Magalí Polverino documents the everyday essence of being Argentine through photography

Time Out

4 days ago

From her home in Buenos Aires, where she lives alone with her cat and a collection of memories that inspire her work, Magalí Polverino has developed a unique perspective on food photography. Self-taught, emotional, and deeply connected to her family history, her images do more than depict food—they tell stories of memories, aromas, textures, and affection. At 43, this visual artist who enjoys art, film, travel, and discovering new flavors has become a prominent figure who honors Argentine identity through the intimate, the everyday, and the deeply personal.
Your story is quite unique: you left everything behind to pursue food photography, and today your images travel the world. What do you think it is about your photos that resonates so deeply with the Argentine experience, even through something as simple as a croissant or a mate?
I speak about being Argentine, but from a very personal place. I think that's what makes people connect with it. I'm not trying to speak to a broad audience or speak for others—I speak about something deeply personal and my own, and it's so specific and inward that I think, in the end, that particularity makes it universal. Everything I portray in my photos are things that were part of my childhood or family history. I used to eat cookies that lots of people also grew up eating. So I think I strike a chord, and even though I'm speaking about the Argentine identity, I'm really speaking about myself.
'In my photos, I speak about the Argentine identity—but I also speak about myself'
You've worked with well-known brands, won international awards, and developed a very distinct visual identity. How did you find your own style in such a saturated visual world? How do you manage to tell a story with just a plate of food?
Developing my own style was something I consciously sought when I started doing food photography. I was very self-taught. At first, I did more generic work. For me, this is more than just a job—photography is a way I need to express myself. That creative and expressive need is something that defines me. So I consciously worked toward having a personal style—not to stand out from others, but out of a need to tell who I am through what I do. It's the same with the Argentine aspect: it always begins with a search for what I find within myself. I think we all have that capacity—we all have something unique.
Of course, Argentine culture and cuisine are vast, but some things really move me. I don't know… pastry, for example, is something that really touches me: the textures, the fruits. So I try to let my emotions guide me and follow that path.
Many people discovered you through La última gran pasta frola, a tribute to your grandmothers María and Adelina—filled with love, memory, and the scent of childhood. What did creating that deeply intimate project mean to you, and how did it transform you as an artist?
Creating that project was beautiful. It was the most intimate and personal work I've ever done. I love that path, and I'm heading more and more in that direction—to develop projects like that. It was a lovely process, because it involved lots of conversations with my family—especially my sister. We remembered so many things from when we were kids. She remembered things I didn't. I went through a lot of old archives and photos. I've kept many of my grandmother's belongings. That process was really moving. A bit sad, but beautiful, because I adored my grandmother. I loved reconnecting with her in that way. I loved gathering all that information and transforming it into something new—reframing it poetically and adding my love for baking to the photos. In fact, my love for baking also comes from my grandmother.
I wasn't trying to talk about all Argentine grandmothers, you know? I spoke about my grandmother, which is a very specific thing. She was Basque, and I talked about things that were very special and unique to me. But I spoke so deeply and personally about my grandmother that, somehow, the project really resonated—because, in the end, I was also speaking about many people's grandmothers, especially for generational reasons. For example, Heno de Pravia soap—a lot of grandmothers used it. That project ended up being so meaningful and connected me with a lot of people.
Your work is not only visual—it's emotional. Do you feel there's a kind of activism in portraying our cuisine with such respect and beauty? What role does Argentine identity play in your work?
I'm not sure I'd call it activism, but maybe a little. It came from the search for my own style, and I was looking at so many books from abroad. I learned from a lighting book from the U.S.; one of my favorite photographers was Australian, and another one was French. I'd look at those amazing photos and notice that, for example, the dishware or kitchen towels they used were things we didn't have here—especially 10 or 15 years ago. There wasn't much stoneware or linen towels available back then. I didn't have access to those things. So I asked myself: Why am I always looking outward? Why not look at what I have right here? What did I inherit from my grandmother? What does our kitchen towel look like? What's a typical knife here?
That's when I started to really dive into the Argentine aesthetic, asking myself: What defines me? What represents me? We already know so much about Europe—we grew up with Dutch still lifes, European-style paintings. So through that reflection, I began to explore the Argentine identity. What does Argentine pastry look like? Everyone was looking at French pastry, but I wanted to ask: What does ours look like? That's how the posters and everything else started. It's about telling stories from my point of view—speaking about myself through my context, which is Argentine. And by talking about myself, I end up speaking about others, too.
Favorite Buenos Aires neighborhood? Parque Chas
A Buenos Aires café you love to photograph (or visit)? Río Café in Almagro
An artwork that moved you? I'm moved by the colors of Hilma af Klint and Mark Rothko
A street that inspires you? Coronel Díaz, with all its trees
A song you listen to while editing? 'Walking on the Moon' by Roseaux
A word that defines your photography? Tactile
A smell that brings you back to childhood? Vanilla and lemon
A visual postcard that represents your version of Argentina? The sea lion sculptures in Mar del Plata