About Me

I am an Afro-Latina artist born and raised in Miami, FL, a womb of some of the most original and cultivated artists. I was not only exposed to Miami art throughout my childhood. I was born into a family of artists, beginning generations of kin who naturally have an affinity for working with our hands.

​

At about 4, I remember watching my dad glide the brush across canvases so gracefully. His hands were well-practiced and strong. Common with blank canvases, my small eyes watched white tiles evolve into the most beautiful hyper-realistic paintings. I recall the hummingbird and lion in particular. Huge pieces, large enough to take up the average window. He could emphasize the physical attractiveness of anything. One day, I decided to be as good as he is and give it a try. I picked up a pencil and doodled the most childish concoction. I ran with chained desperation and printer paper in my hands. My soul was determined to show my dad my pieces.

​

“So what do you think?” I enthusiastically held my work up.

​

“It’s not that great. You have to adjust your shading. There isn’t enough contrast.” My dad is blunt and honest—a Caribbean thing.

​

I walked away, not hurt, just determined to make it better. I would ask about his process and how he accomplished what he did, and make an attempt to follow the procedures. One would think a 9-year-old would have at least some forms of sadness. The artist in me is more like a soldier who seeks honesty and strives to enhance my skills. I recall winning awards throughout elementary school for my art as well. The first award I won was in first grade. I drew a firetruck putting out fires and had the chance to meet the fire team our school made art for. I was focused on what my sun should look like in terms of coloring within my piece. That was the first time I began to pay attention to detail.

​

By mid-high school, I used art as an outlet to express myself and, more so, as a therapeutic form for my mental health.  I grew a rapport with drawing faces. It was something about the face that was so intimate and primal. It is as if I could deeply connect with the character embodied on the sheet in front of me. Touching every aspect of them, which felt forbidden yet natural. I explored different themes of mental health, creating many pieces that could be considered taboo. A part of me enjoyed the controversy it gained with the school because that meant my art was strong enough to make someone else stop and feel it for a minute. One element of art that I value highly is telling a story.

​

I transitioned schools halfway through high school. I had the opportunity to take an introductory art class where my teacher noticed my natural gift and encouraged me to take advanced placement art. During my time with her, she told me one thing that has stuck with me. “Art is not something you hide and keep to yourself. Art is meant to be shared.” And, “Don’t be afraid of the paintbrush.” As a shy kid, art helped me to connect with others and not be afraid to put myself out there. I was able to win awards in high school as well and build my confidence with paint.

​

Art took more of a backseat in college until I was introduced to African dance. By no means was I or am I a dancer, but dance enhanced the quality of my life overall. I became more in tune with my body, feeling sensations, I had never felt before. My therapist had been right about me carrying my symptoms on my shoulders. It continued to target my shyness and assisted me with my emotional expression. I built my confidence up so much to perform on stages, one time, using my voice to recite a poem for an organization called “This is My Brave.” I went from drawing the face to acting with the face.

 

During my time with my first African dance company, I was not the best dancer. My instructor asked,

​

“Why do you dance?”

​

I told her, “Because it feels good.”

 

I eventually began sewing my skirts for dance, preferring the eccentric, non-traditional, and neotraditional style that was born by my hands. Making performative belts and wearing them to weekly classes. I was almost rebelling in a system where following the technique and the rules were highly valued. It made me stand out and look different, but what fun would the world be if all the colors were the same? Sewing turned into crafting. And well, here we are with the story that continues to be written. My parents raised me with the idea that one does not pursue art as a career but rather as a hobby. An opinion with cultural influence.​ As an adult, I permitted art to be a part of my life forever, proving the stigma wrong and choosing to pursue my authenticity.