I grew up in a small town in Argentina, where curiosity was my main language. At 13, I joined a local radio station and quickly asked: what if people could see what we were doing? That question became an obsession. I started building little rigs with metal parts and screws, repurposing anything I could to create miniature structures. I’d grab my dad’s old video camera and film scenes around the house—testing, adjusting, learning on instinct.
I spent hours designing virtual spaces in The Sims, sketching blueprints, and drawing floorplans for dream homes. I was equally drawn to photography, sketching, electronics, and taking things apart just to figure out how they worked. Cinematography became the space where all those pieces came together—an art form built on movement, image, and emotion.
At 19, I founded a production company in Argentina, creating branded content, organizing livestreams and events, and helping companies shape their visual identity. I was studying business, learning how to build things that worked, that sold, that scaled. But slowly, I realized I was moving further from what I really loved. I wasn’t telling stories—I was managing deliverables. The work was even successful, but it wasn’t personal. And, back then, neither was I. I hadn’t come out yet, even to myself.
After a long period of reflection, I made a decision that would change everything. I left it all behind and took a leap of faith. At 24, I moved to the U.S. to be with my boyfriend—now my husband—and start from scratch. I didn’t speak English, but within a year I was enrolled at a community college (BMCC). I later became a GUIDE Scholar and graduated from New York University (2025), where I deepened my focus on cinematography, philosophy, and storytelling. I’m now a proud U.S. citizen, but the path here was built frame by frame.
Now 30, I’ve come to realize that filmmaking has been with me all along—in every sketch, every camera test, every odd little project I made growing up. It took years to connect the dots, but I now see that visual storytelling is where my inner world and technical mind finally meet. I’m fascinated by how a camera can follow someone’s inner life without a single word—how light and lens choices can hint at what’s beneath the surface. I’m drawn to stories that explore psychology, queerness, and that in-between space where nothing stays still—identity, feeling, connection.
I love every part of filmmaking—but put a camera in my hands, and that’s where I feel most alive. Through the viewfinder, I find rhythm in chaos, intimacy in distance, and emotion in movement. For me, being on set isn’t just a job—it’s where everything makes sense.
