When I was five years old, I had an existential crisis because I realized how insignificant the size of my body is in comparison to the size of the universe. At that moment I also realized, that even as insignificant as it is, my body is the only vehicle I have to navigate this human experience at this time and in this place. And ever since, I began to be hyper-aware of my body. 

During my childhood, I remember the relationship with my body being one of excitement and discovery. I wasn’t afraid of it or worried about it at all. But then I went through puberty and suddenly the dynamic of the world with my body began to change. I was sexually harassed on the street when I was nine years old, and that changed everything. Later, as a teenager, studying at a catholic school, the message was reinforced, there was something wrong with my body and I needed to be ashamed of it. 

I was called to cover it by wearing bigger uniforms. I was diagnosed with a sexual disorder because a teacher at school caught me with a magazine that had some b&w photos of artistic nudes and for that I also was called a pervert by the psychologist of the school when I was seventeen. 

Ever since, the relationship with my body has been an eternal conflict occupying so much mental space, because on one side it is full of shame and guilt but on the other, it is filled with excitement to expose my body to new pleasurable experiences. It is an eternal struggle that limits my human experience. 

My work began as an intimate drawing practice in which I drew everyday using journaling as the foundation of the images I started to draw. For that matter I created a character of a woman that one day rips her head off and starts interacting with it, sometimes the head is bigger and a shelter to the body, sometimes there are several heads or just one but is uncontrollable and needs to get dominated by the body. Then, one day the head gets lost and the body starts a quest to find it but in the process, as a headless body, develops a narrative of its own. 

Drawing her adventures had helped me question all the beliefs I had regarding my own body and my sexuality. I’ve been nourishing this narrative with an ongoing research on the imaginary that has been created throughout history to represent women and their bodies, on the history of women and the history of sexuality, on body politics, feminism, science fiction, esoterism and magic. 

When I was 27, I saw for the first time the complete anatomy of the clitoris and after years of bad sex in which my pleasure wasn’t part of the equation, I came to the realization that the relationship with our own bodies depends on how much we know about them, and there is a lot that we don’t even know that we don’t know about our bodies, specially about the mechanics of our pleasure due to taboos and stigmas on women’s sexuality and that limits our human experience and our capacity to feel. I truly believe that knowledge is power. 

My work remains as an ongoing narrative, currently in the realm of the fantastic, in which my characters are in a constant transformation. I’m seeking to portray the relationship with my own body while keep trying to liberate it from the chains of patriarchy. It is inspired not only in my body, but in the experiences and stories of the women around me, in my ancestors, in all women of all times, dead and alive, ​​their books, their words, their opinions, their history, their music, their art, their films, their food, their poetry, their love, their culture, their vision. And in nature.  All the answers we seek as human race, are there.

Audre Lorde, in her essay Uses of the Erotic, wrote that the erotic is like a seed that we carried within. My work is currently seeking to answer the question, how does the erotic transform the self?