TALKS WITH AMALIA PUGA - PROXECTO BOLINA

Designer Amalia Puga opens the doors of her studio in A Guarda, where she has found the raw material to build her own language.

Her work stems from a dialogue with the redeiras, women who have been weaving, repairing, and caring for fishing nets for generations. Together with them, Amalia transforms this artisanal knowledge into contemporary pieces that speak of memory, territory, and the future, demonstrating that innovating can also mean returning to the origin.

On the occasion of La Lonja, a collection inspired by sea trades and the beauty of fishing ports, we spoke with Amalia about the value of doing things slowly, the importance of local production, and the role of design as a tool to preserve stories that deserve to continue being told.

The Atlantic Ocean runs through your work. What part of that landscape stays with you when you design?

I think what stays with me most is the way the sea orders life in a town like A Guarda. It's not just a visual landscape, but also a way of understanding time, materials, trades, and community. Growing up in a place so connected to the sea made me observe, from a young age, that everything had a history, a function, and a second possibility.

When I design, I am accompanied by that memory of the port, of the nets, of the ropes, of hands working, and of materials that return from the sea laden with use. I am very interested in the idea of transforming something that has already lived, without erasing its origin. That's why, in my pieces, I try to make the Atlantic appear not only as aesthetic inspiration, but as a real presence: in the materials, in the techniques, in the knots, and in the stories behind each object.

Nets are designed to withstand, to last. How do you think that idea interacts with how we understand objects today?

Nets have a very different logic than many contemporary objects. They are designed to withstand tension, salt, movement, weight, and the passage of time. They are not born of fragility or immediacy, but of resistance and repair. For me, this way of understanding the material directly aligns with a current need: to create meaningful objects again, durable and with a more conscious relationship with what we consume.

Today, we live surrounded by objects that are often produced quickly, used little, and easily replaced. In contrast, working with reclaimed nets and in a handcrafted way allows me to give a second life not only to a material, but to a fishing community and a tradition. Nets are materials that have already served a purpose at sea and, when transformed, do not lose their memory, but acquire a new one. I am interested in my pieces precisely inviting this: to view objects not as something disposable, but as something that can accompany us, age with us, and continue to tell a story.

At Naguisa, we talk a lot about hands, time, and process. What value do you think there is in doing things slowly today?

Doing things slowly today has enormous, almost radical, value. At a time when everything seems geared towards producing more and faster, working at a slower pace allows us to regain attention, care, and connection with what is being created. For me, time is not just part of the process, but one of the invisible materials of each piece.

When something is handmade, every gesture matters. There are decisions, mistakes, adjustments, and small imperfections that make the object unique. This slowness doesn't mean a lack of innovation; quite the opposite: it allows for better thinking, respects the rhythms of those who produce, and gives value to techniques that cannot be accelerated without losing their essence. I believe that respecting the rhythm of handmade items is essential today: towards the material, towards the craft, towards the people involved, and towards those who ultimately live with the piece.

You work very closely with the material and with those who transform it. How does sharing the process with the redeiras influence your work? What have you learned from them?

Being a redeira and sharing the process with other local artisans is an essential part of Proxecto Bolina. My work doesn't just begin with a design idea, but with listening: understanding how they work, what techniques they use, what possibilities each knot, each net, and each material holds. Working with them has taught me that craftsmanship is not static or solely linked to the past, but a living knowledge that can adapt, transform, and open new paths.

From the redeiras, I have learned the importance of collaborative work, and the courage and effort behind a trade that for a long time remained invisible. I have also learned the importance of collaboration and creating with respect. For me, it's not about using a traditional technique as an aesthetic resource, but about building a real dialogue between their knowledge and my perspective as a designer. Thanks to them, I have come to understand design as a tool capable of providing continuity to trades, generating new opportunities, and giving visibility to stories that deserve to be told.

You decided to return to A Guarda and work from there. What changes when design happens in the same place where the materials come from?

Everything changes, because design stops being an isolated practice and becomes part of an ecosystem. Working from A Guarda allows me to be close to the origin of the materials, to the people who know them, and to the stories surrounding them. I don't design from a distance, but from direct contact with the territory.

When design happens in the same place where the materials come from, the process becomes much more honest and coherent. You can better understand why those materials exist, how they have been used, what value they have for the community, and what possibilities they offer. It also creates a more direct relationship with the artisans and the rhythms of the place. For me, returning to my town of A Guarda was a way to innovate from a rural perspective, demonstrating that it is not necessary to be in a big city to create contemporary projects, but rather that often the most interesting answers are precisely in what is close to us.

In your projects, there's a strong connection to the local. Do you think we need to look more towards what's close to us today?

Yes, I believe we need to look more towards what's close to us, but not out of nostalgia, but from a contemporary perspective. The local holds knowledge, materials, techniques, and stories that we have often taken for granted or considered obsolete. However, there is enormous capacity for innovation there.

In fishing villages, for example, there has always been a culture of utilizing available resources, repairing, reusing, and working in community. These are ways of doing things that are very relevant today in the face of excessive consumption and unrestrained production. Looking towards what's close allows us to create in a more sustainable way, more connected to the territory, and with greater social impact.

For me, the local doesn't mean being limited, but rather starting from a strong root to be able to dialogue with the present. In Proxecto Bolina, that connection with A Guarda, with the net-makers, and with materials from the sea is what gives meaning to each piece. It is from there that I try to build a contemporary language, but without losing the memory of those who have worked before with their hands, with their tools, and with their knowledge.