I’m still carrying the hum of New York—the quicksilver pace, the river light bouncing off glass, the way strangers become collaborators in the span of a conversation. Stepping into our booth felt like stepping into a frequency we’ve been tuning for years: Materia Colectiva finally out in the world, alive in the hands and eyes of others. It was a clear moment for collectible design, and for the world of Marcela Cure within the broader landscape of latin american collectible design.
From the first hour, there was a current. People slowed down, reached out, traced textures. Phones hovered as the vessel turned in 360—micro-striations catching light, edges revealing themselves like a quiet topography. Our resin sculptures and resin pieces seemed to hold the light in place, the kind of resin art that reveals itself gradually, detail by detail.
We were grateful for the kind nods—collectors bringing friends back, curators returning for second looks, designers sending their teams over. The best recognition, honestly, was the buzz in the air: the murmurs about weight and balance, surface and shadow, how the pieces sit in a space and in a life. New York during design week is a chorus—galleries, studios, and pop-ups threading energy through the streets—and being part of that chorus as a latin american designer and latin american artist felt both grounding and electric.
The most frequent questions circled materials and making.
What is it made of? Amber resin with rustic texture—materials chosen for both presence and longevity, often expressed as resin furniture in dialogue with architecture.
Is it heavy? Denser than it looks; the pieces are balanced to feel solid without overwhelming a room.
A small joy: our tote bags made cameo appearances all over the fair—canvas softened by use, and tucked inside, a tiny resin replica of the MC III chair, a wink to the idea of taking a piece of the booth home. Seeing them on shoulders blocks away felt like the show continuing beyond its walls.
Personally, the best part is always the people. Fellow artists who speak in material and gesture; fabricators who know exactly how a curve wants to be held; visitors who share the rooms they’re dreaming of. We traded notes on process and weight, on color temperatures and the way a chair can invite the body into stillness. There’s a kind of kinship that forms around making—quiet, practical, generous.
Now that the crates are home and the dust has settled (literally), I’m left with a sense of expansion. Materia Colectiva met the world we designed it for: rooms that hold memory; objects that are both sculpture and service; pieces that move with you even when they’re perfectly still. If you visited, thank you for the questions and the time. If you missed us, we put together images, specs, and a simple guide—send a note and we’ll share the details.
Back to the studio, then—back to light, balance, and the slow work of shaping presence. New York, you were a beautiful rhythm to keep.
