1968 confronts the collision between celebration and state violence during the Mexico City Olympic Games. Rendered in watercolor, the series contrasts the vibrancy of athletic spectacle with the grief of the Tlatelolco Massacre and the protests that surrounded it.

Fluid washes echo the instability of the moment — hope layered over repression, movement shadowed by loss. By placing joy and tragedy side by side, the work reflects on how national pride can exist alongside silenced suffering.

This series honors the resilience of those who resisted oppression and preserves a history too often overlooked, revealing how sport, politics, and human rights are inseparable.

The Border, I find myself navigating a landscape that exists between memory, imagination, and the mediated narratives of the world. Each watercolor feels like a conversation between personal recollection and the images we absorb from news and media — a dialogue that blurs the line between what is seen, remembered, and imagined.

In these works, figures and landscapes dissolve into soft diffusions, leaving faces obscured. This is not an act of erasure for anonymity’s sake, but a recognition of how countless lives are compressed into statistics, headlines, and fleeting stories. The gentle, ephemeral quality of watercolor itself becomes a metaphor for the way human experiences are often distorted, forgotten, or consumed from afar, yet remain profoundly heavy in their humanity.

As I reflect on this series, the border emerges not merely as a geographic line but as an emotional and psychological threshold — a space of fear and survival, loss and endurance. By resisting spectacle through abstraction and blurred form, these paintings invite a quiet, contemplative engagement with the realities of migration and displacement. They ask the viewer to linger, to witness, and to hold space for the resilience and vulnerability carried in each fragmented story.

Machismo explores tenderness between men within spaces defined by hypermasculinity. Quiet gestures of touch become acts of vulnerability, disrupting the rigid performances of strength embedded in athletic culture.

By isolating intimate moments within arenas of competition, the work exposes the emotional humanity beneath spectacle and bravado. Gentle titles further soften these environments, inviting reflection on what masculinity suppresses.

At its core, the series celebrates connection — revealing how compassion exists even within systems built on dominance and control.

Moments Away reflects a period shaped by distance, illness, and longing as my grandmother’s health declined while I remained in Baltimore, separated from my family in Mexico.

Rendered in black and white with bursts of primary color, the series carries the emotional weight of separation and memory. The title speaks to the ache of wanting physical closeness — a return to childhood comfort and presence.

Works like Las Paredes recall clay walls on my grandmother’s farm as spaces of refuge, while El Muro de los Lamentos embodies emotional turbulence. Relámpago en Reposo captures moments where my grandparents shared stories of displaced Indigenous heritage and cultural loss.

Together, the series explores distance, generational memory, and the enduring bonds that persist despite physical separation.

Entranced examines immigration, systemic oppression, and the lived realities of people of color. The series unfolds as a visual narrative shaped by borders, labor, protest, and cultural survival.

Blending abstraction and symbolism, the work reflects the emotional weight of displacement and resistance. One central piece, The Wall, draws from my experience in Baltimore during the Freddie Gray protests, confronting the physical and societal barriers imposed on marginalized communities.

This series invites empathy and reflection — revealing the beauty, struggle, and strength embedded within cultural survival.

Fathom exists in the space between abstraction and figuration — where emotion begins to take form. This series marked a turning point in my practice, allowing color and gesture to evolve into human presence.

Each painting carries stories that often remain unseen, using suggestion rather than clarity to give voice to marginalized narratives. The shifting balance between form and dissolution mirrors the fragility of memory and identity.

Fathom is both personal and collective — a meditation on empathy, visibility, and art’s ability to hold what words cannot.

We Were Ones confronts Baltimore’s uprising following the death of Freddie Gray, functioning as both visual testimony and collective memory. The series chronicles a city fractured by systemic violence yet united in its pursuit of justice.

Each painting reflects the human cost of oppression. In Somewhere Deep in My Soul, Freddie Gray’s body becomes an emblem of state violence, layered with raw textures that mirror grief and resistance. Only Once speaks to displacement and generational struggle, while The Night Rounds captures the collective strength of protest along North Avenue.

We Both Lost reveals the shared mourning between divided neighborhoods, exposing how injustice ripples across communities.

Together, the series honors those lost to systemic violence — transforming remembrance into resilience, and art into witness, memorial, and call to action.

Memories That Remember Us weaves personal history, Indigenous heritage, and transformation into a meditation on how material holds memory.

The series began when my mother revealed our Indigenous roots and my grandmother sent volcanic sand from the Popocatépetl temple — sacred material that became embedded in the paintings themselves. Each surface carries both land and lineage.

Recurring imagery, such as a childhood drawing of a fish in Misterio, reflects memory’s persistence across time. The central work, Los Recuerdos que se Acuerdan de Nosotros, draws from a life-altering car accident, marking a shift toward figuration and deeper reverence for the human form.

Set against my experiences in Baltimore, where community and visibility reshaped my understanding of identity, the series connects personal survival with collective memory — revealing how materials, place, and history remember us even as we learn to remember ourselves.

Moments Away reflects a period shaped by distance, illness, and longing as my grandmother’s health declined while I remained in Baltimore, separated from my family in Mexico.

Rendered in black and white with bursts of primary color, the series carries the emotional weight of separation and memory. The title speaks to the ache of wanting physical closeness — a return to childhood comfort and presence.

Works like Las Paredes recall clay walls on my grandmother’s farm as spaces of refuge, while El Muro de los Lamentos embodies emotional turbulence. Relámpago en Reposo captures moments where my grandparents shared stories of displaced Indigenous heritage and cultural loss.

Together, the series explores distance, generational memory, and the enduring bonds that persist despite physical separation.

The Point in Space is a series of panel paintings rooted in materiality, labor, and the meditative act of making. Each surface functions as an excavation — layers of pigment revealing moments of personal transformation.

Abstraction becomes a language for memory, family, and cultural identity, with forms shifting between texture and the suggestion of bodies in space. These suspended moments hold both intimacy and reflection.

The work is also shaped by global realities — quietly haunted by ongoing violence in places such as Gaza, Palestine, and Ukraine. These distant tragedies echo through the surfaces, raising questions about inherited suffering and cycles of loss.

The Point in Space inhabits the space between personal history and collective experience, asking how art can hold both presence and absence, grief and possibility.