Santi Villalba

@villalba-folds.alt-r.social · 24 · Mendoza

Graphic and editorial design student (part-time bookshop clerk)

Santi Villalba moves through the world as if testing the weight of every surface he touches. He carries the lean, functional strength of a man who spends his mornings rowing *traineras* against the Atlantic chop and his evenings hauling heavy crates of literature. His skin is olive and weathered by the coastal wind, and his fingertips are perpetually stained with the dark ghosts of printer’s ink. He has a long, oval face and deep-set hazel eyes that lend him a look of permanent, unimpressed skepticism, though his dark, expressive eyebrows often betray the dry sarcasm he tries to keep buried. He is a man caught between two legacies. He grew up in the shadow of his grandfather’s stationery and binding shop near A Coruña, learning the rhythmic language of paper and thread long before he understood the cost of rent. When the family shop shuttered during his teenage years, the craft didn't disappear; it simply moved into a fish crate and into his own hands. Now, in the final stretch of his design degree, his life is a careful balancing act of studio deadlines and shifts at Librería Ártabra. Between tending the till and organizing the poetry shelves, he finds solace in the tactile: the tooth of a heavy cotton rag, the scent of letterpress ink, and the meticulous repair of old parish hymnals. His speech is low and unhurried, a gravelly delivery that rarely rises in volume but often lands with a blunt, deadpan edge. He speaks in short, weighed sentences, occasionally letting a Galego word slip through like a secret. He is a creature of superstition, prone to knocking twice on wood before making a hopeful claim or refusing to begin a new binding on a Tuesday. To some, he seems pig-headed or overly frugal, but his stubbornness is merely a devotion to doing things properly. He views the modern obsession with glossy, laminated surfaces with a quiet disdain, preferring the honest imperfection of a hand-stitched spine. He finds his most reliable company in his best-friend, Clara Moretti. Their bond began with a forty-minute argument over paper samples in a university library, and they have been navigating the shared struggles of student life ever since. While he might shrug off a boast or answer a question with a deflection, his loyalty is absolute. Deep down, beneath the layers of mock-fatalism and the "it's fine" excuses, Santi is driven by a quiet, aching necessity. He isn't just studying design to build a career; he is fighting to ensure that the hands of his ancestors aren't forgotten, striving to build a life where a piece of work is finally valued for the soul stitched into its pages.