Querida
Querida, meaning Beloved, is a series of paintings that depict the nature of loving. There is a feeling of hope, rebirth, resilience, protection. “Mother” within oneself, within others, within community. Womb. Not as a feminine blueprint nor anything so strategically named but as something innate and transcendent.
Lirios en Tierra Fértil, 2026
Oil on canvas
Lirios en Tierra Fértil began on an encounter with spider lilies. Seen on a walk with my mother in Mexico. Upon closer observation, I saw motherhood. I saw new blooms and spent ones sharing space, dried red pistils falling like healing wounds, flowers attempting to survive a vignette pressing in around them. The underpainting is of La Virgen de Guadalupe. The wall in the background became gold surrounding the flowers like reverence, because flowers that tall only grow in fertile ground.
The stars dance while the youngest blossom, 2026
Oil on canvas
Obdulia nació contra corriente,
Habitante de un pueblo
donde la innovación se negaba
en conocer el polvo y el barro
Ella igual bailaba y cantaba
y supongo que teníamos puertas de madera en común.
Portales y fracasos, entradas y salidas.
Aprendió a navegar los ríos
hasta llegar hacia mi mundo
Cuando la veo desde la sombra,
soy incapaz de ver detalles más allá
que la corona de oro que adorna su cabeza
La imagino inalcanzable a caballo
Madre como raíces incorruptibles
Somos ramales
suplicando impulso.
Ella,
guardiana de nuestras memorias,
guarda las estrellas
en cajas de porcelana,
tal como los ríos le inculcaron.
Ella aun se ve cómoda
en faldas largas que fluyen
como la corriente que nunca olvidará.
Yo soy la rama más lejana,
Verde y Fragil
pero yo también bailo y canto
para nunca olvidarme.
Obdulia, 2025
Color pencil on paper
Obdulia was born upstream,
in barely a town
where little innovation reached
the dust and the dirt.
She sang and danced and
I suppose we had wooden doors in common.
Portals and failures, threshold and home.
Winding rivers led her to my world.
I look to her from the ground,
unable to see detail past the yellow halo
gracing the crown of her head.
She looks impossibly far away on horseback.
Mother as ancient roots.
We are the branches gasping for air.
She, keeper of our memories,
stores the stars in porcelain jewelry boxes
because the winding rivers led her in such a way.
She wears long skirts that flow
like the icy rivers she never forgets.
I am the left most branch,
furthest from the river,
frail and green,
and I too sing and dance so I never forget.
Angels Unfurling, 2026
Oil on canvas
Congregacion de las flores amarillas, 2026
Oil on canvas
Yuya’s Kitchen, 2026
Oil on canvas