In late November 2011, I witnessed my father take his final breath. After engaging in the mourning rituals in México that helped me process my grief, I returned to the United States. New York City felt like an unsuitable place for grieving, and by December that year, I yearned to reconnect with my childhood. I felt compelled to work with children, similar to the urge I had after completing my cancer treatment in 1990. I was in search of vitality.
As I started my journey working with children, I felt disoriented and unprepared, having attended art school without formal training in childhood education. I adapted as I went along. The children defied conventional logic, teaching me that a fork could be more than just a utensil for eating. I often ended my days feeling enchanted and creatively invigorated.
Of all the age groups, I was particularly drawn to the two-year-olds. One child in my class communicated with just a few words and a pointing finger, yet she engaged with the world without hesitation. I, too, struggled with self-consciousness due to my accent, resonating with pre-verbal children. Observing their non-verbal communication, like biting and a plethora of vocalizations, I was captivated. This intimacy and authenticity became integral to my art, influencing my performances and studio work, even during subway rides.
Though I eventually stopped working full-time with children, two years ago, I was invited to assist with a children’s program at a sanctuary church during the so-called “migrant crisis.” The church provided refuge for families from Colombia, Venezuela, and Ecuador seeking asylum. Implementing an “emergent curriculum,” I allowed children to lead their learning. When one child mentioned “La selva” upon seeing clay, we realized they were recounting their journey through the Darién Gap rainforest. As they molded clay into various shapes, they shared tales of hardship alongside expressions of imagination and joy.
The children’s shared experiences reminded me that my art extends beyond the studio. My accent and unique expressions accompany me into creative endeavors. In 2016, I turned a corner in Crown Heights, Brooklyn, into my temporary theater for a series of performances. During the COVID-19 pandemic, I performed at Soloway gallery, connecting with my past through songs and poetry. More recently, I found inspiration in the reflection on subway train panels, embracing the perceived imperfections as part of my artistic journey, reminiscent of my childhood experiences traveling to Guanajuato, México.
