Facundo Yebne
Facundo L. Yebne is an American-Argentine artist based in Miami Beach. After a successful career in engineering and entrepreneurship, he discovered art in 2024 as a path toward healing and reconnection. Inspired by childhood memories and symbols of joy, he began using rubber ducks, an object of universal nostalgia, as his primary medium.
Facundo’s work blends humor, glow in the dark materials, and large-scale public installations to invite emotional reflection, interaction, and delight. In just one year, his vibrant sculptures have become highly photographed landmarks, celebrated for their message of unity, hope, and transformation. His process mixes analog techniques with modern technology like 3D printing and CNC cutting, always with a focus on making art accessible and emotionally resonant.
Through FLY Miami Art, Facundo creates immersive public installations that transform everyday spaces into joyful collective experiences.
I am departing on Monday to Florence, Italy for 45 days. I will be creating UnityBeak and wall artwork from a nice loft that I rented, and will be doing lives on instagram. If there is a way to collaborate, let me know and we can take over Florence!!
LOL
Facundo, your resin ducks have become totems of nostalgia and joy, yet they operate with surprising conceptual weight. In a world oversaturated with irony and detachment, what does it mean to deliberately center sincerity, playfulness, and visual warmth in your artistic language? Could these ducks be understood as a subtle rebellion against the cynicism of contemporary aesthetics?
For me, all comes down to sincerity and simplicity. We live in a society overloaded with sarcasm and irony, people gravitate towards that. I had decided to move in the opposite direction with my duckies. My work is rooted in honesty, joy, and lightness. This is not easy in a world that leans the other way, but at the same time, to keep it simple, makes it easier.
To show playfulness is to risk being vulnerable. These ducks are not a joke. They are an open invitation to feel, to recall innocence, and to allow joy to carry weight. That is where the rebellion lies: keeping it simple and raw, removing the noise of the cynicism, and sending a loud message that is clear and true.
Your installations, particularly the monumental “UnityBeak” and “Proud Love,” function not just as visual spectacles but as social monuments composed of thousands of identical yet individual forms. How do you see the tension between mass production and emotional intimacy playing out in your work? Is each duck a singular voice, or are they only legible in the chorus?
I see my ducks as individuals, each one with something in particular. From a distance they create this overwhelming spectacle. But when you get closer you realize that every duck is slightly different. I glue them one by one by hand, adapting to the particularities that they carry. That repetition is slow, obsessive, and full of intention. Each duck is a little voice, and together they become a choir. The work holds the tension between the power of the collective and the intimacy of the individual.
Having emerged from the entrepreneurial world, your trajectory disrupts traditional narratives of artistic arrival. How has your background in business informed your approach to scale, engagement, and cultural relevance in ways that might be considered avant-garde within the context of art institutionalism?
Business taught me to think in systems, adapt to ever changing variables, and to scale. I do not see size as a threat. In my case, the scale is a tool to maximize the exposure and grab attention, to create a memory, and to make the encounter unforgettable.
The art world often holds onto the idea of the isolated artist in the studio, my approach is like am building a company. It is creative, strategic, and collective. That mindset lets me push projects that some people in traditional institutions would never even attempt. Spontaneity plays a vital role. I allow creativity flow at any stage of the process, sometimes taking the wrong turn, but most of the time it adds a layer of depth and connection.
The use of glow-in-the-dark materials adds a temporality to your sculptures a kind of dual existence between light and dark, seen and unseen. What conceptual or emotional significance do you assign to this liminal visibility? Is the afterglow a metaphor for memory, persistence, or the unseen dimensions of joy?
The glow is persistence. In the light you see joy and color. In the dark you don’t, but they still exist, still shine. It reminds me that joy does not vanish when is not visible. It transforms into memory, aura, something carried within.
That dual life is also my own story. I have been through dark times, and the ducks were my light. The glow keeps that alive. It also gives the audience an unexpected experience, like a secret dimension that only shows up when the conditions shift.
In invoking characters like Bart Simpson or Pac-Man, your work traverses the complex terrain of cultural archetypes. What responsibilities or freedoms do you feel when appropriating such universally known figures? Are these icons vessels for collective memory, or are you reanimating them with new cultural code?
Characters like Bart or Pac-Man belong to everybody. We, well at least my generation, grew up with them. They are aligned with the ducks in the way that they invoke our memories and help us connect. As many people tell me, I invented a new language, the ducking. This new language allows me to give our Pop icons a new voice. They already live inside us, and I just reintroduce them with sincerity and a medium that makes everything better.
Your ducks are unmistakably pop, yet they whisper of something post-pop a kind of meta pop that neither mocks nor worships its references, but bathes in their emotional residue. How do you navigate the fine line between homage and critique, especially in a visual landscape so shaped by consumer culture and commodified nostalgia?
My ducks leave an impression, a feeling that stays after the pop culture moment has passed. I am not mocking or worshiping, I am just tapping into that emotional residue, that usually does not exist because we are flooded with empty content. That is where people connect. For me it is post-pop, because it is not about the product itself, but about the memory it leaves behind. I want to capture that feeling without falling into cynicism.
There is an engineered perfection in your sculptural arrangements reminiscent of both industrial design and architectural logic. How much of your process is intuitive versus methodical? And how do you reconcile spontaneity with the precision your medium seems to demand?
The process starts with a methodical approach covering every step ahead. Gluing thousands of ducks one by one is precise and repetitive, but the way I arrange them comes from instinct. I start from a feeling and build until the form makes sense. The structure gives the piece power, but also, from time to time, I allow spontaneity, and a small or long detour takes place. Sometimes it works really well and enhances the artwork, like the heart and peace sign in UnityBeak, but sometimes it doesn’t. I am very focused when I work, that helps to keep the method in check.
Art that evokes happiness is often dismissed as unserious within critical discourse. Yet your pieces seem to weaponize joy, elevating it to a kind of defiant radicalism. Do you view joy as a political act, particularly in the age of hyper anxiety and cultural fragmentation?
Joy is priceless, and if it comes with peace, it is a blessing. We live in a world full of anxiety, stress, and division and to choose joy is to resist all of that. My ducks do not ignore pain, they acknowledge it, and they are an antidote, they shine in the middle of it. They tell people it is ok to smile, ok to be hopeful. Critics may see joy as naive, but for me it is a way of showing the world that it is possible to smile, even with the simplest things.
“Ducks,” as you have said, were your light at the end of the tunnel. In this context, your entire oeuvre becomes an act of autobiographical translation, turning healing into form. How do you maintain vulnerability and authenticity when your brand and your audience grow exponentially?
The ducks showed up in my life at the right time. What started as my way of healing, became my voice and inspiration. I keep my story open and I remind myself why and how I started. The scale and the exposure are external factors that will not change who I am, nor my values. For me the vulnerability and authenticity are part of who I am, sometimes putting me in a “weak” position, but regardless of the situation, I will not change.
As FLY Miami Art transitions from personal narrative to public phenomenon, how do you envision the future of your ducks? Will they evolve, multiply, or transcend their current form, or is the duck an eternal archetype in your visual lexicon? In short, when does the duck become a myth?
The duck already feels like a myth. It is not just an object anymore; it is a symbol. People recognize it, they connect with it, and they make it their own. I do not see it ending. I see it evolving into new scales, new places, new experiences, but always keeping the same heart, sincerity and simplicity. Since I started, less than a year ago, my growth and improvement had been exponential, and I feel I still have a long way to go.
For me the duck is a force of nature that carries resilience, love, and community. I will keep ducking, as long as they keep speaking to me, and right now it feels endless.