How did you get started with design? As a kid, I enjoyed learning about car brands. For example, new logos appeared as I traveled to other countries, and I was extremely curious to discover them.

During high school, I designed posters for events. I realized that I felt a great attraction for visual communication, which can be defined as satisfying my eyes with attractive images. The decision to develop professionally came from realizing what I wanted to do most of my day. I had an enriching experience when I was sixteen years old in which I was invited to an ad agency to spend the day with graphic designers. This moment was decisive for me to become a graphic designer.

Tell us about La Patria. What inspired you to undergo creating an Uruguayan design archive, and how did you go about putting it together? The commitment to my profession, my activity and my discipline led me to want to fill gaps. This task is impossible for a single person, but I aspire to contribute to reducing deficiencies. For me, that is a way to make my time valuable.

Heritage is the valuation of past time. I would like, in my posterity, to have a tradition that can be inscribed. Knowing our background helps us understand ourselves as a society; in other words, taking care of our heritage is investing in our future.

The production process was not overnight. On July 10, 2018, the project first emerged as Impresos del Uruguay (“printed from Uruguay” in English) with a website of the same name. The page showcased 89 flyers found at the National Library of Uruguay in Montevideo. I built the first collection thanks to the little reference that I had about local graphic arts and my desire to learn how the different social events of the beginning of the last century were communicated. Specifically, I wanted to discover ephemeral prints—that is, those papers that were designed to last a short time. I selected this area because it was the one on which I had the littlest knowledge. I intended to fill a void.

Then, I understood that this collection was just the tip of the iceberg, and there was much more to be done. Uruguayan graphic design had to be compiled to be reevaluated. The next step was to vectorize logos previously conceived by hand. I contacted several Uruguayan designers, like Fernando Álvarez Cozzi, Horacio Añón and Marcos Larghero. Their logos needed to be redrawn because they were created before computers. Later, the elaboration expanded to include more areas: books and record covers, stamps, and posters. As of now, we have collected more than 1,000 items.

Where does the name La Patria come from? The chosen name is La Patria, which means “the motherland.” The name is taken from El Altar de la Patria, an oil painting by Uruguayan artist Juan Manuel Blanes made in 1896, in which Uruguayan is represented allegorically as a woman. The choice of the name for the archive is due to this personified allegory of the country. This representation communicates through ideograms what Uruguay means as well as the purpose of the archive: to represent its country.

Currently, La Patria only contains ten items produced by women. Choosing a female figure to represent the archive tries to reverse that situation and give more representation to female designers. From this artwork, we can analyze that the left arm of the female representation of Uruguay rests on the national flag, the constitution and a scale. Her right arm carries a baton crowned by a Sol de Mayo. In the background, we can see the other three elements that make up the national coat of arms: the hill of Montevideo as a symbol of strength, a horse that alludes to freedom and an ox as a symbol of abundance.

These elements are what make up our coat of arms. The only symbol repeated on the Uruguayan flag and the coat of arms is the sun. Because of what it means and its relevance as a national symbol, it was chosen to be the archive’s logo.

The name de Mayo (“of May” in English) refers to the May Revolution, which occurred in the week of May 18 to 25 in 1810 and marked the beginning of Uruguay’s and Argentina’s that, at the time, formed the Viceroyalty of the Río de la Plata.

What are some of your favorite pieces in the archive? The logo of children’s bookstore Librería Camelot. I admire this logo designed by Marcos Larghero, a university teacher, as it is the kind of synthesis I wouldn’t be able to achieve. The simplification of a knight to just a few lines is outstanding.

The typeface Johnston, named for designer Edward Johnston. What I idolize about the accomplishments of Johnston, who was born in a small Uruguayan town called San José, is that it is an everlasting design that has transformed into a symbol of British culture in its use as the typeface for the London Underground.

The logo for winery Russi y Burastero. Many logos are created to resemble a bunch of grapes, but none like the one designed by Fernando Álvarez Cozzi. Instead of circles, he had the impressive idea to use cups of wine organized as a branch.

Boletos capicuás (tickets with palindromic numbers). I have a soft spot for bus tickets as I enjoy the small amount of design and space they have. It is uncommon that people appreciate printed material that only lasts for a few minutes, so in order to spread this love to others, I thought the best way to do it was to collect tickets with palindromic numbers. By now, I have a collection of more than 100 different tickets.

Milonga Brava. My favorite record cover, designed by Fernando Álvarez Cozzi in 1971, features an illustrated couple dancing the milonga, a musical genre that originated in the Río de la Plata. In this adorable image, we can see the influence of the aesthetics of Picasso but with the soft touch of naivety where the legs are exaggerated in a clear metaphor of dancing.

Enciclopedia Uruguaya (“Encyclopedia of Uruguay” in English). Designed during the late ’60s, this is a series of 126 publications dedicated to the history of Uruguay with a style developed by illustrations and a bounded color palette.

And the posters by design firm Imprenta AS. Founded in 1954, this studio worked the same way Pentagram works today; each partner designs independently with their team, but they sign their works as a collective.

What kinds of research projects or exhibitions have La Patria been involved in? Together with sociologist Rosana Malaneschii Delgado, we published Acquarone’s ‘La Semana’: Panoramic of a Critical-Creative Space. The report is an investigation of La Semana, a Montevideo weekly periodical with wide circulation in the early years of the 20th century. Its contents, full of art, were humorous and critical of the events of the moment. It allowed the original, genuine contributions of many Uruguayans, and this text highlights the circumstances of images and texts, the aesthetic, symbolic, literary and communicational aspects—also through graphic design. The reading offers a vivid picture of an earlier era.

We also helped work on Usina, a typeface inspired by the letters of the façade of Uruguay’s National Administration of Power Plants and Electrical Transmissions (known more commonly as UTE.) This initiative, aimed at revaluing urban heritage, will foreseeably impact its immediate context because it represents something thought lost to time. In addition, this also presented the perfect excuse to draw letters. The most challenging mission to accomplish in the world of typography is to feel like a contribution is being made.

One of our objectives for La Patria is to demonstrate the role of the graphic designer when viewed as a cultural factor. Therefore, the most coveted consequence of its existence is that people can add their knowledge and perceive the communal importance of works produced by designers.

What advice would you give designers who might be thinking about putting together design libraries that represent their own countries? The work of an archive is overwhelming. Don’t be scared; just do it. You can start as I did by using your phone camera and later buying more desirable documentary equipment.

Be cautious in how you handle your emotions and willpower because the archive will improve for it. One must know where to look as well as what will push one to continue to do so. The most challenging thing about putting together the archive is its maintenance, as with so many other things. It’s not just starting an archive but achieving continuity over time.

Looking at the media you’ve collected, do you have any insights into what defines Uruguayan design? There is no specific style or school of design, but there is a way of working. Uruguayans—not only in design—work with what is available. In other places, design has an abundance of resources; in Uruguay, it is not like that. It’s not that we are disadvantaged but rather that the limitations are noticeable. In other countries, a photographer, a lighting designer, several graphic designers and an art director will all work on one movie poster. Here, a movie poster is designed by one person. I do not see it as a disadvantage: on the contrary, it’s a great virtue that lets us have control of all a project’s parts.

This can be seen in the posters conceived by Imprenta AS. Everything was done by hand to lower costs and reduce production time. As it happens, not using fonts eliminated the printing process. Drawing the letters meant not having to use a typographic printing press to produce the work.

So, we can say that Uruguayan designers characterize ourselves by doing a lot with a little and for being able to get the most out of what we have. We have the talent to satisfy with what is available.

What excites you about design right now? I’m curious to learn more about the work of Uruguayan designers and illustrators. The role of Uruguayan women in the industry needs greater visibility, so we’ve begun a series of talks with my colleagues to share their work.

Which designer or design firm do you most admire and why? Vignelli Associates. Both Lella and Massimo Vignelli were designers, but Lella also led the company; she was the businesswoman, the person who made all the negotiations. Without Massimo, there would have been no studio, and there would have been no company without Lella. That is why it should be noteworthy because its activity defined the modern, professional designer with their own studio, an independent worker. When the Vingellis started, they were alone; there were no other companies of their type. They filled a gap in the design offerings of their time, that of mass communication, which in design history is corporate communication. They were avant-garde.

The Vignellis bequeathed two precepts that became law: one, sobriety, as they were two designers who best understood simplicity; and two, consistency in the approach to design, since that establishes style. They were not guided by fads; instead, they achieved their own design style and never abandoned it. They did not focus on generating products similar to existing ones but instead on providing weighty solutions to the communication needs of their clients.

Do you have any advice for people just entering the industry? Buy books. Read magazines. Go to design events. Most of what we see online lacks the editorial process behind work. Think of the effort put into every issue of a magazine that sees the light of day to understand that its content will be of higher quality than a blog. Design events are similar in that a diverse group of people was selected by its organizers to share their perspectives. Today, there’s an abundance of information that lacks good work, so be selective in what you choose to see and what you don’t. ca