My story in Patagonia began before I did.

 

In 1902, my Boer ancestors settled in this southern land, drawn by distance, silence, and the promise of a life built by one’s own hands. That inheritance of resilience, craft, and belonging continues to shape how I see the world.

 

I come from a place where identity is formed by wind, vastness, silence, and ancestral roots. My name carries Mapuche origins — speaking of womanhood, pride, and a profound bond with the land — and I believe my work reflects this understanding.

 

Trained as an interpreter, I understand design as an act of interpretation. Through the turns of life, what began as a personal passion evolved into my profession. My path has grown from lived experience rather than imposed trends or globalized aesthetics, guided by deep commitment and authenticity. I treasure what cannot be replicated. I value spaces that carry soul. I explore how art inhabits interiors — never imposed, always invited. Nature enters subtly, through texture, light, and the quiet rhythm of what remains unsaid.

 

A guest arriving in Patagonia is not searching merely for luxury or comfort. They arrive seeking something more elusive: the feeling of inhabiting a place that could exist nowhere else — a place that tells its own story. They seek silence, yes, but also meaning. Rest, not as escape, but as a return to what is essential. They embrace what exists only here — and what remains within you long after you have packed and returned home.

 

What remains is a subtle shift — a recalibration of time, of attention, of what truly matters. Patagonia lingers as a feeling rather than a memory: in the way silence is heard, in the way materials are touched, in the renewed value of what is simple and real. My role is to hold space for that transformation — to host with honesty, to design with restraint, and to allow the land, the craft, and the atmosphere to do what they do best: stay with you, quietly, long after you have gone.

 

Because true places do not impress.

They remain.​​