BEAUTY IS A MEASURE OF ECOLOGICAL INTELLIGENCE

Yesterday, in a moment of terrible and thrilling weakness, I purchased a pair of leather loafers online. They’re gorgeous. I’d been eyeing them for ages, allowing them to sit idle in my virtual shopping cart for weeks. It took a moment, a flash of plastic, and they became mine.

While I may know their style and size, I do not know the unique personality of the dear cow whose hide I will soon wear. I do not know the texture of the earth that was beaten beneath her hoofs, nor the quality of the grasses that informed her palate. I do not know whether the water she drank was sweet. I did not hear the sounds she made with her final breath and I do not personally identify with the 40.7 kilos of carbon dioxide equivalent that now slice through the air on behalf of those shoes. The complex universe of their leather material prior to the shoes arrival on my doorstep is, and will remain, a complete mystery to me. 

They will arrive in three to five business days. I will wear them and eventually discard them. 

In pursuit of beauty and fulfilment, there is a certain violence inherent in the way globalized Western society both practices consumption and relates to the materials it consumes. It is not the intimate violence of a hunt—a familiar relationship between hunter and hunted, between one conscious being and another—it is the systematic and insatiable violence born from disconnection. Mediated by a technocapitalist matrix, the materials that we consume, inhabit, and rely on possess an other-worldly quality. They are of an unknown, or at least an un-felt, origin. We live and breathe without a connection to their vibrancy. We flash more plastic and collect more boxes.

As global climate emergency looms and modern ways of life continue to reveal themselves as ecologically detrimental, I spoke to some of the world’s most innovative designers who are returning to the fertile earth in search of more sustainable materials solutions. Through their bio-inspired work, they are putting us in touch with the elemental and the essential. As Native American scholar Robin Wall Kimmerer notes in her bestselling book Braiding Sweetgrass: Indigenous Wisdom, Scientific Knowledge, and the Teachings of Plants, “True to the circle of time, science and technology are starting to catch up with Native science by… looking to nature for models of design, by the architects of biomimicry.” 
Far from simply replicating the patterns of leopard spots or zebra stripes, biomimicry goes beyond the aesthetic. Jun Kamei is one such biomimetic designer and founder of the material innovation start-up Amphibio Ltd. Drawing inspiration from the respiratory processes of air-breathing diving insects and spiders, Amphibio is actively developing an artificial gill garment that will allow humans to breathe underwater for significantly longer periods of time by as early as 2025. In addition to realising many of our childhood dreams, Amphibio is addressing a very real concern: how humanity will adapt to rising sea levels around the world. In the coming decades, as waves begin to break against our shores and waters submerge our sidewalks, Amphibio’s Amphigill exists as model design technology that harnesses and leverages biological processes to bring humans into better alignment with a rapidly evolving global landscape.

While the Amphigill is an example of innovation geared towards adapting to a particular (and very wet) dystopian future, it is equally critical to design for utopian, sustainable futures in which human beings live in harmonious symbiosis with nature. Getting to the root of the matter, so to speak, eco-fashion designer Paula Ulargui Escalona cultivates an idealised relation between plants and humans with her Siamese Skins (2020-ongoing) project. By growing living plants in fabrics and allowing them to be worn as garments, Escalona offers “a direct connection between two organic bodies of different species.” Rather than adapting to a dystopian future, she is designing for the future she wants to see. Disillusioned by the lack of sustainability in the fashion industry and haunted by the prospect of a climate-ravaged future, Escalona seeks to “grow and work in collaboration with nature to convey the huge source of wisdom that it can provide us.” While she is constantly trying to improve her technique and allow her garments to stay alive for longer periods of time, Escalona emphasises that she will only do so in a way that respects these fabrics as living entities, rather than as objects solely intended for human consumption. With this conceptual shift, she strives to combat the “linear way of living, producing, and creating that is rupturing the planet’s natural equilibrium. Every time we try to learn from nature,” she continues, “or try to create things that can be part of it, we’re going to improve.”

Escalona’s recognition of the wisdom inherent in organic processes and the interspecies intimacy forged by Siamese Skins align with Kimmerer’s distillation of the Indigenous world view: “The ecosystem is not a machine, but a community of sovereign beings, subjects rather than objects.” Against the ruthless objectification and exploitation of nature born from the Western notion that man was given dominion over nature by the Christian God, this perspective recognises the vitality inherent in all our material relations. In this constellation, as in Siamese Skins, materials literally breathe.

To infuse the Western relationship to nature with this kind of respect is to upend the cultural foundation of modernity. Marco Poletto, co-founder and director of the architecture and design innovation firm ecoLogicStudio, locates this relational shift in the current post-humanist moment and finds in it tremendous potential. By moving humans away from centre stage, he explains that a more complex and nuanced network of generative relationships can emerge. Rather than seeing this as an existential or ontological demotion for human beings, Poletto regards this turn with genuine excitement and asks, “How do we make sense of these relationships so that we can effectively establish positive change rather than disruptive change?” 

Among ecoLogicStudio’s varied responses to this question is its Otrivin Air Lab (2022), which transforms the nebulous filth of air pollution into a sustainable biomaterial. Forging a new and virtuous relationship with photosynthetic microalgae, the urban lab harnesses their organic power to develop biodegradable polymers from the by-product of the air purification process. The resulting polymers, which span different jewel tones depending on the variety of active algae, are then transformed into 3D-printed, carbon-neutral products. The circularity inherent in this process draws upon the particular prowess of microalgae, which belongs to a set of life—algae, cyanobacteria, mycelium—that “typically grows in the dark or polluted corners of the city and is seen by many as either disgusting or problematic,” Poletto explains. “We should really begin to see waste, pollution, all those discarded bits of urban life, as resources. We should begin to see them as raw material for building something new.” 

Dutch designer Maartje Dros of the Klarenbeek & Dros design studio similarly notes the significance of the post-human turn in design and the development of biomaterials: “We are not alone, we are connected to our surroundings and other organisms; we are connected to the air, the water, and the plants that surround us.” With her partner Eric Klarenbeek, she developed a bioplastic from algae that can be used as a polymer for 3D printing. She emphasises the critical aspect of context and locality in their practice, because it implies and renders tangible the ethical compulsion towards responsibility. It is in this context that she sees 3D printing as a remarkable and potentially radically democratic development, since it allows production to be more “precise and personalised.” By allowing for more agency over the specifications of the objects we consume, 3D printing offers the opportunity to better incorporate sustainable biomaterials into our daily lives. 

Discussions relating to new technologies like 3D printing in the context of sustainability often devolve into contentious debates on the role of new technologies in addressing the climate crisis at large. The rigid technology/nature and machine/organism binaries employed in globalised Western culture suggest that if one is virtuous, then the other must be vicious. In reality, technology is simply a tool that can be leveraged for various ends. Despite and perhaps because of this fact, we cannot technologise our way out of the ongoing environmental emergency. A global cultural movement is also necessary to ensure that green values and circular systems become pillars of human existence. The interventions discussed in this essay do not content themselves as mere technological solutions, all involve a socio-cultural aspect that reminds us that we are part of a wider, enmeshed relationship with the ecosystems around us, and which urge us to think more critically about the role we play in shaping the future. 

Consequently, the combination of responsibility and humility that informs these designers’ works recalls Kimmerer’s observation that “it takes humility to learn from other species.” To admit that human beings have much to learn from non-human entities is to acknowledge the damage caused by the anthropocentric perspective inherent to so much of globalised Western society today. Rather than remain faithful to problematic and antiquated binaries (human/nature, sentient/non-sentient, machine/organism), it is time to adapt and draw upon the innate wisdom of integrated and holistic ecosystems that see human beings as just another facet of a sprawling fractal. In her seminal work A Cyborg Manifesto, Donna Haraway wrote that “our best machines are made of sunshine.” While she wasn’t in the midst of an illuminating discourse on biology, I’ve always read that phrase as a stand-alone assertion: the most sacred and elevated processes in this universe spring from natural coils. They are organic—or, at the very least, they approximate the organic. In the void left by modernity and its many failures, the earth itself emerges as a teacher. In recounting a creation myth from the Anishinaabe tribe, Kimmerer describes the first man Nanabozho’s recognition of the “Original Instructions”: “all the knowledge he needed in order to live was present in the land. His role was not to control or change the world as a human, but to learn from the world how to be human.” 

While such post-humanist lessons coupled with the ascent of biomaterials may be prompting more sustainable design and production processes, the consumption side of the equation remains an open question. It is not for lack of public awareness that high-emissions consumption trends remain worryingly consistent. Indeed, it would take an awful lot for anyone plugged into globalised society to remain ignorant of the climate crisis. It follows that rational reasoning may be insufficient to incite genuine change. Icelandic designer Valdís Steinarsdóttir believes that “design becomes exciting when it has something to say and provokes emotions. It is a misuse of a great platform not to draw attention to urgent matters and try to find solutions to societal problems. Environmental issues are always the main impulse for my work.” Her sustainability-focused designs make a point of tapping into the affective register and stimulating visceral reactions from the public. Among her projects are Just Bones (2021), which produces a strong biomaterial from ground-up animal bones, and Bioplastic Skin (2021), a biodegradable meat packaging made out of animal skin. These designs take the detritus of industrial practices—all those aspects that are so blissfully forgotten—and repurpose it towards sustainable ends, while reminding consumers about the violence inherent in existing consumption practices. 

By incorporating ethical and affective dimensions into her work, Steinarsdóttir aligns with Kimmerer’s wider understanding of virtuous material practice: “By using materials as if they were a gift, and returning that gift through worthy use, we find balance. I think that goes by many names: Respect. Reciprocity. All Our Relations.” Entering into a respectful relation with the various forms of life and ecosystems around us demands a revaluation of our consumption habits. From an alienated sense of entitlement to a grounded sense of appreciation, every material we encounter can be re-read as a gift emerging from a pulsing web of life. Waste, then, takes on a different timbre. Another of Steinarsdóttir’s projects, Shape.Repeat (2021) creates garments from an organic liquid material that is then moulded and dried into a pliable two-dimensional shape. Scaling up her efforts to replace unsustainable synthetic materials with those created using her innovative, waste-free technique, Steinarsdóttir has teamed up with the Icelandic outdoor fashion label 66° North with a view towards efficiently producing raincoats with zero waste. 

While consumption habits have a long way to go before they become even somewhat compatible with the preservation of global ecosystems, sustainable biomaterials have been slowly entering the mainstream market. The ascent of material solutions companies like Bolt Threads indicates that it is possible to effectively scale up biomaterial production. Partnering with established brands like Adidas, Kering, lululemon, and Stella McCartney, Bolt Threads has brought Mylo, its mycelium-based material, to a global audience. Approximating the supple and luxurious feel of animal leather, Mylo is marketed as “everything you love about leather, without everything you don’t.” The core of this pitch is noteworthy and extends to all corners of the budding universe of biomaterials: ethics and quality can exist in harmony. 

Maartje Dros is one-half of Dutch design duo Klarenbeek and Dros. Together with Eric Klarenbeek, Dros is revolutionising the world of bio-design with the development of bioplastic created from algae and seaweed. Their background in design and 3D printing exposed them to the persistent environmental issue of plastic, and their projects focus on producing materials for a more sustainable future. 

hube: What’s your personal story and professional background? When you began, what motivated your creative and scientific research? 

Maartje Dros: Both Eric [Klarenbeek] and I have been collaborating since 2005, after we graduated from the design academy, in Eindhoven in the Netherlands. We come from the same background—both of us attended a design school that focused not only in design, in the sense of object making, but also encouraged us to broaden our view of a product, its users, and the bigger story behind it. I graduated in the department of public space and social design, while Eric focused more on technology, identity, and robotics. He questioned the context of the human being and what it meant to live in our surroundings. We began to collaborate more frequently because, of course, social design and public space design were already focused on connecting people, shared spaces, connecting different experts in the field, setting up networks, and providing new contexts with innovative materials. As I said, Eric was very interested in robotics, 3D printing, and we realised we were experimenting a lot at home—we brought our 3D printer everywhere! During a field trip to India, Eric met communities that were recycling plastics and witnessed not only where our plastics end up, but also how these used plastics were being stored on the roofs of houses, processed by families with kids in private homes. And this experience made us want to start researching alternatives and looking into better materials. Later, while collaborating with the mushroom group of Wageningen University in the Netherlands , we developed structures for vertical farming where we could utilise 3D-printing methods. And when we started to use wood fibres in these printing elements, we saw better results when the mushroom and object collaborated as a symbiosis between product and biology. The outcome was a chair, an archetype within the design culture that not only reflects the potential of this methodology but also acts as proof of the concept. We wanted to say, “Look, we can actually merge growth with production to create circular production and products.”

I think the most important thing in our work is that we are designers, as this gives us the freedom to cross borders. We can just look on the other side of the fence and bring back what we think is interesting—or usable. So when we brought this knowledge inside our studios, the same equipment and tools, we started experimenting and ‘combining’ with what we had learned. It also meant that we had access to microscopes and a cleanroom, and were able to work with very delicate material and microorganisms. This way, we came into closer contact with biologists and others working and developing sea-farming—which was helpful because we were investigating how and if we could compensate land-use for production—and came to understand that we can utilise the North Sea. This exploration is gradually becoming a reality, and we can find the first footsteps in growing seaweed at sea. Within the next 10 years, we’ll definitely see much more sea farming in the Netherlands; more windmill parks will rise, having the potential to be bases for seaweed farming, also acting as breeding places for fish, bringing more diversity, more nutrients. For us, we thought the chance to use the fibers and waste material for a filament to print with would be interesting. We started to cultivate seaweed and began to make filaments.

h: What are the risks of borrowing ideas from nature to implement them in design and architecture? 

MD: We’ve learned from the past that when we have a great idea, it can go the right way, or it can go the wrong way. And, sometimes, we’re maybe too enthusiastic with new ideas. We come from a human-centric point of view on the world and are moving to a much more diverse and inclusive way of looking at the world—of looking at the circular solutions, and going for regenerative outcomes. We need to understand the idea of ‘multispecies’: we are not alone, we are connected to our surroundings; that we are connected to other organisms, that we are connected to the elements and the plants. That’s very important to recognise. This focus on locality is very important, it holds us to a higher standard of responsibility. When there’s a monopoly on products, or on certain systems or infrastructures, it’s out of our hands, and we cannot control it anymore. It helps to understand that we only occupy and only have ideas for a fragment of the whole continuity of time and space! 

h: Can you please elucidate your vision of ‘3D printing as a decentralised economy’?

MD: 3D printing is often compared with, for instance, injection moulding, or large-scale production of any kind of utensil. And by using 3D printing, there is potential to have smaller scale production, so we can produce less but with more variety and personalised items. When looking at injection moulding, we see a singular object being replicated multiple times. Usually, it only makes sense to buy the moulds, which cost at least €50,000 to produce maybe fifty-thousand or one-hundred-thousand items that look the same. We then have to distribute this item, because if you don’t, it’s not economically viable. But with 3D printing, we can be satisfied with just a series of 10 or 300, which is suitable for a small village, an exhibition or a festival, meaning overall we end up using far less material and energy, and have more sustainable items. It also makes sense that 3D printing is not only connected with the location in which things are produced, but with a digital platform. You can have a design from another place or another machine, but the materials you use are local, they are nearby. Printing in 3D can work more as a mesh network rather than only maintaining a space in several larger hubs. 

h: Recently, you’ve converted algae into glass. What other  technologies and biomaterials are you working with, and what do you have planned?

MD: We just finished a new exhibition [It’s Our F***ing Backyard] at theStedelijk Museum Amsterdam, where we showed our latest algae-based hand blown objects. We used different kinds of algae that housed a glass shield, which in the future can be grown and farmed. For this project we collaborated with scientists from the Royal Netherlands Institute for Sea Research who helped us with the artificial production of algae, and with the Vrij Glas Foundation for the blowing of  diatom glass [a material made from glasslike algae]. Also, we connected with Swarovski, who are able to print with glass. We initiated this project because we discovered that there is a lack of biomaterials meant for bathrooms and kitchens that can resist heat or water because many biobased materials degrade over time. So, we found it important to look further than biopolymers. By cultivating glass, it might be that, in the future, glass is the solution for circular bathroom and kitchen building materials. We are extending the projects on seaweed under the name Weedware, and are now scaling up, expanding on our home lab and production facility. This is the next step I see us working towards in order to achieve greater production. 

Founded by Italian architects Marco Poletto and Claudia Pasquero, the London-based practice ecoLogicStudio blends urbanization with organic bacterial life. Poletto discusses his changing perceptions of how a city can be defined and his hopes for a harmonized coexistence between the urban sprawl of humanity and the microbacteria that we often shun in the name of misplaced ‘hygiene’. 

hube: What’s your personal story and professional background? And when you started out, what motivated your creative and scientific research? 

Marco Poletto: Essentially, we started the practice here in London, in 2005. This is where we moved when we started to study architecture. Before engaging with architecture closely, we were based in Turin which is in the north of Italy, where we had the opportunity to study in the Polytechnic University mixing engineering, architecture and urban planning. You may know Turin as an industrial city or the city of car manufacturing but it was also the first capital of Italy. So, it’s a city that has a lot of unique architectural examples from the baroque period. We have definitely been influenced by these cultural contexts; driven by innovation and engineering but also having strong emphasis on design. And, of course, the artistic expression of the baroque period, which is so present in Turin. I would say our background has a direct connection with the philosophy world, in our work critical thinking will always be of great importance. Once we moved to London, we really started to engage with French philosophers like Pierre-Félix Guattari and, more recently, Bruno Latour. The convergence between technology and design, and technology and art, and the relative thinking about the role of technology in our society, has always been a part of our lineage. 

h: Do you identify as scientists, artists, or architects? Is one of these labels more substantial to your vision?

MP: It’s very important to understand that today, much like you suggest, there is a complete blurring of the boundaries between these disciplines, because technology is converging with life science and the digital realm is converging with the living realm. Artificial intelligence on one side, biotechnology on the other, where life stops, natural versus artificial, it’s all so difficult to trace. But, in attending the Architectural Association’s School of Architecture, we grew up around a certain school of thought, one that was experimental and had an international outlook. Even since the 1980s and 1990s, the school has been influenced by computer scientists, philosophers, and thinkers of all kinds. So, it’s always been operating in those terms. Since becoming a part of the Bartlett School of Architecture at UCL and moving to the technology campus, Here East, our research, and our cultural contribution obviously now exists within the realm of architecture and urban design, because academically, we are growing in those disciplines. These ideas of intelligence, of sustainability, and ecology manifest themselves in the urban realm through the world that we inhabit and appreciate. So, you know, in that sense, you could argue that architecture and urban design is our field. But then again, when we practice, when we deal with logistics, and when we write, we find ourselves in different positions, in different contexts. And so, it doesn’t really matter, to be honest! I don’t feel like we have to define ourselves. We might call ourselves design innovators sometimes, just to encompass everything, but some of our work is more artistic, or more technologically driven; some work is more urban or more product design based. 

h: What are the risks with borrowing ideas from nature to implement them in design and architecture? 

MP: There are, of course, very disruptive energies and forces that come from certain types of innovations, but personally, I think that’s a positive thing. I believe that our society is at a crossroads. When you are on the verge of greater changes and bigger transitions, I think risk is inevitable. Personally, I think that the real risk is the one that we will face if we don’t acknowledge the potential of technological change. If we don’t make use of every bit of knowledge that we have to reframe and to better understand our place on this Earth, the planet—nature, whatever you want to call it—will continue to exist for several billion years, as far as we know, but it is not guaranteed that we will be a part of it. So, when I hear about the need to save the planet, I think that there is a misplaced anthropocentrism. I think people still think that we are the ones in charge but we are not. We are just one part of a very complex network of relationships that now include artificial forms of intelligence and of life. I think it’s so important that we understand how these relationships can work. How do we design? How do we make sense of these relationships so that we can effectively establish positive conversations and positive change rather than a disruptive one? Change cannot be stopped. Yet, the changes we are witnessing are quite disruptive, not only to our society but to our wellbeing. So really, that’s the main concern. I’m not someone that thinks robotisation, automation, artificial intelligence will be evil and that there is an innate danger there. It’s the way we adopt them, the way we engage or interact with these technologies that will define whether they will be positive forces—or not. Unfortunately, now, the industry that is pushing this technology out in the world is doing it within a model that is quite destructive of life.  If you look at the way these technologies are applied or developed, they are used for control, or for extracting as much as we can from the world.  I think that the real challenge will be to change this point of view. 

h: You are experimenting with artificial intelligence and digital technologies, and have previously mentioned that bio-intelligence can form part of the current digital revolution. But how so? And what is your vision for bio-digital architecture?

MP: I think architecture is traditionally understood as the immobile science; the science that develops buildings or infrastructures that don’t change, that are very stable. And one thing that we are now learning is that architecture as well as cities are, in fact, living systems, they’re organisms, which are made of many, many layers, they are very complex, and therefore they are in a way out of our control. Theoretically, they should be studied as if they were living systems. We should really be highlighting the urbansphere as another layer of life on Earth. Once we’re more able to engage with the artificial world and understand its dynamic cycles, then, of course, we will realise that all the living systems, such as plants, animals, and cells are indeed a part of this process too. We can then begin to envision a truly sustainable, self-regulating, self-sufficient city in the future, but we need to actually design these processes in a way that can support the expanding life within them. Across our work, we have engaged a lot with the microbiome specialists, cyanobacteria like microalgae, and these organisms are already part of the city, they are within the rivers, ponds, and sewage in our cities. The point is that they could do so much more for us if we were able to design them and envision them as part of the architecture, as part of the spaces we occupy. They can convert what we expel as waste or pollution into raw material, into food, into nutritious substances to support life in the city. Progressing forward, we should look at designing cities, systems, and infrastructures that enable us to coexist with these organisms. We’ll be able to move beyond the current understanding of architecture as a kind of inert study of immobile space made up of stones, bricks, concrete, and glass, and really embrace it as a new chapter in life sciences. Hopefully, allowing us to inhabit this planet for much longer!

h: Your studio creates new aesthetic standards and visual languages that merge science, technology, and design. For many people, these visual codes are something they are yet to get used to, and it seems like you are already occupying two worlds: both the present and the future. Does this affect your perception of reality or perhaps modern ethics? 

MP: We live in a bubble. I think my life is a bubble! I’m lucky that we live in Hackney, which is a very dynamic, multicultural, and diverse corner of the city. We still have the privilege of experiencing the nuances of urban life, but culturally, we have created a strong aesthetic discourse. What’s interesting is that the modern movement was so focused on the idea of sanitizing cities, using technology to create healthy cities and moving away from Victorian London’s industrial legacy. One of the downsides of this modernised style of architecture was that it promoted a sanitised vision of nature itself. So, when we talk about green architecture or sustainable architecture, we tend to envision clean, beautiful, shiny surfaces with trees and plants; everything is perfect. Unfortunately, this is not the way nature or ecological systems actually work. We know very well that on one side, there is life, growth, and on the other side, there is death and dissolution. These aspects, which are not ‘green,’ per se, have a completely different type of aesthetic but are still fundamental to the circularity of ecological systems and processes. I think that one of the key elements that we try to promote in our discourse is that the ecoLogic city, or sustainable city of the future, cannot be a green rendering or a green image. It needs to embrace all these aspects of life, something that Timothy Morton calls the ‘dark side of ecology’. When it comes to design and architecture, this includes waste pollution, waste material, the discarded bits of the city, that in reality, we should begin to see as resources, as a kind of raw material for building something new. And the same goes for nature. Once again, microalgae, mycelium, slime moulds, these systems that typically grow in the dark or polluted corners of the city, seen by many as disgusting or problematic, or an underbelly of the city that we don’t want to see… In my opinion, this is a problem, culturally, perceptually, because this sanitised, almost mechanical, understanding of nature that we have developed is problematic. It restricts our ability to really imagine new ways of inhabiting and living in our cities and on this planet. Some projects are more provocative, whereas other projects simply aim to highlight how certain organic systems possess their own beauty, a quality that is often overlooked; we use aesthetics in different ways. This is a very important tool, and one that we have to use to evolve faster culturally, to try to overcome a legacy of modernity that, in fact, often simplifies our understanding of living systems, to the point that they become kind of mechanical or robotic.

Paula Ulargui Escalona fuses her love for fashion and creation with her belief in a sustainable future. This creative vision was exhibited by none other than fashion powerhouse LOEWE in their Spring 23 collection, in which beautiful garments were enhanced by living flora embellishments that were tended to and cared for by Escalona herself. The Spanish bio-designer’s living garments represent her idea of a fashion industry that lives and works in tandem with the natural world. 

hube: Do you identify as a scientist, artist, or designer? 

Paula Ulargui Escalona: That’s very hard! It’s a bit of everything, and I would also suggest the role of an artisan, because there’s a lot of detailed work and intricacy required, along with all the patience. So, of course, I’m an artist, but I’d also like to say that I’m honing my skills more professionally as a researcher and investigator of textiles and fabrics.  

h: What was the biggest motivation behind your creative and scientific research? Was your childhood and education important? 

PUE: I’m dyslexic and, since I was little, my parents always tried to find a new way of education through creativity. I studied in a Waldorf school and the concept behind this type of schooling is a focus on the needs and skills of each student. There were lots of classes such as art and design and the school placed a lot of importance on developing a creative mindset in every field, not just art. When I was 15 years old, I decided for myself that I wanted to attend a particular boarding school. The school was founded by a philosopher called [Jiddu] Krishnamurti and it truly changed me completely. I grew so much while I was studying there. It’s where I learnt my values—how to grow within them and what I wanted to do with my future. I always wanted to do something related to art and fashion, but it wasn’t until then that I developed my skill set. I had a small crisis because, while I wanted to study fashion, all the values that I had learnt and developed were contrary to the fashion industry. After finishing school, I didn’t know where to go, because I was afraid of entering an industry that I was hesitant of becoming a part of. But once I started fashion school, I felt encouraged to take my own path. I wanted to focus on sustainability, and my main goal was investigating fabric and pushing forward the message of sustainability within fashion. So sustainability was the biggest motivation behind my creations.

h: How long can your garments ‘live’? And is it possible to wear them in everyday life?

PUE: The garments are produced with living plants, so they can live as long as you take care of them. That’s the concept behind these creations, to respect and take care of nature. There are some garments that I have kept alive for months. On the other hand, right now, I’m trying to find a way to preserve the plants for longer periods of time. This [goes a little] against the main intention of these fabrics, but I will always try to find a balance between my creations and the respect for nature that I always try to communicate.

h: What are the risks of borrowing ideas from nature to implement them in fashion? 

PUE: Nature is very intelligent, it works in perfect equilibrium and circularity. We  humans are the ones who created this linear way of living and producing that is damaging the ecosystem. For this reason, borrowing ideas from nature, and being inspired by how it works, can never be a wrong thing to do, we should practise it more often.

h: You’re experimenting with different kinds of seeds, plants, biomaterials, and living organisms. Apart from microgreens, which other living beings are capable of residing on clothes? Are you already experimenting with something else? Or do you have such plans for future projects?

PUE: There are lots of new fields that I am studying. I’m passionate about this concept of creating with nature, so every time I find out something about new species or agricultural techniques, I have to go in-depth and try it. I hope I will be able to release new projects soon.

h: You often collaborate with European brands but do you plan to work with people from other parts of the world? And do you have any intention of working with indigenous communities?

PUE: I would love to, but it just hasn’t happened yet. Obviously, it would be a very fascinating project, and I’d be keen to do that. As mentioned, the main goal is to become a more sustainable society with a deep connection with nature. In this, indigenous communities have a lot to teach us.

h: Do you have any projects connected to artificial intelligence and virtual reality? Could you use these technologies in your creative practice?

PUE: I don´t have any project related but it is not because I’m against it. In fact, I think all these new technologies could help us create new parameters/realities of how we produce and how we consume that could be a bit healthier for the planet. I do work with digital design technologies, they bring you many opportunities in terms of creativity and design. However, I believe we must be very careful as they can also lead us to a slightly ‘synthetic world’. Virtual reality and the metaverse, for example, take us to a fake world, when in my case, what I believe we lack is [the ability] to be more present in the world we are already in—this earth, touching the ground, the grass, etc.

h: Today, designers and brands are inspired by progress in tech, virtual reality, and the seemingly unlimited opportunities they can offer. Since you’re seeking to establish and revive a connection with nature, you seem at odds with the industry, like a separation from nature. Do you feel supported?

PUE: I think there are two movements growing very fast within the fashion industry. The first one is, without a doubt, the new technologies, but the second is the need [to transform]  this industry into a more innovative and sustainable one—an urgent reality. This is where I feel I participate and I’m grateful for how supported I have felt. In the end, if what I do is something that people weren’t interested in, I wouldn’t have had the opportunity to collaborate with a big brand such as Loewe so there [must be] a clear interest. However, I also believe these two movements are very connected. New technologies are also helping scientists and brands to investigate new material and ways of producing garments, investigations that will lead this change in the industry.