Globally recognised across digital art and contemporary design, he works at the blurred edge between virtual imagination and built space. Environments that read as dreamlike yet stand in the real world. You may know him for Hortensia, the hydrangea-inspired chair that crossed from viral digital render to collectible design object, or for his monumental Take Over series, where entire buildings appear wrapped in impossible fabric forms that test the limits of what should be physically possible.

Surfaces are controlled. Exacting. The works are ephemeral. So you might expect someone operating on that frontier to talk first about technology,  tools, or process.

HE DOESN’T

Andrés talks about feeling and about the world not as it is, but as it could be. About optimism. Desire. Permission to be your whole self. About being nurtured into creativity, channelling rather than forcing, and the need to lean toward beauty and create the worlds he wants to live inside.

I want to live in these worlds. I want to create my fantasy.

When we speak, he’s just parked after the school drop-off, calling in from Madrid, present, unhurried, thoughtful. Over the next hour, our conversation ebbs and flows the way his ideas do, associative, intuitive, returning to certain emotional states again and again: movement, instability, sensitivity, calm.
Sit with Andrés long enough and your first impressions of the work begin   to shift. The driver isn’t ambition or spectacle. It’s something deeply personal. How he feels his way through decisions, how he uses making as a way of orienting himself. A searching practice, less about outputs than understanding.

What stayed with me wasn’t the scale. It was how human the thinking behind it is.

He talks about constructing environments, yes, but also about using the act   of creation to understand himself.

That shift reframes everything, and it’s where this story really begins.

CALM FROM CHAOS

Andrés was raised in Buenos Aires, a city he describes not romantically   but structurally: unstable, fast-shifting, politically, socially and economically volatile. A place where conditions shift not across decades, but across days.

Dense. Active. Unpredictable. Always in motion. Change was not an event.   It was the atmosphere he grew up in and found his creative voice within.

“I was born in a context where everything was changing all the time,” he says. 
“I believe that gave me resilience and a way to drive creativity not from   a calm state, but from the opposite. I always try to find that state of calm from the chaos.”

NOT CONTROL. RESPONSIVENESS.

For Andrés, ideas are not meant to be protected. They are meant to be stressed, altered and tested by reality. Fixity, in his view, is a creative failure.   Creation is not execution,  it’s responsiveness. He talks about ideas needing   to stay adaptable to context, pressure and change, not fixed visions carried   intact from concept to completion.

At that point, rigidity isn’t strength, responsiveness is.

“Creation happens in the present moment,” he says. “Ideas have to adapt   as conditions shift. I don’t believe in having a vision and just executing it.   That feels from the past. Creation happens in the now and if it’s not adapting,   it becomes authority instead of an idea.”

The Take Over installation in Jeddah, Saudi Arabia, is a clear example of how this plays out. It forms part of a wider series, first conceived as viral digital works and later installed physically in different places. One of the most complex was realised in February 2024 as part of the Balad Al-Fann cultural initiative in AlBalad, a Unesco-protected historic district. Monumental pink drapery rising to roughly 17 metres.

Because of the protected status of the site, the installation could not touch   the existing building at all. Andrés’s team designed a fully independent  structural system, visually integrated and structurally separate, balancing   contemporary vision with conservation requirements.

“You must improvise within the constraints you’re given,” he says of working in conditions like these, where planning meets reality and reality always   pushes back.

He describes his work as carrying a strong feminine energy, part of his   sensibility and how he cares for what he creates. Context matters.   Installing a piece like this in Al-Balad, he notes, is not the same as installing it in Paris. Cultural context changes what is possible and how the work is received. In Jeddah, the team was initially asked to make the work white instead of pink.

Even with approvals in place, the situation shifted mid-installation.   A ministry official, unaware of prior permits, stopped the build over fears   the structure would fail under wind load. Flights out were postponed.   Engineering assumptions had to be defended in real time. Inspectors wanted parts opened to verify material claims. The wind behaviour had already been designed into the form, but trust had to be built on site, in person, not on paper.

The piece was completed at dawn. It remained in place for five months   without incident.

He tells the story without drama. For him, this is simply how the work becomes real. Once installed, it stops being only his and becomes relational, shaped by how people meet it and move around it. In Jeddah, he describes   the response as quiet but warm. “You could see it in their eyes,” he says.   In other cities, reactions are more vocal and more analytical, but all of those encounters become part of the work’s life.

INTUITION BEFORE EXPLANATION

Despite the technical sophistication associated with his work, Andrés describes his creative process in human terms rather than technical ones.   He returns again and again to intuition. Creating before understanding.   Reducing internal filters rather than refining them.

“You create without thinking, then you think,” 
he says.   “If it passes through too many filters, it’s not pure any more. It becomes only mental construction.

He speaks about this capacity as something that was nurtured, not accidental. A way of working that was supported and developed over time. 

“You create without thinking, then you think,” he says. “If it passes through too many filters, it’s not pure any more. It becomes only mental construction.”

Meaning arrives after making, not before it. Andrés often understands his own decisions only once the work exists.

That same thinking extends to his relationship with tools, including AI.  
He is notably unmystified by it. For him, new technologies sit in the same category as old ones. Instruments that require depth of relationship and familiarity.

“You need a deep relationship with whatever technology you use, primitive or new, so you can use it without thinking about using it. You’re not chasing a result. You’re following a process. The process opens new pathways.”

BEAUTY UNDER
SUSPICION

When the subject of beauty comes up, it enters the conversation as a question. I ask whether we have become culturally suspicious of it. He agrees that   something has shifted.

“Before contemporary culture, we all agreed beauty was one thing,” he says. “Then beauty became whatever was in contrast with what beauty was.”

Andrés describes a change in how creative work is often interpreted.   Beauty on its own can sometimes be met with doubt, while contrast or disruption is taken as a sign of seriousness.

“If it’s beautiful, it’s not working,” he says, describing the attitude he has observed, not his own position.

He connects that shift to commercialisation.

“There was a rebellion against beauty,” he says, “partly because beauty   is used to sell everything. But when the opposite is used to sell,   it becomes the same mechanism."

His own stance is more direct and personal.

Not as style. Not as branding. As sensibility.

He is careful not to frame this as preference or trend, but as something internal.

For me, I’ve always gravitated toward beauty.

“Each person is a channel for different energies.   My channel is tuned to this one.”

In his writing on taste, he extends the idea further:

“Beauty is ancestral. Beauty is already in the cell, in the atom, in the golden ratio of plants.”

WE DO NOT MANUFACTURE IT.
WE RECOGNISE IT.
THE HUMAN CORE.

As we wrap up, I ask Andrés what success looks like, not for the studio or the projects, but for him. He doesn’t pivot to scale, masterplan or legacy. 

He doesn’t offer a packaged answer.

He pauses.

“I would love to know,” he says.

It doesn’t come across as evasive. It’s pure. Honest. A person still in motion. Not arriving. Not declaring certainty.

“I need exploration and change to understand myself,” he says. “My work helps me understand who I am.”

Then he reduces it further.
“I create to understand.”

That line reframes everything that comes before it. The digital environments are not escapes from reality. They are ways of working through it.
 The synthetic atmospheres and engineered softness are not distance from the human condition, but approaches to it.

Even when no figures appear, the work is grounded in human inquiry. 

Built from feeling, from desire, from the search for calm inside instability, from intuition before explanation, from responsiveness instead of control.

For all the impossible forms and suspended worlds, what sits underneath the practice is simple. Making as a way of knowing. Creating as a way of becoming clearer about who you are.

For me, it was that line that brought the whole conversation into focus. 

A human practice, spoken plainly,

"I create to understand."