Dubai Design Week returns from November 4–9, bringing together an impressive lineup of outstanding designers from across the region and beyond. Among the week’s many highlights, the outdoor installations always stand out — immersive, conceptual, and beautifully executed. This year, visitors can expect more than 30 large-scale installations, each with its own story, message, and invitation to interact.

One of them comes from DEOND, a Dubai-based multidisciplinary studio founded by Ross Lovegrove and Ila Colombo. Their installation is an extremely lightweight, ethereal pavilion, 3D-printed and inspired by the quiet geometry and purity of salt.

We sat down with Ila Colombo to talk about the making of this installation — and about her fascinating journey, which began not in a studio, but in a swimming pool, long before she became an artist.

— Ila, you have a very interesting name. What are your roots?

— I am Italian-Brazilian; I was born in Milan. And I also have a Japanese stepfather! So, I have got a bit of a mix of cultural influences in my upbringing. Everything Italian from Milan — and, of course, the broader Italian cultural scene — but then also, because of my Japanese stepfamily, I had a lot of Japanese influence too. A lot of my creativity is influenced by Asian aesthetics, or at least by their historical roots in different ways.

And my Japanese step-grandparents used to live in São Paulo, which is actually where my biological dad is from. So, yeah, everything is quite exotic!

— Wow, that is such a great mix! I know you were a former athlete — what sport were you in?

— When I was very little, I did a bit of gymnastics, but soon after, I found my real passion in swimming. I joined the professional team when I was around six or seven — in the age-appropriate category, of course — but even then, we trained every day for several hours. I ended up spending many years as part of the Italian swimming team.

That discipline — being an athlete — really shaped my personality, my work ethic and sense of endurance. When you are a swimmer, compared to other sports, you are kind of a solo player. You spend so much time in your own head — there is a lot of introspection, both as an athlete and as a person. It is all about challenging yourself, pushing your own limits, constantly negotiating with that inner voice. You are alone in the water, facing yourself — your own capabilities, your doubts, everything.

I think that relates a lot to how I approach my art. There is that same kind of introspective process — it is me and myself, diving deep into a subject. Also, a lot of my works are very liquid. Maybe that sense of liquidity comes from my relationship with water — something that is always been part of my daily life.

— Why did you stop your swimming career?

— For every athlete, I would say, there comes a point where you either go all in or you have to step away and take another path. So, when I was starting university, I reached that moment.

I knew from the beginning that I didn’t want to be just an athlete. Because if you want to be a serious professional, that is it — it is your whole life. You have to give yourself to it completely, with almost no space for anything else.

It just wasn’t for me. I have always had other interests — art, architecture, technology, science. I didn’t want to compromise or let go of those parts of myself just to be an athlete.

So I made that decision. Every time you make a choice like that, it is a bit heartbreaking — but you have to follow your own path.

— And around 10 years ago, you started your path in architecture. How would you describe the style you create in?

— That is a great question. I would probably link it back to my own background, beyond the swimming. I studied cultural heritage, art history, architecture, and design, but I also worked quite a lot with technology.

There is also the architectural aspect, with a touch of biomimicry or organic aesthetics — that sense of structure inspired by nature. So my practice is quite interdisciplinary. My artworks, too, are interdisciplinary in that sense — they integrate technology into the creative process, but they are also deeply conceptual in how they explore this idea of metamorphosis and transformation, both in ourselves as individuals and as human beings.

And then, of course, there is the Japanese side — the anime or cartoon aesthetics, which are very animation-based and, in a way, connected to technology as well. And if you think about it, that, combined with the liquidity that comes from swimming, creates this interesting convergence of different influences.

I have always been more drawn to conceptual and abstract art. For me, it is an ongoing, ever-evolving direction — a kind of continuous process of transformation and becoming. Forms in metamorphosis, you could say.

— And if you had to imagine your art as a kind of timeline with different periods, how would you describe that?

— I think I started off in a very impressionist-abstract way. I began with painting — actual paintings on canvas. At that time, my work was very abstract and impressionistic, meaning it was very physical — the act of painting itself.

I really developed my own technique, even down to the selection of my brushes. It was all very analogue, very tactile, very physical.

Now, though, I work more with technology-based, mixed-media processes. So I would say I have moved from abstract to conceptual, from analogue to digital — and now I am somewhere in between: abstract, conceptual, and digital.

— Right now, I am looking at one of your works that you posted last year — it is in the shape of a smartphone, with the silhouette of a human face and a phrase that says “AI needs a human heart.” Can you tell me more about this piece?

— That is my bold-statement kind of work! And to a large degree, I still believe in it.

I don’t really like the way the world is moving toward blind automation. I feel like we are being pushed by these big tech giants into a state that isn’t necessarily soulful — or even human, in a deeper sense. That is actually where that statement came from — it was a reaction to that.

I truly believe that if AI, as a whole, were ever to develop its own sense of self — its own consciousness — it wouldn’t behave the way those tech giants are behaving now: stripping away everything that is still human.

So, yes, it was a bit of a provocative statement — “If AI had a human heart, it wouldn’t behave like this.” Meaning that AI needs a human heart, metaphorically speaking, to preserve the ethical and moral values that we, as a society, must hold onto.

— I also noticed a beautiful ink work you posted this summer. Is it a physical piece or a digital one?

— I would call these pieces phygital — they exist both physically and digitally.

The works are like tracing abstract urban landscapes in motion — the growth of a nerve-like environment, you could say. The way the urban fabric expands and flows often reminds me of nature. It is similar to those aerial photographs of the Earth, where rivers and patterns form fluid, organic shapes.

For me, it is about simulating human growth within the urban environment, yet in a way that still reflects natural rhythms — the organic flow, the movement, the resemblance to nature.

This work is also about memory — it is part of the Japanese influence in my practice, in a way. It is also connected to traditions like the tea ceremony, with their sense of mindfulness, ritual, and simplicity. These ideas have shaped some of my recent explorations — ink and memory, but also the relationship between ink and landscape.

— Now, about Dubai Design Week — you and DEOND are creating an amazing installation. Could you share the concept and tell us more about what we will see there?

— We started around December last year, so it has been quite a long creative journey. This particular installation, which takes the form of a pavilion, was sponsored by MANE — one of the largest French groups working with fragrance and flavour.

For this project, the focus was on fragrance and the olfactory experience. It became a truly symbiotic collaboration — exploring how a designer, artist, or architect like me could co-create with their team of perfumers and “noses” to build a fully immersive sensory environment.

At the beginning, we explored different directions, but we all felt naturally drawn to marine themes: the ever-changing light on seawater, the geometric nature of shells, sea urchins, and other marine forms. Translucency, iridescence — those visual tones guided the early stages of the work.

From there, we gradually focused on the idea of salt — specifically salt crystals — and the modest beauty of this element. Salt is something found in nature that has influenced human civilisation for thousands of years. It began as a preservative — for food, for animal products — and later became part of beauty rituals, aesthetics, even architecture. It is such a humble material — almost colourless, almost odourless — yet so fundamental and omnipresent.

We were fascinated by the purity of its geometric composition, and that led us to the concept of a folded, origami-like pavilion — inspired by the minerality and microscopic crystalline structure of salt. Each panel of the pavilion is designed with different dimensions and geometric variations, echoing the natural diversity of crystal forms.

The architecture itself embodies the same philosophy — beauty through modesty. The pavilion is over 96% 3D-printed, made from a single monomaterial. There is no heavy structural framing; it is almost entirely self-supporting, extremely lightweight, and ethereal — much like salt itself. You almost don’t see it, yet it is there — subtle, delicate, and quietly monumental.

— And also, you are preparing something for the Editions section.

— For Editions, I am taking a bit of a brave step. My artworks have always been something I create for myself — a very introspective process, a kind of self-discovery, I would say. But now I am taking the step to actually showcase my work and see how people respond to it.

I am presenting both physical and digital pieces — two-dimensional and three-dimensional — across a variety of works. The overarching theme is about states of becoming. It is very personal, but I hope the audience will find their own reflections within the pieces.

Some of the works are more bodily, almost anatomical. For example, Synthogenesis carries this sense, not exactly of motherhood, but something embryonic. It is abstract, anatomical, and in a state of transformation. You could see it as human, or maybe even non-human — something almost android-like, since it is created through technology. But ultimately, it is about that state of becoming — a visual representation of transformation itself.

I could compare it with Klimt’s The Three Ages of Woman — this work feels like a modern reimagining of that idea: three moments in time, tracing the genesis of an individual.

— Among all your artworks, is there one that feels the closest to your heart?

— I would say Synthogenesis is the piece that feels closest to my heart at this particular moment. I created it shortly after becoming a mother, and it carries a lot of that experience, even if unconsciously.

It has this almost abstract rib-cage form — an abstract becoming of a being — positioned around what would be the waist area of a body. To me, it speaks deeply to pregnancy and motherhood, to the act of carrying life and giving life. But also, it is about becoming yourself anew — a kind of rebirth that happens within you.