At the same time there were other influences that reached me through different paths, more quietly but just as decisively. Magazines, in particular, became places of discovery and learning at different moments. Eye Magazine, for example, was fundamental in expanding my understanding of typography. It stopped being just a technical resource tied to text and became an expressive tool, something capable of shaping atmosphere, setting rhythm, and generating tension on the page. That’s when I realized that editorial design is not simply a support for organizing information, but a space where meaning is built, where every formal choice can shape how content is perceived, interpreted, and remembered.
Parachute, on the other hand, opened up a very different register. Its connection with contemporary art and cultural theory invited me to look from less obvious angles, to read design not only as a professional practice oriented toward solving problems but also as a form of cultural production, embedded in context and discourse. That possibility of linking the visual with the theoretical, of building bridges between seemingly distant fields, was decisive in expanding my perspective. It showed me that design can also function as a form of critical thought.
I read in a past interview that you entered the world of design not as a career you actively chose, but as something shaped by circumstance. What led you there? And how does that origin continue to shape your current work?I didn’t come to design out of passion or a clear calling. It started out of necessity. One day, someone needed help with some graphics and paid me for it. That’s how it all began. At the time I had no formal training and no clear idea of what I wanted to do. I was DJing at parties, working at a publishing house proofreading texts, and spending time on my laptop. That was my life. So after getting paid and realizing it was actually fun to help someone visualize an idea, I started learning on my own. Over time I realized that design allowed me to bring together languages that were already part of me—writing, composition, drawing—and give them structure. It became a space where I could integrate different instincts and skills I hadn’t previously seen as closely connected.
I think that origin still shows in the way I work. I don’t approach design through a strict formal system, and I’m not trying to belong to a specific discipline. I use it more as a tool to think, observe, solve, and also to ask questions. It’s a process that helps me organize ideas, not necessarily define them. I enjoy the results, but they don’t matter to me in the same way they might have at the beginning.
Your background spans poetry, typography, editorial work, and visual research. How do these elements intersect within your process, and what kind of flow brings them together in your work?I work across disciplines. These areas tend to blend naturally as I move forward. Sometimes looking at images makes me want to write. Other times, something I’ve written turns into a visual form. I don’t follow a fixed method, but I do notice a pattern: observe, reduce, take distance, look again, and decide how to continue.
Switching formats helps me think more clearly. Writing gives me structure. Graphic work gives me space to test ideas without needing to explain them. And typography lets me work with rhythm, intention, and a certain closeness or distance toward the person who will eventually see the piece. I’m interested in how a typographic decision can draw someone in or keep them out, set a tone or leave space for interpretation. Each format plays a different role, but they’re all part of the same process.