This is very serious work. Someone sat hours, no, days making and designing and thinking about these pieces of art, for someone like me to come and deface them with my own view on them. Seriously, Life is serious enough.




After 20 years of living abroad I return to where my childhood was imprinted in me, and claim that I am, and belong, regardless of where I am now physically, based solely on what has been imprinted in my soul. 
All the pieces were carved in linoleum, printed and then the linoleum was pressed into clay. The beautiful thing was that all the layers of the linoleum were revealed in the clay, even the ones invisible on the print itself.

The repeated theme of hands (Open, Closed, and fingers interlaced), describe my own relationship with these traits of my identity that I accept, reject, or have come to learn to live with.

The series is comprised of 3 kinds of works. 

The Scenes. Scenes from my childhood, these are places that were part of my daily (or very often) upbringing.  In a way, I depict myself in all of them. The hands  represent in all of their states. open closed and fingers intertwined. what is interesting. is that all these places are stuck in my head in their very glorious form, I wonder  if these places were ever as glorious as they were in my head. the linoleum was imprinted  on clay,  and printed on paper.

The plates. Food is not a small piece of my identity as a Mexican. these plates are all called "Antojos" which translates into: cravings. the linoleum was imprinted on clay for plates and on paper as prints.

“En resumen” or "In summary", the final piece of the exhibition “Carving Impressions” is a summary of the whole exhibition, the open, closed and joined hands, 
In this 30 meter long roll I hand I imprinted, linoleum onto ceramics, and from these ceramics, which in turn made into rollers I printed onto paper. They Represent the summary, the whole. 



My Roll of No Judgement is where I practice not just drawing, but also non-judgement. On the roll, no line is wrong. Once the ink hits the paper, that line is accepted and loved just like any other line.
I practice to allow myself mistakes, to forgive them and to let them go.
I can only keep going forward, there is nothing for me to add if I go back.




In an ongoing series, I look deep within, to find my demons, and mock them. These pieces have me in common. And like human perception that fluctuates, so do the mesages and meanings hiddden in these visual dialogues between me and my demons. 

Sometimes I'm an adult and we can sit and have a normal converstaion; But sometimes i cover my ears and sing "Lalalalalalaaaa, i can't hear you".


(work in progress)

I feel fortunate that until my 35th birthday i had not known grief from close up; But once I did, I started seeing it differently.

When I was 35, and very pregnant with twins, my grandfather got sick, and I was not allowed on a plane. He died, and I could only say goodbye on the phone. My first grief of loss was done alone on a small couch and a phone. 

I see grief now as a very personal form of last try to communicate your feelings to the departed, as if they could still see you, and smile and know they were loved for your personal jokes and actions. even though they can not.

I hope I never finish this series.