Drawing has always been happening in my life, since I was a kid. By making time for just sitting and drawing, I slowly learned more about my loved ones on this earth. I learned my mother and father moved in the 80s from Mendoza, Argentina, during a brutal time. After the 1976 coup, Argentina’s military systematically crushed any opposition, and my uncle Daniel was one of the 30,000 disappeared and murdered. 
 
My family moved to Miami’s vibrant community. I was born in north Miami in a mostly Haitian community with murals, markets, Zoe Pound, Cuban music, red-white-and-blue. They became me, mending, welded onto parks of my heart. This was the imprint of my youth in Miami, having found artists like Purvis Young, walking through the streets in Overtown. 
 
The ocean found a way to stay with me when I wasn’t there. The horizon burned into the lens of my eyes. Often my paintings, drawing, objects, and sculptures are places to express this line of earth, the view from surfing or just floating, only sky, only endless sea. 
 
My family would enjoy burning all day in the sun, swimming and playing. As I got older, to me it became a realistic way to take things from the day and from time, to then record space and the shape of ocean. My paintings would never look at all like ocean life but the changes inside and towards all things when painting can change, flowing fluidity in that realm place space in the action of painting.
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My subjects are conspicuously personal. The painting is a part of a larger exploration of consciousness, a quest to expand what is knowable.
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My work now involves taking a lot of pictures. It’s a way to access time or an interaction with seeing, feeling–emotions that I’ve had before. Also, looking at existing publications collage painting on paper. I print with the fabric itself, I press books by stomping and dancing on them, setting pressure and body weight and using that as a means to make something exciting happen. 
 
I take away the stretchers and paint on something soft. I find fabrics, bedsheets, keeping them un-primed and leaving the hue color of the raw cottons and linens. America is overwhelmed with a relentless selling of Self, but our existence is shaped by love. Opposites marrying a construct.
 
There is a feeling that can live in fabric. The way that fabric drapes is like a song. I’m intrigued by the space that a painting can take when it’s soft, how it can hold light.
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Part of all the work is the dye. For a period of time I lived in Montauk, where I believed I’d just be painting and being outside of the grid that we call New York City. But instead, I started a business with my girlfriend, a shop right by the ocean. The space acted as a landing pad and a launching point for friends and artists in the community and across to South America. That was in my life at that particular time. I made clothing and dyed all of our garments, objects, and posters. I became interested in the string and permanence of dye especially on raw unprimed canvas. 

To stain the works I began using things like Kool-Aid and I devoted more time to seeing the ways in which the dye changed over time. The dyes can be reactivated and they can be crystallized, drying in large pools of pure color. The paintings are worked out on the floor, and later pinned to the wall.