artist bio
When I was nineteen I left Buenos Aires for a convent in Peru because I thought God was the safest place I knew.
My family was a house of beautiful contradictions. One side Spanish-Italian, my grandfather an aviator for Franco. The other side German-Hungarian, fleeing the Nazis. Both carried silence like luggage. I grew up Catholic, conservative, full of questions nobody wanted me to ask. The church gave me what my house couldn't: quiet. I volunteered alongside Pope Francis, built houses across Latin America, loved fiercely in the only language I'd been given.
The nuns sent me home because I taught orphan girls about their own bodies. They were bleeding and no one had told them why.
That was the first time I understood: the systems that are supposed to hold us will sometimes punish us for being too alive inside them. And that the most radical thing you can do is make the invisible visible.
I didn't go home. I didn't go home for nine years. I hitchhiked boats, spun fire, performed 200 shows as a swamp witch in immersive theater, published poetry, lived in regenerative communities across Europe, and ran operations at Traditional Dream Factory in Portugal. I carry Neurofibromatosis, a condition that taught me everything I know about inhabiting yourself fully when the world keeps wanting you to shrink.
I was not lost. I was composting. Letting everything heavy break down into something fertile. That's when I found the question underneath all my work: what makes people come alive when they're together?
Not the theory. The actual feeling in a room when strangers become more than strangers. When art stops being something on a wall and becomes something that happens between bodies, between breaths. That's what I mean when I say art is a verb. And the design of that aliveness — the rituals, the governance, the stories, the intentional beauty of a well-held space — is eighty percent of the work. When you get that right, everything else follows.
Today I'm in Stockholm, rooted for the first time in a decade. I sit on the governance board at Emerge Lakefront, where I build cultural programming, shape narrative identity, and develop partnerships. I created The Elephant, a salon for uncomfortable alive conversation. I produce TEDxLakefront. I've secured the community's largest creative collaboration. I dream things up and then I build them.
Underneath all of it I am a poet, a performer, a wild child. Poetree is my ritual performance where I become tree, where the body remembers what the mind forgot. The art is not on top of the work. The art is the root system.
I grew up seeing through a very narrow lens. I cracked it open. Now I design spaces where other people get to crack theirs open too.
I create salons, cultural programming, and immersive experiences for communities, venues, and organisations. I speak, perform, produce, and facilitate. If you have a space that's ready to come alive, let's talk.
