Chapter 2: Roots, Imperfections, and Raw Intuition

9/19/2026

My intuitive process isn't just driven by heavy rhythms—it’s guided by roots deep in my bones, even the ones wrapped in mystery.

For the longest time, I didn't fully know my ancestral backstory. My family culture was rooted in Spanish heritage on both sides of my parents way down the line to my great great great ancestors, but I have always felt an undeniable, intense pull toward my Indigenous side especially since I was born with more Indigenous features. While I know that part of my Indigenous lineage traces back to Chihuahua, Mexico and here in the states, from Arizona, New Mexico, Colorado and Nebraska. Any further detailed records of that side of my ancestors are lost to time. I don't have ties or claims to specific tribes—that part remains a quiet mystery that may never be solved, leaving a hole I've carried for a long time. Yet, despite not knowing the exact why, that pull remains. Painting motifs like sugar skulls and desert elements isn't about claiming a title on either side of my heritage and culture; it’s my way of honoring that traceable and untraceable part of myself through the art I create today.

Of course, "intuitive painting" sounds very peaceful on paper. In reality? It’s a beautifully chaotic dance. I don't use rigid tape measures, neat color wheels, or meticulously plotted drafts. Asking me for exact steps mid-paint is like asking how I cook. I inherited my second gift—intuitive cooking—from both of my grandmothers, who to this day have never touched a measuring spoon in their lives. I measure strictly with my heart, tossing ingredients in until my ancestors' voices echo in my head: “That’s good enough, mija.” 

That exact same wild energy goes onto the canvas. Because of that, my artwork doesn't always have flawless lines or neat, predictable flow. But honestly? None of us walk a perfectly straight line in life, so why should my canvas? Life is messy, unpredictable, and rarely goes according to plan. Embracing those wobbly edges and unexpected paint splatters is what makes reaching that final, proud completion so satisfying. I’m not trying to manufacture perfection for a high-end gallery where people judge and critique what they say is or isn’t art in hushed tones. I want art that feels real, alive, and full of soul.