About

There are about six thousand recognized living languages in the world. And more that are still waiting for recognition. Linguists say that from 50% to 90% of them will disappear by 2100.

My Grandmother Language is an archive fueled by anger. That angry feeling of having no one to talk with in the language you were born into. A museum for words that have no country.

We’re interviewing six thousand witnesses of six thousand languages. We ask them the same question: If your language died tomorrow and you could keep only one word, what word would it be?

We ask our witnesses to explain their words to us, using their own language. We take a sheet and we split it in half. While the witnesses speak, Diana draws the word on one half of the sheet. Then, the witnesses draw the word on the other half of the sheet. Finally, we put the two halves together. This is the symbol of the word.

My Grandmother Language also lives as a theatre performance. Here’s a brief excerpt of its text:

Last year my grandma died. She was the only person I spoke Emilian with. She died on May 13, 2025, in the hospital in Scandiano. My grandma was born and died in Scandiano. My grandma’s mother was born and died in Scandiano. My grandma’s grandmother was born and died in Scandiano. They were all born speaking Emilian and died speaking Emilian.

A few years before, I asked her: Grandma, if tomorrow Emilian died and you could save only one word, which word would it be? She didn’t understand the question. Just imagine, starting tomorrow you can’t speak Emilian anymore. Never again. But you get to keep one word. Just one word. Which word would you choose?

She said: I don’t know. It’s a game, Grandma. Pick a word. What’s your favorite word in Emilian? Mamma. She told me she would save the word mamma.

No, you have to save a word in Emilian, not Italian. Fine, she said, then I’ll save ‘mama’.

But what’s the point of saving ‘mama’? ‘Mama’ is basically the same as in Italian, what difference does it make if ‘mama’ disappears, there’s still ‘mamma’, it’s the same thing, right? Right?

The next day she came to me and said she wanted to save ‘posta dla vernaia’ which is that thing the hay cae down from, back when she was little, and she helped her dad feed the cows. That’s a unique word, she said. Happy now?

First of all, ‘posta dla vernaia’ isn’t one word, it’s three. So you cheated. And besides, nobody has a ‘posta dla vernaia’ at home. It doesn’t exist. What’s the point of saving a word if the thing it describes doesn’t exist anymore?