I was born into a family of artists on both sides: musicians, dancers, writers, actors and painters. When I was four years old, my mother moved my father and I from Valencia, Spain, to Irvine California, where she could obtain her master's degree in theatre arts. Being transplanted abruptly and having my parents' marriage fall apart soon after undoubtedly shaped me: I no longer identified with a single culture; nor a single family unit; nor anything conventional. I adapted by becoming an observer, specifically, an observer from the wings of a stage watching my mother ease in and out of characters, eras, plots, and costumes. It was a great teacher. I came to appreciate how language, story and design are used to describe the human condition so artfully.
​Fast-forward many, many years and I return to Valencia to attend art school, and then Pasadena Art Center to attend more art school, and eventually I meet David, the young actor whose role it is to play my mother's son-in-law. Ours was a case of life imitating art. We knew pretty instantly we were destined for one another, and we did what destined people do: date, get engaged, get stable jobs, get married, have kids.​
In 2005 David and I were ecstatic to learn I was pregnant with a son, however, on a routine ultrasound we learned something was off.
On May 17th, 2006, Charlie was born with a rare disease in which his lungs simply stopped developing in utero. He languished on a ventilator for one month until he died peacefully in my arms. A year later I became pregnant with twins who succumbed to the same deadly disease.
​
What life experiences define us as artists? Or better yet, what makes (or breaks) our spirits to explore the profound parts of ourselves, and then have the courage to share them?
​
Our story didn't end unhappily. We went on to have two healthy daughters we adore. There is yet something hard to pinpoint being that intimately tethered to loss, and it changes you completely and forever.
​
I'll be plain here. I haven't really been able to create as freely since. Not with the consistency or clarity I would like. I think about painting all the time; it's a constant, discomfort I feel burrowing in my chest, and at the center of my forehead. Whether I was born an artist or became one through exposure, it is an intrinsic part of me that I would like to find the courage to fully and unapologetically unleash. That would be my greatest wish outside of keeping my family healthy and happy.
​
Thank you for your time to look at my work and to read my story--I genuinely appreciate it.