WHO AM I COPYING FROM?

A story about identity, inspiration, and what it really means to create. Dedicated to my friend and artist, Ilaz.

This image was made by my dear friend, artist and collaborator Ilaz. She found similarities between my work and Giorgio De Chirico's art.

I was invited to speak at the Marangoni Institute in Miami the other day—about design, brand, identity, and creating a personal language. These are big themes, and like most things in design, they don’t come with neat answers. They come with questions.

One of the students raised a hand and asked something that immediately struck a chord with me:

“How can I create something truly unique without feeling like I’m just copying what’s already been done?”

That question brought me back to a very specific feeling.

A mix of self-doubt and ambition.

What if I’m not talented enough?

What if I’m just reassembling other people’s ideas in new combinations and calling it creativity?

It reminded me of my time in architecture school. I still remember my first maquette—rounded corners on a square box. One of my professors threw it off the balcony. Literally.

It was a lesson in conformity disguised as critique.

A perfect example of how architecture education often confuses indoctrination with instruction.

We weren’t taught to think—we were taught to follow.

But I kept asking questions. I kept trying things. And yes, I’ve copied before.

We all do, at some point. Not out of laziness—but out of curiosity. Out of admiration. Out of a desire to learn.

Because the truth is: we’re not operating in a vacuum.

Two columns and a beam are a portal.Two columns and a semicircle form an arch.We don’t get to reinvent gravity.We work with it.

Architecture is a response to conditions—space, time, climate, people, needs.

And good design responds with intention.

The Living Room at "La Corte" photographed by Hannah Forrester Studio / Designed by GAIA/S STUDIO, Developed by JO/GA Homes. Organic finishes, soft textures, some chaos here and there. Seen that before? Yes, you did. In nature.

Does using natural textures and neutral palettes mean you’re copying someone else?

No.

It means you’re tuning into a language that nature invented long before we arrived.

Soft curves, rough textures, warm light—these aren’t trends.

They’re biological responses. They speak directly to our nervous system.

And they don’t belong to any of us.

If anything, Mother Nature is the original author. We’re all just interpreting her vocabulary.

Same goes for energy, speed, tension.

There are forms and colors that evoke those sensations for a reason.

Think of the Ferrari logo—red, yellow, black.

Think of futurism and its obsession with motion, with lines and speed.

Design is not just visual. It’s emotional.

Over time, I experimented. I tried styles. I studied other people’s work. I paid attention to trends, magazines, supervisors, clients. I looked at Instagram. A lot. I tested ideas across projects, learning what stayed and what disappeared.

And slowly, something started to emerge—not a “style,” but a consistency of intention.

An energy. A feeling.

Because for me, style is not the point.

I’m not here to invent a new visual language for the sake of it.

I’m here to create spaces that feel a certain way.

That carry meaning. That hold people in a certain emotional register.

So, when someone asks me if I worry about copying, my answer is: Sometimes, yes.

But more often, I’m focused on something deeper—Not what it looks like, but why it looks that way.

And that’s the difference.

Maybe something I design reminds you of something else.

Maybe it does. But it’s not the same.

Because I didn’t just take it.

I listened.

I interpreted.

I made it mine.

This sketch is part of my talk at Istituto Marangoni, titled "The Red Thread".

In the end, I’ve learned that creativity isn’t about inventing something that’s never existed.

It’s about making something true—with your own eyes, your own hands, your own heart.

So maybe the real question isn’t “Who am I copying from?” But “What am I bringing into this that only I can?”

That’s where your language starts.

And if you follow that thread long enough—it becomes a voice.

Thanks for reading.

Gaia