Writer. Orphan. Mourner. Cancer survivor. Social introvert. Alchemist. Absurdist.
My photography is the byproduct of a life that has endured many losses, but resisted defeat.
I was raised by the fire and brimstone of a worrywart Salvadoran grandmother. As a result, I never was given a ticket to explore my outside world when I was younger—I could get kidnapped, molested, and trafficked into a life of child prostitution she would contend.
I can still remember spending most of my waking days after school, isolated in my room. While all the neighborhood kids played touch football out on the streets, I entertained myself reading, daydreaming, and crafting inter-galactic spaceships out of cardboard boxes (literal and abstract) from the depths of my imagination. Needless to say, solitude was (and continues to be) my companion. In retrospect, I'm grateful I came away from that turbulent childhood with such a rich inner life. Now it's a form of self-preservation.
Besides dinosaurs, the solar system, and my older brother's secret porn stash, I developed a child-like fascination and curiosity with the human face–the human face as metaphor for selfhood. It's this interest in the mythology of self that propels my work.