My art  wanders through my body like a map of experiences and life lessons, traumas and pleasures turned into stories that I tell between papers, clay and canvas.

 

         Inspiration is our day to day that adheres to the skin, like an invisible tattoo. Magic is in the skin, and skin is like paper. Like clay, it doesn't forget either. If it wrinkles, the mark remains. If it stains, it can't be erased. If it breaks, there is no going back.

 Everything that I turn to paper, to clay is a record of my invisible world, of the subcutaneous fabric, the warp and weft of thoughts and feelings that feed me and overflow with sensitivity.

 

           My work is a search of this non-existent Freedom in its entirety, of horses as symbols of this Utopian Freedom, of the time that passes without me seeing, of the marks that the outside world leaves on me, the colours that I perceive, the time that I lost and that I recover every time I make art. 

The prints start on the skin. The passions die in my head. Time chases me and I chase La Libertad. I break down moments to immortalize them, because images are the fuel that feeds my passion. 

​

           My art is passion without limits, pain transformed and the joy of continuing to tell more stories. The corral is on my mind. Freedom is an invention of the mind because we are always prisoners of someone or something else. And art is a constant search for Freedom that I pursue. She owns me, and I own her shadow. In turn it sets me free.