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In Italy, a network of forgotten tunnels once built for trains or wartime shelter now hums with the sound of chisels, looms, and paintbrushes. These cool, stone-lined corridors—long abandoned beneath cities and hillsides—have been reborn as underground craft workshops, run in partnership with social cooperatives and housing networks.
Unhoused individuals, many of whom once slept rough or wandered without purpose, now enter these repurposed tunnels not just for shelter, but for skill. Woodwork benches, sewing machines, pottery wheels, and recycled material stations fill the rooms. Here, people are taught to carve, weave, mend, and build—gaining both income and identity in the process.
The setting is poetic. What was once a symbol of isolation—dark, echoing tunnels—is now full of light, heat, and the rhythm of human hands creating again. Finished products are sold in small weekend markets or through ethical design platforms, and profits are often pooled back into food, accommodation, or transport stipends for the workers.
But beyond economy, these tunnels offer something deeper: routine, belonging, and a renewed sense of being useful. There’s therapy in shaping raw stone, in threading fabric, in painting old tiles into new mosaics. It’s not charity—it’s craft, co-ownership, and a second chance carved into old walls.
Italy proves that the underground need not be forgotten. It can be transformed—stone by stone, soul by soul.






