After my former series called Garden of protection I had this feeling that I found the
core of my practice, but to be only at the beginning, as if I had the letters and I had to make words out of them. This painting is the result of a patchwork of memories and questions that take more and more visibility in my work.
How to make a painting that moves away from a male dialectic, in its history and its conventions. KEEP YA HEAD UP brings together the cover, from which the title came from, and the orange lilies are from mom's garden that bloom once in summer.
This song is a love letter to women, 2PAC tells us about violence on their bodies, in the city, in society. Everything they give us without owing us.
What we take from them without fear.
I have mixed here, a memory of love that lays masculinities to rest, which we have to go shake it up must and an undying love.
To find the art we want to do and the love we want to give.
A I N ’T.
Y O U R.
F A N T A S Y.
« Je ne suis pas ton fantasme,
ni ton voyage ni ta carte postale. »

« I'm not your fantasy,
neither your trip nor your postcard. "I'm not your fantasy,
neither your trip nor your postcard. »

This work also resonates directly with a project I did named Counterfeiting. It heads towards topics of body objectification and fetishization. The detonating impulse comes from experiencing it since my teenage years. Counterfeiting of an exotic desire. These questions get an echo in painting. Rethink pictorial genres like odalisque, which convey an aesthetic fascination of a fictitious exoticism, projected onto the bodies, mainly women. The hierarchical relationship that we have built with the concept of muse.
Being a woman, with my identity and who paints, I experience this double rejection, first regarding the injunctive gaze on my body, and secondly on the responsibility of mine on others'.

This self-portrait tells of the global anxiety of 2020, related to the
current unstable situation, remaining fears of
never being an artist,
discouragement, fear of wandering in the wrong
direction, to do "wrong".
Caught in the facade of my building, over the window, I float
Must I grasp that brush and risk
the call of the void
or must I grab the handle to get out of the room?
This strange spaciality represents the vertigo of this mental interlacing.
The Party is over

On the other side of the window we see Nia, her sight shows
the building opposite. I found this dress and thought it was already a fragment of a painting. The influence of nature, of various species, takes on more textual forms here. Fish roam on the surface and almost meet the Medinilla magnifica, which grows like inverted candles. Each element of patterns, lines and textures
charged of details, play a particular story.
The generosity of the whole, of the plurality, helps to parasitize the gaze. In all these segments, my geometry does not lock you in, At least it is not the one that is incumbent on you, to look in a certain direction but rather the one that lets you the choice.


The storyline started in a playground around other children a bench and an extreme swing. We examined how we grew up and from there, came
This scene is engraved in the zinc, in the drawing, in the painting.
Snow globe reveals two beings intertwined, a gorgon and a harpy but
It is only her who spread the cosmic force around her narrative,
on a flat stage decorated by

counterpaned edges.
Her game and her gaze is so sharp ready to cut in the neck