An Artful Tribute to Fernando Bengoechea
The Woven Together exhibition honors the legacy of acclaimed photographer Fernando Bengoechea through handcrafted works by his brother Marcelo.
Hygge Life recently welcomed Marcelo Bengoechea and his heartfelt exhibition Woven Together, tributing his late brother Fernando Bengoechea—an acclaimed international photographer known for his work in major publications. Through the end of August, Marcelo’s art will be on display at the Hygge Life showroom, offering visitors the opportunity to purchase the exhibited pieces or request custom versions in different sizes.
“We have always valued not only the beauty of an object but also the story and soul behind it,” says Alexandra Gove of Hygge Life. “The Woven Together exhibition with Marcelo was a natural fit for all of us—there is so much soul, story and texture in Marcelo’s work. Marcelo is keeping Fernando’s story and passion alive and honoring his life and talent by taking the time to slow down and create something beautiful that we can all continue to enjoy.”
Interior designer Pam Sunderman tells us she was gently pulled into a story that was both deeply personal and beautifully universal when first discovering Bengoechea’s work. “The woven photography carries an emotional weight that you can feel before you even know the story behind it. Each piece holds a quiet soulfulness — the original photograph already full of depth, but then the genius act of slicing and weaving adds a layer of interest that is hard to describe,” She explains.
Mountain Living sat down with Bengoechea to learn more about his latest exhibition, as well as his unwavering inspiration.
How does preserving Fernando’s artistic legacy give your life a sense of purpose?
It gives me a reason to wake up and create every day. When Fernando died in the tsunami, I lost more than a brother—I lost an artist at the verge of greatness. For a long time, there was only grief. But when I picked up his photographs and began weaving them, I felt his presence again. It was like he was guiding me, encouraging me to carry something forward.
What began as a way to honor his memory slowly transformed into a passion and a purpose of my own. Through this work, I feel like I’m helping his voice continue to speak. His photographs live on, but now they also evolve—and I get to be part of that evolution. That connection, that sense of continuing his story, gives my life a kind of meaning I never expected.
Have you always shared a creative or artistic spirit with your brother, or did your path evolve differently?
Yes, we absolutely shared a creative spirit, even if we expressed it in different ways. Fernando was always deeply immersed in photography—he had a gift for capturing raw beauty and emotion. My path was in design and business, and over the years, our worlds often intersected. We collaborated on several projects where he brought the image and I brought the concept or visual framework—it was a natural partnership, grounded in a deep mutual respect.
He had a fearless artistic energy, and I think that inspired me more than I even realized at the time. After his passing, that creative bond didn’t disappear—it just took on a new form. When I began weaving his photographs, it felt like we were still collaborating, still speaking the same visual language. Only now, I’m interpreting that connection in a more personal, hands-on way. It’s a continuation of the work we once did together, just expressed differently.
Can you walk us through your weaving process—from the first spark of inspiration to the final piece?
The process is very hands-on and intuitive. It begins with a photograph—often one of Fernando’s, though I’ve started creating new woven works with my own photography as well. I print two identical versions of the image, one for vertical cuts and one for horizontal. I then slice each print into strips—sometimes thin, sometimes thinner, each piece has a life of its own and I just let it happen, I get lost in it.
The weaving itself is done entirely by hand, one strip at a time. It’s meticulous, slow pace, meditative. I don’t use machines or templates—just my hands and my focus. There’s something deeply human in the imperfections that emerge, the little shifts that happen as the image is deconstructed and then reassembled. By the end, the photograph becomes something new—more tactile, more layered. It holds both presence and memory in a single woven form.
Your work celebrates life’s quiet pleasures. How do these weavings invite people to slow down and savor the moment?
We live in a world that moves quickly—images flash by on screens, stories disappear in seconds. But woven photography demands a different kind of attention. These pieces aren’t meant to be consumed in an instant. They invite you to linger, to look closer, to notice the details. The texture, the woven lines, the interplay between light and shadow—it all slows you down.
People often tell me that the work makes them feel something—nostalgia, peace, reflection. I think that’s because there’s a softness to them, a sense of time being held still. In a way, the weaving itself mirrors the act of remembering. It’s fragmented, layered, imperfect—but also beautiful. And it asks us to be present with it, even if just for a moment.
Is there anything else you’d like to share with Mountain Living readers about your journey, your art, or what lies ahead?
This journey has been full of unexpected turns. I never set out to be an artist. I never imagined I’d be weaving photographs, let alone exhibiting them across the country or sharing this story with others. But grief and other life events have a way of reshaping us. It stripped my life down to its essentials, and in that space, I found something meaningful—something that keeps evolving.
What I do now is more than just art; it’s a way of connecting, of healing, of honoring where I’ve come from and what I’ve lost. I’m grateful to every person who takes the time to engage with the work, to feel it. As for what lies ahead—I’ll keep weaving, keeping Fernando’s art alive, and keep following this thread wherever it leads.