the world of opera, ballet, and theatre. He says, “It wasn't simply a professional evolution, but a true re-establishment of my relationship with light. I felt the need to explore a different, more nuanced language, where light wasn't just a tool for creating spectacular effects, but could become a narrative, poetic, and critical medium.”
He has applied this approach to productions all over the world and to guiding the mood and atmosphere for fashion shows and retail environments, most notably for Dolce & Gabbana, creating dramatic spaces showcasing clothing as art. Filibeck is also an educator, teaching courses on lighting design through the Teatro alla Scala Academy, Politecnico University and Brera Academy in Milan, and you can find his monograph for The Scenographer, here.
In this interview with Live Design, the Abbiati Prize winner discusses his long-time career at La Scala working with some of the most prestigious directors, how his father, who was a painter, influenced his philosophy, and how, in another life he would have been an art historian.
Live Design: What drew you to lighting?
Marco Filibeck: The beginning, as often happens, was by chance. It happened in the world of live shows, with an Italian rock artist who was just starting out and is now a star filling stadiums. His name was Vasco Rossi. I met him in the late 1970s and was involved in his first summer tours by his producer, who was looking for someone to handle the lighting. I found myself in the right place at the right time.
I became the lighting designer and in five years I performed over two hundred live concerts. It was a truly formative period, which gave me much more than I could have imagined. Then came the theater, and that's where another story began. I approached theater by attending a course for stage technicians at the Teatro Comunale di Bologna; it was my first step.
The transition from the world of concerts to that of opera wasn't simply a professional evolution, but a true re-establishment of my relationship with light. I felt the need to explore a different, more nuanced language, where light wasn't just a tool for creating spectacular effects, but could become a narrative, poetic, and critical medium.
Coming to theater meant starting over, both in terms of my duties and my mentality.
LD: What aspect of your training, whether formal education or on the job, do you think was the most valuable lesson?
MF: In the early stages of my career in opera and dance, all my lessons came from one place: La Scala. Here I observed the work of the greatest international directors, especially those of the Italian school, first and foremost Giorgio Strehler, Franco Zeffirelli, and Luca Ronconi. In the early days, I sought every opportunity to observe the stage from a different perspective: I hid at the back of the stalls to see what the directors saw, to better understand the relationship between light and space, between emotion and image. Light, I realized, could not simply illuminate: it had to interpret, suggest, reveal. This shift in awareness was fundamental. In the 1980s, Vannio Vanni was the lighting designer at La Scala, the greatest forerunner of today's lighting designers, a figure who represented a crucial point of reference for me. Observing his work, I learned how light could transform the perception of the stage space, amplifying the effect of the scenography. His approach was essential, rigorous, and I learned a great deal about lighting techniques from him. But all of this was just observation, reasoning about what I saw. No one ever explained anything to me.
LD: How did you become involved with La Scala?
MF: I entered a public competition for a stage electrician and was hired. I believe that from that moment on, light became a field of research, a way of thinking and building a language for the theater.
LD: The term “lighting architect” has been ascribed to you. Can you tell me what you mean by this?
MF: It's a definition attributed to me, and I accept it even though I don't think I've ever said it, but okay, we're talking about a designer. Today, it's impossible to create lights for a show without having developed a plan. In the past, it wasn't like that; there was an "artisanal" aspect that was part of the work, but it wasn't improvisation; it was something closer to research. An exploration through a new language that was emerging: light. I also want to tell you, however, that my father was a painter, and I believe my lights are always instinctively inspired by an image that has a pictorial inspiration. It's part of instinct, something that can't be "designed," tied to a sensitivity.
LD: How do you feel about changes in theatre technology since you started your career? Do you think that too much focus on technology can be a distraction?
MF: It's a topic I often discuss in my classes and one I feel is particularly relevant. Just think, until a few years ago, I worked without monitors displaying the cue parameter values, because I just wanted to focus on seeing the image I was composing. Today, however, it's impossible not to use them; it's all about speed of execution.
My summary is this: art and creativity need technology to express themselves, but at the same time, technology, in order to develop, needs to embrace the needs of designers and creatives. It's the principle of communicating vessels.
LD: One of the main changes in technology over the last few decades was the introduction of LED lights. How has this shaped your approach?
MF: New technologies have revolutionized the work of lighting designers, and therefore mine as well, radically transforming the expressive potential but also the very methods of both design and implementation. Moving heads are now an essential component of any theatrical lighting system: through the programming of numerous parameters—zoom, color, intensity, focus, etc.—they allow for a surprising variety of dynamic, rapid, and versatile solutions. Alongside these, the latest-generation consoles offer highly advanced management tools, capable of governing highly complex lighting systems with great precision and speed. For a lighting designer, these technologies are not only a means of optimizing time, but also true allies in the extremely delicate programming phase. Light sources, with the introduction of LEDs and new control standards, have also contributed to the evolution of visual language. LEDs have forced professionals to question old methodologies to enter a dimension that has transformed the way we "make light" in just a few years.
However, more technology does not necessarily mean greater quality. Indeed, sometimes an excess of resources can lead to a creative dulling, to standardized solutions, far from the true expressive need of the show. It is always the idea, the poetic vision, that must guide the technology, and not the other way around.
LD: Do you have a favorite fixture or piece of gear that you like to use? Something that you find either brings a beautiful look to a production or is reliable?
MF: If you ask me what type of fixture I prefer, I'd say those with LED sources with additive synthesis, based on the RGB system plus other colors (up to 9) like amber, light green, etc. These devices allow you to "construct" color in an extremely personalized way and offer infinite composition possibilities, unlike the CMY (subtractive) system. And then I like working a lot with color temperatures, with the white range. There are fantastic fixtures for this type of use, of great quality and precision.
I enjoy working with current technologies, to which I've adapted relatively easily, but from the past, I'll soon miss the high-power tungsten sources (5kW), pars, and low-voltage spotlights (Svoboda). These types of sources aren't yet 100% reproducible with LED sources, and so their unique characteristics will likely disappear.
LD: What is your approach when you first undertake a project? Do you take inspiration from the text/music and show up with ideas or wait to build on references from the director?
MF: The work of the theatrical lighting designer is part of a profoundly collective process, nourished by exchanges, shared insights, and intertwined visions. Light, by its nature, is never an isolated element: it exists only in relation to what it illuminates, and is defined in the space it shares with sets, costumes, bodies, sounds, and words. For this reason, the lighting designer cannot be a solitary creator, but becomes an active participant in a broader creative dialogue, in which each element contributes to the construction of the overall meaning. It is in this fertile ground that light finds its definitive form.
This relational dimension is one of the most difficult and delicate aspects of the job, requiring listening skills, flexibility, and sensitivity to understand others' needs without losing one's own design identity. In this sense, the contemporary lighting designer can also be considered an artistic mediator, capable of moving with awareness between technique and empathy, between aesthetics and narrative function.
In every production, the relationship with the director, set designer, or choreographer is crucial, but there's no single way to work together: every project has a different dynamic, every artist their own language. The first time you collaborate, you have to get to know each other, earn their respect, and find that connection that can never be taken for granted. The director has his own world, his own visual culture, his own way of storytelling. You have to listen, observe, and understand what he's really looking for. Sometimes there's no time, everything moves quickly, and if a genuine dialogue isn't sparked right away, the work can become difficult.
Ultimately, designing lighting in the theatre means participating in a choral construction, in which each choice becomes a voice in the overall story.
LD: You have worked with many acclaimed opera directors. What are some things you have learned from them?
MF: With Franco Zeffirelli, I had the honor of recreating the lighting for some of his historic productions. I particularly remember the 1963 version of Aida, with the sets painted by Lila De Nobili: each scene was a painting, the light already present in the painting, in the chiaroscuro. In those cases, my work was almost invisible; it had to accompany and respect something precious, without overlapping.
With other directors, such as Liliana Cavani or Gabriele Salvatores, I had different but equally stimulating experiences. With Liliana, whom I had long admired for her cinema, especially "The Night Porter," I worked on several productions, including the historic Traviata at La Scala, directed by Riccardo Muti. With Gabriele Salvatores, however, I remember La Gazza Ladra, (The Thieving Magpie) where a real acrobat played the magpie. To follow her with light during her acrobatics, I used an innovative follow-spot system, which allowed me to illuminate her every movement through sensors. It was a perfect example of how technology can become part of visual poetics.
And then there are the unexpected encounters, like the one with Dante Ferretti. In Japan, during a performance of La Bohème that seemed straight out of a movie, he asked me if I was related to Gilberto, my father, a painter, whom he had known since his days at the Academy in Rome. Discovering that unexpected connection gave everything a new meaning; perhaps, in that moment, I felt like I had come full circle.
In general, all directors have left me with something, some a lot, others very little, but there are always lessons to be learned. At the end of each production, I feel like I've taken a step forward. When a director tells me or asks me something I hadn't thought of, I think they're almost always right.
LD: In return, what occasions have you been able to steer a director toward something outside their comfort zone, visually?
MF: It's difficult to answer this question. I've worked on shows I didn't like, without the necessary conviction. In these cases, I try to be professional and not try to persuade the director to follow my vision. That's too complicated. Of course, I make a lot of proposals, I try to defend them, and often succeed, but only when I feel committed; otherwise, I'm just being a professional, trying to finish the job as best I can.
LD: Do you have a favorite director to work with? Why?
MF: I really enjoy working with Alex Ollè, a Catalan director who is part of the collective "La fura dels baus," a group that began in Barcelona in the 1980s with street performances and then developed its work in various directions, including, in Alex's case, opera. With him and his set designer, Alfons Flores, we've created about ten productions, all stimulating, often with radical solutions, while also researching different languages. What I like about Alex is his attempt to give a current, contemporary interpretation to the works he stages. Lighting is important with him; he knows what it can bring.
LD: What has been the biggest challenge of your career?
MF: I will talk about The Prisoner by Italian composer Luigi Dalla Piccola, which premiered in Lyon under the direction of Alex Ollè. Set designer Alfons Flores constructed a circular space, two-thirds of which was wrapped in a semicircular black tulle at the back, closed in the center by another cylindrical tulle, like a large, ethereal column. Another circular tulle closed the upper space, a closure that mirrored the shape and dimensions of the platform below. The set was technically very challenging for lighting, with very few possibilities for its source because the tulle ceiling blocked the lights from above, the central tulle cylinder, and the other tulle at the back did not allow for backlighting, nor could frontal lighting be an effective solution.
Sometimes an objectively challenging situation can prove to be an important resource for discovering new expressive languages. The overhead closure of the stage severely limited the lighting, but it was then transformed into a visual language that I believe to be very interesting. The light from the moving lights, which intercepted the ceiling tulle but traveled a shorter distance, projecting the shapes onto the floor in a smaller scale. The effect made these shapes appear as suspended luminous bodies. This condition thus became a form of visual and scenographic language that, in addition to completing the overall image, also inspired some of the story's settings.
LD: If you had to pick a favorite production that you have worked on what would it be and why?
MF: I'd say Quartett for its originality and timeless image, a contemporary opera commissioned by Teatro alla Scala from composer Luca Francesconi and inspired by Heiner Müller's play of the same name, which in turn was inspired by Choderlos de Laclos's famous Les Liaisons Dangereuses, which describes the corrupt aristocratic society before the French Revolution. There's a small room suspended in mid-air, and everything takes place there.
And then Madama Butterfly, which was the first opera I tackled as a lighting designer in Keita Asari's Japanese version and which I have subsequently reworked countless times, staged by other directors, including a version by Damiano Michieletto.
LD: I read your motto is: “Hands of an electrician and head of a lighting designer, which means to have the humility of wanting to learn from the bottom up.”
MF: Yes, exactly, it means knowing how to operate with technical skill but always guided by a broader vision, capable of understanding the profound meaning of the scenic work and of having perseverance and humility as well as a genuine aspiration.
LD: How have you stayed ahead of technology, to have “the hands of an electrician” throughout your career?
MF: I still have, if not the hands, but definitely the head of an electrician, in the sense of being able to understand the technical problems that may arise without making unrealistic requests. Yes, I attend specialized trade shows and the showrooms of various brands. Then there are my students and former students who are essential in keeping me up to date and whom I consult often.
LD: In addition to the motto, what is the most important lesson you try to instill in your students?
MF: It's about learning to look, trying to delve deeply into the images presented to us. Trying to understand the reasons behind certain lighting solutions. Watching arthouse films, preferably at the cinema, going to the theater, that is, developing one's own critical visual culture and constantly nourishing it, using terms of comparison and historical references.
And then, faced with a light we don't like, moving beyond judgment (which is useless) and always asking ourselves: what would I have done?
LD: If you had not been a lighting designer, what do you think you would have done as a career?
MF: I think I would have liked to be an art historian.
Creatives for Falstaff, Lucrezia Borgia, and La Resurrezione, pictured above.
Falstaff, Teatro alla Scala - gennaio 2025
Direttore DANIELE GATTI
Regia GIORGIO STREHLER
ripresa da MARINA BIANCHI
Scene e costumi EZIO FRIGERIO
Luci MARCO FILIBECK
Coreografia ANNA MARIA PRINA
Photo credit Virginio Levrio
Lucrezia Borgia, Teatro dell’Opera di Roma – febbraio 2025
Direttore ROBERTO ABBADO
Regia VALENTINA CARRASCO
Scene CARLES BERGA
Costumi SILVIA AYMONINO
Luci MARCO FILIBECK
Photo credit Fabrizio Sansoni
La Resurrezione - Teatro dell’Opera di Roma, Basilica di Massenzio – Luglio 2025
Direttore GEORGE PETROU
Regia ILARIA LANZINO
Scene DIRK BECKER
Costumi ANNETTE BRAUN
Luci MARCO FILIBECK
Photo credit Fabrizio Sansoni
Filibeck was born in Rome and began his career working in rock concerts. After training as a theatre technician at the Teatro Comunale, Bologna, he went on to work for Teatro alla Scala, Milan, and in 1996 became resident lighting designer.
Filibeck has worked in major theaters around the world including: Royal Opera House London, Bolschoj teather Moscow, Opera Garnier Paris, Teatro alla Scala Milan, Lincon Center New York, NHK Tokyo, Gran Teatre del Liceu Barcelona, Teatro Real Madrid, Semperoper Dresden, Deutsche Oper Berlin, NNTT Tokyo, Colon Buenos Aires.
His work lighting opera, ballet and theatre has changed the aesthetic of those disciplines and inpsired a generation of other designers. In 2018 he won the Abbiati Award for the lights of the show Hansel und Gretel by Sven Eric Bechtolf at the Teatro alla Scala.