I make art to connect with people.
Public spaces are an ideal way to combine my performance art and sculptural work. In contrast, my small drawings reflect a desire for intimacy and reflection.
Either way, my art practice is fueled by the principles of accessibility, love, and compassion.
I don’t remember ever going to a gallery or museum as a young girl in Ft. Wayne, Indiana, but I remember playing outdoors and organizing theatre performances and dog shows (although we didn’t have a dog) with the neighborhood kids. Discarded cardboard, shoe boxes, old bottles, and junk mail became our props.
When I was 12 years old, my parents and seven siblings moved to Nogales, Arizona where I felt I had met “my people” in the warm and welcoming Mexican-American community there.
I moved to a mud adobe home in the desert near Tucson where I still live and have my studio. When I lost my young son, I embarked on a journey to study and practice site-specific, interactive public art in Spain, Italy, France, New York City, Washington, D.C., Boston, and other places. My love of other cultures and making connections is at the crux of my identity and artistic expression.
One time, I was laid up in bed with a broken knee and began making small sumi-e ink drawings – drawing one each day. I called them “pause drawings” because my temporary physical predicament caused a pause in my performance art and daily routine. Recently during the COVID-19 quarantine, the pause drawings have taken on a deeper meaning of intimacy, self-reflection, and connection.
My favorite aspect of the creative process is taking risks. There’s no erasing, no do-overs. I keep creating and moving on. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t. It’s kind of like Life – if the hand you were dealt or the choices you made didn’t work out, you’ve got to adapt, evolve, and live with love, compassion, and inclusion.
Pencil & Ink