Objects Are Never Neutral: The Story Behind My Design Philosophy.

For years, I realized that before drawing a single line, I always asked myself the same question: how can an object, even in a small way, improve the everyday experience of the person who lives with it? The answer led me to observe nature, to abstract its principles, and to translate them through geometry.

I believe objects are never neutral.

We live surrounded by them and, even if we stop noticing them, they remain a part of our lives. They greet us every morning, accompany us when we work, rest, or eat. They inhabit our spaces and, over time, also our memories.

Many times, we think memories live only in people, but they also endure in objects. We all have at least one object we return to without thinking: a favorite mug, a chair we always sit in, a lamp we turn on every night, or a mate gourd that has been with us for years.

With time, they stop being just objects. They become part of our rituals.

I still keep the mate that was with me during the pandemic. It's the same one I used every afternoon on the balcony with my dog. I also keep other objects that remind me of my two dogs and my little bird, who are no longer with me.

That's when I began to ask myself something I still try to answer with every project:

How can an object, even in a small way, improve the everyday experience of the person who lives with it?

Objects stay with us for years. That's why I believe design has a responsibility that goes beyond functionality.

It's not enough for an object to work.

It also has to consider how it will accompany the person who will live with it every day.

Over time, I understood that I don't keep those objects for what they are, but for everything they represent. They are memories made tangible—a proof that objects can preserve what we love most, even when we can no longer hug them.

That makes me think that objects transcend their function. Over time, they stop being just objects and become silent witnesses to our story.

This is one of the reasons I believe design carries a responsibility.

It's not enough for an object to function. It must also consider how it will accompany the person who will live with it, sometimes for years.

I believe beauty is not a luxury.

It is a silent necessity.

Not because it solves our problems, but because it changes the way we inhabit the world.

We need to live surrounded by objects that make us feel good in the places where we live.

A cared-for space transmits calm. A well-designed object can transform the experience of an everyday routine.

Objects don't change our lives overnight, but they change small moments. And small moments end up shaping our lives.

There are many things beyond our control. Life rarely follows the path we imagine. However, there is one place where we can make choices: our home.

We can choose how we want to inhabit it. Which objects will accompany us? What we understand as beauty. What shapes, materials, and colors bring us calm? Little by little, these choices end up creating a space that speaks about who we are and that, as soon as we cross the door, makes us feel at home.

Perhaps that's why, since I was little, I felt the need to create. I had toys, but many times I preferred to make my own. I loved imagining something that didn't exist yet and building it with my own hands.

It wasn't just the desire to make something new; it was the need to create something that felt mine, something that represented me. Without knowing it, I was already discovering that creating was my way of relating to the world. Over time, I understood that I wasn't just trying to make a toy. I was seeking to surround myself with objects I could identify with.

Years later, I found Industrial Design. It wasn't the beginning of that need. It was giving it a name.

Over the years, I discovered that what most sparked my curiosity was nature.

Not only because of its beauty, but because behind every shape there is logic.

When I look at a butterfly, I don't just think about its wings. I think about the transformation it represents, the balance of its proportions, and how a structure can communicate fragility and strength at the same time.

When I observe a snail shell, I don't just see a spiral. I wonder what makes it still recognizable when all details disappear. What remains when we remove color, texture, or scale?

I don't observe nature to copy it.

I observe it to learn from it.

It has spent millions of years solving problems of balance, adaptation, growth, and transformation.

I'm not interested in reproducing its forms. I want to discover the principles that make them possible.

That's where my process begins: observing, researching, interpreting, refining, choosing, and translating.

It's often said that abstraction is about simplifying. I don't feel that way.

Abstraction is not about removing. It's about choosing.

It's about deciding what keeps the essence of an idea.

I don't want an object to be a replica of what I see. I want it to keep what makes it recognizable, even when it no longer looks like the original.

Abstraction is my way of translating an idea, keeping only what I consider essential.

And geometry is the language I found to do it.

I don't use it as a style.

I use it because it helps me discover relationships.

Geometry allows me to reveal proportions, rhythms, tensions, and balances that often remain hidden behind appearances. I don't see circles, triangles, or lines as isolated figures. I see them as words in a language I can use to translate what I observe in nature.

Every project is a translation.

And every translation involves interpretation.

It will never be a copy.

It will always be a new way to express the same idea.

I believe every object deserves to have been thoughtfully designed.

Not because it has to reinvent everything we know, but because there should be a conscious decision behind every form. Even the smallest details count.

When I design, I try to imagine what it will be like to live with that object in five or ten years. What place will it have in a home? What rituals will it accompany? What memories will it evoke?

I'm interested in creating objects that last—not only because they are durable, but because people want to keep living with them.

I aspire to create objects that accompany.

Objects that create a pause in the middle of the routine.

Objects that remind us that beauty also belongs to everyday life.

I don't understand beauty as an excess of decoration or as a trend.

I see it as what improves our daily experience.

That makes us enjoy the place we live in a little more.

And invites us to look more closely.

Maybe that's the task of design.

Not to change the world overnight.

But to transform, even just a little, the way we inhabit it each day.

Objects are never neutral.