The Heritage of the Stroke

My journey into art began in an unusual way. As just a kid, I found myself surrounded by elders who dedicated their retirement to the pure joy of painting. In those afternoons, being the only child in a room full of adults, I learned the secrets of oil painting from my grandmother, who was my teacher, my guide, and my home.

From her, I inherited a devotion to impeccable craftsmanship and the economy of the stroke; a philosophy rooted in the pleasure of creating with patience and precision. She gifted me technique as an act of love. I would watch her work, her apron always stained with oils, where she would wipe her brushes to leap from one vibrant color to another in a chaos full of life.

Today, my practice is a process of unlearning that honors this very duality. Although my current visual language has evolved mostly toward acrylics, my work is born from the confrontation between the rigidity of what I was taught and the freedom I claim as an adult. It is a constant, deliberate struggle between the restrained stroke that dwells in my subconscious and a freer, more intuitive expression.

I fight a battle upon every canvas. Although the fear of making a mess persists as an echo of that immaculate upbringing, I love experiencing that resistance. I possess the technical precision bequeathed to me from a very young age, and from that place of security, I force myself to play with materials in a way that challenges how play was originally taught to me.

Each artwork is a dialogue between her lessons and the path I now carve alone. A process that fills me with pride, honoring the woman who was my greatest mentor. Today, I trace my own path with the promise of never letting go of the brush she placed in my fingers; painting, just like her, until the light fades, with my soul devoted to color until the end of my days.