I grew up in the Venezuelan Andes. The weather was perfect, the people beautiful, and life carried a certain ease I didn’t fully appreciate until I left. I studied architecture at Universidad de los Andes and graduated at twenty, then promptly decided I needed a challenge and moved to the University of Melbourne, as far away as I could imagine going.

Back in Venezuela, I joined Universidad Central as part of the early Caracas Urban Think Tank — generative, optimistic work shaped by the complexities of the city. Then a failed coup and the temporary closure of the university redirected me to San Francisco, where my brother Marco was living.

The city, still deflated from the burst of the first dot-com bubble, was artistic and danceable. I wasn’t thinking much about career or ambition. I felt liberated: from academia, from expectations, from family structures, from gender expectations, even from driving a car. I was a young immigrant artist in a place where that was, genuinely, a good thing.

My first job was among my oldest companions: books. At William Stout Architectural Books, I spent my days reading while paying the bills. It became an informal continuation of my education.

Years later, my friend George invited me into McCalman Co., my entry point into the design world. I fell into typography studies, photoshoots, screen layouts, and eventually discovered my real interest: mapping systems and translating ideas across people, projects, and organizations.

In 2014, I founded The Absurdist International, an art collective using digital media to explore collective existential questions. In 2016, we presented Machines for Absurd Living at StoreFrontLab.

Around the same time, I joined the fourth floor at 1211 Folsom Street, home to Public Architecture — first as Artist in Residence, later coordinating the 1+ Program, and eventually serving as Interim Director during the organization’s final years.

That period also marked the beginning of SuperWorks, a collaborative practice that evolved through many forms over the years. Looking back, I can see it as a series of iterations — some expansive, some difficult, all necessary.

Over time, I began noticing a pattern: the projects that succeeded most deeply were rarely defined by aesthetics alone. The common thread was clarity. Strategy. Alignment between people, systems, and intention.

That realization brought me back to school: Design Thinking at Stanford GSB and Human-Centered Systems Thinking through IDEO U. I learned to separate ideas from assumptions, prototype for insight rather than validation, and map complexity to better understand where meaningful change is actually possible.

Gradually, my work shifted from making things look right to helping organizations function with greater coherence, participation, and purpose.

These days, I think often about the idea of a “soft truth” — not as a branding strategy, but as a way of approaching work and change itself. The belief that meaningful things rarely arrive fully formed or fully announced. They emerge through attention, iteration, listening, and the willingness to remain open to what is still becoming.

That philosophy continues to shape my practice today: interdisciplinary work across brand strategy, systems thinking, facilitation, and organizational clarity for mission-driven organizations, cultural institutions, civic initiatives, and values-driven businesses.

I now live among oaks, madrones, and manzanita trees on a hillside north of San Francisco, on the unceded ancestral lands of the Coast Miwok people.

Gracias por leer, y hasta pronto.