A value for craft

LS: There are two ways to approach Mexico’s present condition. First is a concept that originates from the Nahuatl language, one of the original languages of Mexico. In Nahuatl, 'Mexico' translates to 'the belly button of the moon' or 'El ombligo de la luna.' This description captures Mexico's essence as reflective of the moon's cycles, constantly revolving around the Earth and returning periodically. This, in turn, relates to Mexico's history, particularly its colonisation by the Spanish in the 16th century. Since then, Mexico has acted as a bridge between European influences and the wider world. This has led to significant cultural exchanges, contributing to various historical booms. For example, the surrealistic movement and the influx of Russian muralists before and after World War II have left lasting impacts visible in Mexico's colonial palaces and architectural heritage. When considering the essence of Mexico, it's interesting to use 'El ombligo de la luna' as a metaphor. It not only reflects the country's deep historical and cultural cycles but also its role as a crossroads of artistic and cultural movements throughout history. It seems we're currently experiencing another boom, which is fascinating.

I had the chance to live abroad for eight years in Europe, utilising my Italian passport, thanks to my dual nationality. This experience showed me a different approach to teaching, especially in Europe, where there's a renewed appreciation for artisanal methods. This revival places emphasis on craftsmanship and manufacturing, almost revering the design and production processes. In Europe, there's a strong tradition of valuing the art of making things by hand. You can trace this back to the 1980s with the prominent architects in the Netherlands and, later, the shift towards more open-source design and architecture in the 2000s. Nowadays, the focus seems to be more on the arts and crafts involved in the process. In architecture, for example, you'll notice that almost all the elements in a building are custom-made, including intricate woodwork and metalwork, often done by hand. This differs from the prefabricated construction methods, which also have a strong presence in Mexico. Many renowned Mexican architects are known for their prefabricated construction techniques, which are deeply rooted in the country's rich craftsmanship traditions. This unique blend of modern and traditional methods is why the world is increasingly paying attention to Mexico.

It's interesting to wonder whether we're in a boom period, and I share some uncertainty. A key factor could be the skilled labour force in Mexico, particularly in handicrafts and artisanship. The depth of craftsmanship in Mexico is remarkable, and it extends beyond architecture. Take, for instance, the exhibition in Madrid where Mexican artisans showcased their work. They created panels adorned with dried flowers, but the beauty lies not just in the final product. The entire process is an art form, planting, harvesting, drying, and then assembling the flowers. This lengthy and intricate process is a testament to the rich cultural heritage embedded in Mexican arts and crafts. It's also a significant aspect of architecture, highlighting the unique blend of traditional methods and contemporary design that might contribute to this potential boom. The phrase ‘being the belly button of the moon’ suggests we are at the centre of a cycle, much like the moon orbits the Earth. Even when we're asleep, we're still shining somewhere else, always observing and looking for something interesting. 

From theatre to architectural lighting

LS: I was torn between theatre and architecture just before going to the Netherlands to study. I ended up studying architecture at the Rietveld Academy in Amsterdam. During my time there, I frequently attended workshops, including ones held in France at Boisbuchet, organised by the Vitra Museum and Georges Pompidou. These workshops took place in the summers, and I often served as an assistant to various designers. One workshop I participated in was led by Ulrike Brandy, a renowned German lighting designer from Hamburg whom I consider my mentor. The "Rainbow" workshop occurred during my final year of studies in Holland, coinciding with my thesis on camera obscura and windows. It was during this workshop that I realised the light had colours. Previously, I had only worked with black-and-white imagery in my camera obscura experiments, but this experience revealed the depth of light's nuances. After the workshop, I went to work with Ulrike Brandy in Hamburg. She is well-known for her work in urban planning across Europe, collaborating with various private companies and organisations. Subsequently, I pursued a Master's degree because of my passion for lighting. I was captivated by the idea of creating space through light. This led me to study at Politécnico Di Milano, where I went deeper into the technical aspects of light. Following this, Ulrike proposed that I work with her occasionally. I established my studio in Milan in 2012 and began working for her and various lighting designers in Milan, such as Rossi-Bianchi, Ferrara-Palladino, and Murano. I started with small projects, some aimed at sustaining life in Europe and others driven by a desire for exploration, particularly in the realm of playful engagement with light.    

Returning to roots

LS: After establishing the studio in Italy for about two years and gaining valuable experience in the field, I decided to return to Mexico in 2014. This decision was primarily influenced by my strong desire to be closer to my family and contribute to my home country. I believe that by bringing back the knowledge and experiences I acquired abroad, I could make a significant impact and help enrich Mexico's creative landscape. The best approach is to arrive in a country where you are unknown and don't know anyone in the lighting field. Even if you do know some people, they are likely to be sellers of lighting fixtures, which is not my primary focus in the realm of lighting. For me, lighting is not just an object to be sold or a mere fixture. Initially, it was challenging because I already had connections in Europe and knew how to navigate the industry. However, here, things were different. My first few projects involved helping out my friends' mothers, who requested assistance with changing light bulbs in their homes. I had to explain that I wasn't there to sell them bulbs or to act as an electrician, although I would assist with the installation. Instead, I offered to provide my input on the lighting in their homes for a small fee. I would visit their homes, have a discussion about how they use the space, and address any lighting issues they were experiencing. This was my way of getting started. Another opportunity arose when the father of a friend, who is a contractor, asked me to help adapt a project from Belgium to suit the local climate. This project was for a house belonging to one of my best clients and a close friend, which led to other projects. Fortunately, my approach has been well received by clients, and I am grateful for the meaningful communication and relationships I have formed with them.

Light and architecture in ceremonial spaces

My investigation delves into natural light, encompassing not only the phenomenon of light itself but also its interaction with time, temperature, and events. I am very interested in ceremonial spaces, as we know them, at least here in Mexico, which would be the pyramids. I am particularly referring to places like Montalban, Oaxaca, and the observatory at Yagul, Tlacolula Valley. The observatory, despite its almost destructive nature, captivates me with its ability to offer a view of the sky and the passing winds, providing a unique perspective of the valley. I would want to live in that place; it’s a key spatial reference. Then, when it comes to appreciating architectural design, particularly in projects, I find myself drawn to the rationality and precision of German architecture. The way everything is meticulously arranged, from the alignment of windows to the placement of furniture, speaks to me. This thoughtful approach to design resonates with me, possibly influenced by movements like Bauhaus and the work of Dutch architects such as Henry Rietveld. Their emphasis on open spaces, rationalism, and efficient use of light and modular design has greatly influenced my own approach to design. While I have a fondness for Yagul, I also sincerely appreciate the sophistication of architecture that embodies this rationality and technological integration. This interest has even led me to investigate the role of natural light in architectural spaces, comparing different architectural styles, particularly in ceremonial spaces.

It's fascinating to reflect on how my experiences and cultural background have shaped my perspective, especially in understanding the diverse references from history and the places I've lived. Let me better explain my fascination for ceremonial spaces. I find two relevant examples: the church in the Duomo di Milano and, as I mentioned, Montalban. The Duomo di Milano features a fascinating architectural element called the Gnomone, a small aperture near the entrance in one of the roofs. Every day at noon, when the sun is at its zenith, its rays penetrate through this opening, casting light onto a specific spot on the floor marked by a copper line. The position of this sunlight changes over the months due to the sun's inclination, allowing the observers to track the progression of the zodiac and the Gregorian calendar. It's intriguing to see how such ceremonial spaces, like those in the Duomo, integrate technology to serve practical purposes, much like the rational approach seen in the Bauhaus movement. Conversely, in Montalban, the Aztecs and Zapotecs utilised camera obscuras within their pyramids to mark significant events like the solar zenith, a crucial moment for agricultural planning, occurring around May & July in regions around the 23rd parallel.

Living in different countries has enriched my understanding of various cultures, and it's evident in the way I integrate different influences into my work, whether it's controlling the performance of space, playing with light, or drawing inspiration from ceremonial spaces. These themes, such as the importance of natural light and reinterpreting cultural references in lighting architecture, are central to my approach. They serve as foundations for conceptualising and executing projects, blending practical considerations with artistic expression. 

Four dimensions of light

LS: I can divide this into four aspects of light: intensity, direction, colour, and time. Intensity refers to how bright the light is. Direction is where it's coming from: east, west, etc; and this matters whether it's from the ceiling, floor, or wall. Colour is another factor. Then there's time, which relates to the geographical situation. For instance, in Mexico City, 2200 meters above sea level, there's no snow, so we don't get the light reflected off the ground like in snowy places. Instead, we had a lake, but it's gone now. An interesting example is how they made a big change in the Netherlands by turning the Northern Sea into a lake. This altered the light because the lake's water evaporates differently than the salty seawater. This change affected the ambience and how the sun reflected off the water, which is interesting.

The investigation of our surroundings and our context is a central theme for me, especially regarding natural light. Natural light is ubiquitous, shaping every environment, even at night with stars or in enclosed spaces like cellars, which still exist within the broader context of the world. This cyclical element of natural light influences the passage of time and seasons and the rituals and celebrations within these spaces. Humans have long adapted to and shaped their habitats in response to natural elements like light, seeking protection and comfort from the sun, the night, wind, and cold. These adaptations have given rise to cultural customs and habits intricately intertwined with our environments. Understanding natural light reflects a deeper understanding of our connection to the world around us. Different cultures and religions celebrate lights. For example, some cultures celebrate the 21st of December, which is the longest night in the Northern Hemisphere. Then, there's the equinox in spring, marking the beginning of flowering. Various religions have their ways of celebrating their gods, and we've made spaces for these celebrations. We even celebrate mornings by having breakfast, giving our bodies energy with food. Sometimes, we create spaces for praising and such. It's like a cycle: do our habits create the spaces we inhabit, or do the spaces shape our habits?

Enhancing architectural intentions

LS: Architecture is widely recognised as a collaborative endeavour, and I’m thrilled to have the opportunity to work alongside various architects. This collaboration allows me to learn from them, which is vital. Ultimately, my role isn’t just about adding light; it’s about interpreting their architectural vision and intentions and then expressing these through my unique perspective. As I often say, a lighting designer acts as the visual editor of a space. It’s akin to editing a book where the architect is the author, deeply knowledgeable about its content. In this analogy, the graphic designer is responsible for the visual presentation, selecting the appropriate paper type and layout to showcase the content best. The architect has a clear vision of the imagery and understands the best way to convey it, sometimes even choosing simpler materials due to budget constraints. As lighting designers, it’s our job to understand the choices made by the architect and the client and integrate them into our work. In expressing my investigation, which I don't view as solitary, I'd like to highlight the project I developed together with Materia as a prime example. This project, situated in an underground space devoid of natural light, presented a unique challenge. We aimed to align our proposal with the architect's vision, avoiding the temptation to impose additional elements. For instance, rather than inundating the space with spotlights typical of a showroom, we sought to emulate the desired ambience of natural light. This approach ensured adequate illumination for both spatial perception and storytelling. Our collaboration with the architect was characterised by mutual respect; there was no desire for protagonism on either side. Instead, we aimed to translate the architect's intentions into reality faithfully. Another case in point involves the work of Alberto Kalach, particularly a gallery in Atlanta. Kalach’s architectural approach here, though seemingly straightforward, is intricate. He uses concrete, prefabricated elements, and wooden beams to craft distinct levels within the space. The interplay of these materials and the spatial volumes they create is a testament to his mastery. In terms of lighting, our challenge was to enhance these spaces while preserving the raw beauty of the materials without allowing the light to overpower them. It wasn’t just about efficiency in lighting; it was about the thoughtful placement and integration of the electrical system. We designed a flexible system of electrical points that is future-proofed to accommodate more sophisticated, budget-permitting fixtures. We’ve opted for basic luminaires that mirror the exterior ones, which were constrained by the client’s budget then. The electrical tubing is intentionally visible, aligning with the building’s simplistic architectural style. This not only simplifies maintenance but also offers a complete control system.

In both cases, controlling light is essential. We focus on direction, intensity, colour, and time. Natural light changes throughout the day, but we can control these aspects with artificial lighting. This control helps us change the light's appearance and perception. In both the gallery and showroom projects, we use a control system for minor adjustments in lighting. In the gallery, this means different light highlights in the space. In the showroom, the light changes subtly throughout the day, like clouds passing, even without natural skylights or windows.

Shaping spaces with natural light

LS: I am enthusiastic about my teaching activity. I run a workshop at Centro, a private university, where I teach a four-day course on natural light for creating light receptors. This workshop is for students from various disciplines, not just architecture. It helps them understand natural light's qualities and apply them differently. Each workshop is different but shares the same goal of teaching the diverse qualities of natural light. The workshop focuses on appreciating natural light, like understanding where the sun rises on your birthday, its angle when you wake up, and how it enters your window. Besides teaching, I always hope that clients will not call me to install luminaires in their projects but to create  space through lighting. It's about more than just adding fixtures and controls. It's about collaborating with architects to shape the space itself. In my mind, I dream of being called to craft a space entirely through light. This differs from someone like Harry Rietveld, who began with furniture design and eventually moved on to creating spaces. We're not just placing lights or bulbs; it's a collaborative effort with the architect. It's important to emphasise that it's not just me creating these spaces. It's a joint creation. Interestingly, photographers often get more credit than lighting designers, even though lighting designers and architects together shape the space that photographers capture. In the end, I'm not the sole creator of these spaces. We work alongside architects, choosing specific types of lamps and bulbs to take some burden off them. Architecture isn't a one-person job; it requires a team to lighten the architect's load, allowing them to direct the project like a symphony effectively.