In the hills of Mallorca, photographer Cecilia Renard has created a home shaped slowly by light, memory, and family life.

In the hills of Andratx, the day begins slowly. Light moves across the Tramuntana mountains and slips quietly into the house, settling on floors, walls, and objects that have found their place over time. In this shifting light, photographer Cecilia Renard’s home reveals itself not all at once, but through fragments of moments and memories.

“We had been looking for a house in Mallorca for a long time, after six years of living on the island,” she shares. When the home finally appeared, it came at a time of transition. Cecilia was eight months pregnant when they first saw it, and they signed the papers just after her son Guido was born. From the beginning, the connection was immediate. “The first time we visited, we fell in love with the light, the open spaces, and the high ceilings.”

The house had belonged to a Mallorcan painter in his nineties, and his presence still lingers. Rather than starting anew, she approached the home as something to build upon. “We decided to keep the most important things that were already there: the beams, the upstairs floors, the carpentry, and the staircase.” Some of his belongings still remain, quietly woven into everyday life. The dining table is still in use, the living room rug has become one of her favourite pieces, and a number of his paintings continue to hang on the walls. This dialogue between past and present is central to her way of living. Making a space her own, she explains, is about “respecting what was already there and slowly adding things over time.” From the outside, the home may appear finished, but she sees it differently. There are always details to revisit and new layers to introduce.

The renovation followed this same philosophy. With the help of her friend, architect Marina Senabre, and working within a modest budget, Cecilia chose a more personal approach, collaborating with a small, close-knit team, including a father and son who carried out much of the work by hand. There was no rush to complete everything at once. Instead, the process stretched over nearly a year, guided by a vision of how they wanted to live. Even now, that process continues. “We keep adding things little by little, finishing corners when we can.”

From the outset, the house was imagined as a family home. Cecilia began the renovation with her eldest child already in her arms, and that experience shaped every decision that followed. Walls were knocked down to create open, connected spaces, and the kitchen was designed as a place for the whole family. Outside, a courtyard offers space for play. Over time, small corners have been created for the children to crawl, rest, and spend time together. Their bedroom, with its original tile floors, has become one of the cosiest spaces in the house. Living here, Cecilia reflects, means “constantly adapting, leaving room for the house to keep moving with them.”

What makes the space feel truly lived in is the presence of objects that hold meaning. “A lived-in home is one full of things with a reason behind them,” Cecilia reflects. There are pieces inherited from family, like a sideboard that belonged to her partner Mateo’s grandmother, alongside furniture from her own parents and objects brought back from Argentina. The home is also filled with things made by hand. Mateo crafted the wooden kitchen handles and the knives, while Cecilia created the ceramic light fittings and dishes. Together, they have built several pieces of furniture, adding another layer of connection to the space.

There are also works by others she admires, from ceramicists to close friends. Paintings by artist Cris Aguirre hang on the walls, while books and magazines, including those featuring her own photography, are scattered throughout. Nothing feels purely decorative. One corner holds a particularly personal significance. A shelving unit in the living room, brought back from Argentina, carries a story of its own. Cecilia met its creator, Alejandro Sticotti, while photographing him before he passed away. The piece now holds layers of memory, from her Argentine roots to her work and travels. Slowly, she has filled it with ceramics, books, and objects collected over the years to create a quiet portrait of her life.

Her approach to photography mirrors the way she inhabits her home. Working primarily with analogue photography, she embraces a slower, more intentional way of seeing. “When you know that every roll of film is thirty-six decisions, you slow down and look differently.” There is less room for excess, and more attention given to what truly matters. This mindset extends into her daily life, where she finds inspiration in the ordinary. A piece of fruit on the table, wilted flowers, a moment of play, or the way light moves through a room.

Light is a constant presence in the house, shaping both atmosphere and routine. Cecilia grew up in Menorca, surrounded by the Balearic light, and it continues to influence how she sees the world. In her home in Mallorca, the view from her windows stretches across mountains and countryside. The house faces east, allowing the morning sun to fill the front rooms, while the afternoon light drifts toward the courtyard. At certain moments, especially early in the day or at sunset, the light becomes impossible to ignore.  

Some of the most meaningful aspects of the home are the ones that remain unseen by others. Cecilia recalls the view from her bedroom window at dawn, a scene she has watched during many quiet night feeds. It is a small, private moment, one that belongs entirely to her. She also finds herself returning to the objects left behind by the previous owner, from his paintings to his furniture, such as the living room rug. Pieces that might seem ordinary to others continue to hold significance, acting as a quiet reminder of the home’s past.

If she were to capture the essence of her home in a single image, it would not be composed or refined. It would be an ordinary morning, the kind that passes almost unnoticed.