João Bruno Videira is a Portuguese artist and designer whose work unfolds at the intersection of art, design, and traditional craftsmanship, with wool as his primary medium. He grew up surrounded by textile culture, deeply influenced by his mother’s dedication to the making of Arraiolos rugs—a practice rooted in patience, gesture, and material knowledge. Although this early exposure shaped his sensitivity to textiles, it was only later, in adulthood, that he fully recognized wool as the core language of his own creative practice.
Self-taught since 2006, João Bruno began his professional journey with the creation of the brand água de prata, through which he started to explore new possibilities for an historically significant Portuguese raw material. His work challenges conventional perceptions of wool, moving beyond its traditional domestic associations to position it within contemporary art and design discourse. Through experimentation, intuition, and a deep respect for material integrity, he transforms wool into objects and artworks that balance structure and softness, memory and modernity.
Situated between functionality and expression, João Bruno’s practice deliberately blurs disciplinary boundaries. Whether presented as sculptural pieces, design objects, or site-responsive installations, his works invite tactile and emotional engagement while maintaining a strong conceptual foundation. By reinterpreting heritage techniques through a contemporary lens, he creates a dialogue between past and present—one that speaks to identity, place, and the evolving role of craftsmanship in today’s cultural landscape.
You grew up surrounded by textile tradition through your mother’s work with Arraiolos rugs. How has that early, almost domestic relationship with wool influenced the way you approach it today as an artistic material?
Wool was never an abstract material to me. Growing up with it was something lived, observed daily, handled with patience and respect. I witnessed manual labor up close: the repetition of gestures, the discipline of the hands, and the quiet intensity of making. That domestic proximity taught me early on, that creation is inseparable from time. Time is not a constraint, but a fundamental ingredient. Today, this understanding continues to shape my practice. I approach wool with the same awareness of duration, care, and physical presence. For me, making is a slow process of construction, where time allows the material to speak and meaning to emerge.
Your practice is self-taught and developed outside formal design or art institutions. What did learning by doing give you that a traditional education might not have offered?
Learning by doing gave me freedom mostly. Freedom to explore without predefined limits, to make mistakes, to move intuitively between disciplines. Without a fixed framework, I was never confined to a single language or expectation. This openness allowed my practice to grow organically, shaped by curiosity rather than rules. It taught me to trust the process, to listen to the material, and to let each project define its own path. That sense of independence remains central to the way I work today.
When you founded água de prata in 2006, you began rethinking wool as a contemporary medium. What were you reacting to at that moment, and how has your relationship with the material evolved since then?
At that moment, I was reacting to a very narrow perception of wool — confined to tradition, functionality, and domestic use. Although I felt the need to challenge those limits and explore its expressive and sculptural potential, everything was new to me back then. I learned directly from the material, through trial and error, through touch and resistance. Wool became a space of self-discovery. Over time, this relationship evolved into a deeper form of knowledge — technical, conceptual, and personal. What began as experimentation became a language, and that language continues to evolve with each new work.
Your work exists between art, design, and craftsmanship. Do you see these boundaries as useful frameworks, or do you prefer to let the work remain intentionally fluid between them?
I naturally prefer that boundaries dissolve. While these categories can be useful as reference points, they are not productive limits for my work. The fluidity between art, design, and craftsmanship emerged intuitively and has become one of my defining traits. I’m interested in that in-between space, where function and expression coexist, and where objects can be both conceptually grounded and emotionally engaging. For me, hybridity is not a strategy — it is a natural outcome of the way I think and work.
When your pieces are placed in lived-in spaces—hotels, private interiors, or non-gallery settings—what kind of dialogue do you hope they create with the architecture and with the people who encounter them?
I always try to respect the space in which the work is placed. Architecture, light, scale, and movement are never neutral elements. I look for a total harmony between the piece and its surroundings — or, in some cases, for a deliberate tension. But that dissonance must always be intentional. My goal is for the work to enter into a dialogue with the space and with the people who experience it, becoming part of their daily perception. In the end, the result must feel resolved. It must be beautiful — as a coherent presence that belongs to that place.
