Where Education Meets Practice

The transition from my final years as a student to my early years as a professional was shaped by the public university, moving from student to teacher while simultaneously working and organising my own practice. I studied at the Faculty of Architecture, Design, and Urbanism at the University of Buenos Aires, where I was fortunate to learn from renowned professors such as Justo Solsona, Miguel Ángel Roca, Berardo Dujovne, and Freddy Garay, among other great masters of Argentine architecture.

I remember that period with great affection—it was many years of intense learning, which I thoroughly enjoyed. It gave me lifelong friends and a deep love for FADU, making it my second home. A defining moment came during my fourth year when a professor told me, "Look, if you don’t get involved in public works, you won’t fully understand how things happen in a broader sense." That comment made me think. So, I started working for the Province of Buenos Aires, taking part in ProMeBa (Programa de Mejoramiento de Barrios – Neighborhood Improvement Program), where I collaborated with local cooperatives to improve basic infrastructure, such as sidewalks. One particularly interesting aspect was that local residents were the ones building the sidewalks they themselves would walk on, fostering a sense of ownership and a much stronger connection to the built environment. They took care of it differently. This hands-on experience underscored the significant impact architecture can have on community life. Later, I joined the Department of Public Works and Services of the Municipality of General San Martín, where we designed health centres, cultural spaces, parks, commercial renovations, public transport shelters, and even an industrial sector spanning several hectares. It was a period of intense production and learning, particularly in managing large-scale projects that brought meaningful community changes.

While this work provided me with valuable practical experience, I felt the need to deepen my theoretical understanding of urban design and planning. To achieve this, I enrolled in a postgraduate program in Urban Project at CEPU (Carrera de Especialización en Proyecto Urbano), directed by Berardo Dujovne, Jorge Iribarne, and Jorge Cortiñas. I thoroughly enjoyed this specialisation. When the coursework ended, I was invited to join the teaching team, marking the beginning of my academic career. I also taught Urban Project alongside Jorge Iribarne in the final year of the program for the PLAN B Chair, directed by Mario Boscoboinik.

Practicing Architecture

The ability to navigate both the most practical and direct aspects, as well as the more abstract and theoretical ones, defines my practice and operates on multiple levels. Moving quickly from one extreme to the other creates a flow that leaves a sort of contrail, from which the idea of "diffuse" emerges—a concept I associate with the ability to transition rapidly from one side of the practice to the other. Inside those diffuse contrails, created not only when transitioning from the concrete to the abstract, but also from the local to the international, from open-ended programs to specific uses, and from the analog to the digital, is where I find the resources for each project.

Looking back to my early days, I remember the experience of building models with balsa wood. That’s something that, in a way, no longer happens. While nowadays almost everything is done digitally, I try to ensure that my models retain that analog construction logic, even from an aesthetic standpoint. I was trained by professors who perhaps didn’t use AutoCAD, and today we have AI applications that generate images in seconds. I went through all those phases during my education, and all that process sticks with you—all that information stays in your head. That’s why I think it’s great to be able to combine the best of both systems.

In the digital realm, changes and modifications are much easier to make, allowing you to explore many more possibilities than you could with a physical model, due to its own construction logic and the time each model takes.

On the local-international side, the idea of fully opening up to thinking about projects in other latitudes emerged while I was stuck at home during the pandemic, with the conviction to overcome that condition and think beyond—to shift my perspective from there. I believe that’s when the concept of 'floating parks' over the Hudson River came about, driven by a strong desire to be in that imagined space. At the same time, I was also creating other images, such as the quarantine bubble—a small room, a mini space where the bed merges with the kitchen and a living area with a very particular rug, all within just a few square meters. I was simultaneously moving from the vast and open to the most intimate space. That project of our quarantine 'micro' spaces focused on very specific functions.

In contrast, many of my more recent projects have a much more open program, with uses that are suggested rather than imposed. Particularly in the “Pavilions in the Park”, the program is intentionally open to allow for better public appropriation. In these pavilions, which can be called “habitable devices”, their location is somewhat diffuse. There are prototypes that work for a specific landscape, but with minor updates, they can also work for other landscapes.

All of this contributes to the idea of the DIFFUSE CONTRAIL in a holistic way, almost like a design methodology. I approach each project in different ways; that’s why the boundaries of a project are diffuse—it is not entirely clear where research ends and the actual project begins. I often use the term "WIP" (work in progress) to refer to my images and projects. Each project is a link in a larger series, and together they form a broader project idea that embodies the beauty of the unfinished. I continue to view it as a collective learning experience in architecture. That would be my definition of practice: PRACTICING ARCHITECTURE.

Early Inspirations and Influences

I started at 15, doing graphic design, signs, and logo designs. I've always felt drawn to art. In fact, my first job was at a graphic design studio with architect Roberto García Balza. With them, I won a competition for the corporate identity of 'AySA' (Agua y Saneamiento de Argentina, the national public water supply and sanitation service). Its logo features a small distinctive 'wave' on its “A” letter, like a kind of ripple, which is also found above our letter 'ñ,' so characteristic of our Spanish language. We translated this into the horizontal stroke of the letter 'A.' Replacing it with that soft undulation was an idea I developed alongside Roberto García Balza and Marcela González, and we believe it contributed to winning the competition. Paradoxically, my most recent projects also feature water as the protagonist, although the 'habitable devices for a floodable park' approach it from a strictly architectural and landscape perspective, rather than a graphic or iconic one.

While I was a student, I had the opportunity to be part of the organisation of the Buenos Aires International Architecture Biennial, thanks to Prof. Jorge Glusberg. This allowed me the pleasure of meeting in person architects I admire, such as Sou Fujimoto, Alberto Campo Baeza, and César Pelli, among others. I even had the unimagined experience of congratulating Peter Zumthor in person when he received his Pritzker Prize in Buenos Aires. Today, all of them are important references in my professional journey.

Lessons from Spontaneous Structures

I find a lot of inspiration in traveling through our own territory. It often happens when I’m on the road, looking at all those vernacular or 'spontaneous' structures and constructions that you see along the side of the way. I think it is important to let ourselves be surprised by those objects and then try to replicate that authenticity of the native. At times, those objects may seem somewhat run-down, but they are deeply connected to the intense use of something that serves a very clear and noble purpose, built with local materials, local technology, and a method honed through years of experience. Many of my projects stem from the idea of giving a kind of 'second chance' to these types of constructions. This is where the project 'Habitat for a Rural Environment' comes from. It’s based on creating a liveable space within an old brick structure, with all its imperfections and singularity, upon which rests a light, white, smooth box.

As a child, my family and I spent many summers traveling through Patagonia. When we visited southern Chile—Puerto Montt, Isla de Chiloé, Castro—I came across the Palafitos, a distinctive type of construction that left a lasting impression on me, both for the craftsmanship of the local artisans and builders in their use of wood, and for their location over bodies of water. The Palafitos are a frequent topic of conversation in my family whenever we see issues in cities related to river management. The “devices for a floodable park” revisit these topics

Interplay of Form and Function

In relation to what we've been discussing, I'm interested in transitions—the passage from one state to another—and the diffuse trail left as a mark of that movement. In the specific case of the "Habitable Devices in a Floodable Park," it was key to consider their function during both low and high water levels. The title of one of the works, Forest Pier, reflects this concept. The element itself invites you to step onto an optical and sensory apparatus that, from its semicircular base, allows you to rediscover a familiar landscape in an unexpected way. Ascending, turning, moving, and returning to the starting point, you experience nature in a different light. The design concept aimed to intentionally create a sense of estrangement, enabling one to view something familiar from a new perspective. I developed a long series of devices based on specific functions that gradually colonise the park. These structures operate on the logic that their water levels can shift. As a result, they can serve as spaces in greenery or spaces in water, ensuring seamless navigation of the park. This change in water level is not a problem but provides a second horizon—both symbolically and in terms of function.

The research into 'stilted' structures (Palafitos) is also evident in many other projects. For example, Blue Cabins and the Lookout Pavilion are part of a series of triangular devices, which have many variations. The form of the Lookout Pavilion emerged from these, inspired by cabins resting on the beach or by the river in a coastal setting. It began as part of the same series, using the same shape, creating a family from that form. It’s a kind of exploration of a pure shape that seeks its place, updating itself according to both the conditions of the territory on one side and the program on the other.

At other times, the approach is to work with opposing elements within the same project. For example, in the House in Pinamar, there’s a solid, opaque base, while the upper level is fully glazed—a complete lookout. In this house, the exploration was more industrial, aiming to position the structure "dramatically," creating an entirely blind side wall that contrasts with the upper block, which is light, transparent, and glazed—a lookout. As part of this interplay, elements from everyday life come into the picture. It felt important not only to research materials and structure but also to consider the whole context, understanding that these "industrialised" elements coexist well with daily life.

That’s how, for instance, a little boat being repaired makes an appearance, or how the surrounding greenery plays a significant role. I’m always careful to let the greenery remain somewhat uncontrolled so that all these themes can come together, allowing us to talk about a house, rather than just a collection of loose design elements. Once again, the constant is not setting limits, allowing myself to explore the full range of possibilities the project has to offer.

Complementing Activities: Education, Exhibitions, and Crafting

During the pandemic, I conducted a graphic-editorial experiment exploring how cities could be reimagined during this time, using Jan Gehl’s Cities for People as a foundation. The idea was to consider how we could transform urban realities within our means. The visible aspect of this project is the graphic “intervention” on Gehl’s book cover, which was reworked into Cities for the Pandemic: Debating the Future of Cities and Urban Density After the Pandemic. Although I am currently on a break from teaching, I remain closely connected, particularly with people from FADU, UBA – the public university.

On the exhibitions front, I am participating in the First Biennial of Architecture, Territory, and Landscape of Northeastern Argentina, held in Corrientes. This newly established International Biennial took place from September 5th to 7th 2024. The exhibition will continue to rotate as part of the Biennial’s showcase, involving various architecture associations and universities in its organisation.

From a material standpoint, I come from a family with a long tradition in manufacturing high-performance openings for architectural projects. Since 2007, I have co-directed ABERCOM, which has provided me with solid expertise in the materialisation of facades and large glass panels, elements that feature prominently in many of my projects. This expertise stems from professional craftsmanship—a trade—rather than simply an aspirational reference. When I sketch profiles with narrow sections and large glass panels, I have a deep understanding of the complexities involved and how to practically resolve them. In all the windows seen in my projects, there is both a conceptual pursuit of the act of seeing and a constructive approach to how these ideas are realised.