about the work - read if you like

In July 2022, the Webb telescope began sending images back to Earth, reminding us of our place in the cosmos. It confirmed a humbling truth: humanity is astonishingly small, a speck in a monstrously vast and incomprehensible universe. Yet, we are uniquely aware of this fact. We can perceive both the monumental grandiosity of existence and our own pitiful insignificance. What a beautiful contradiction.

But this isn’t about the universe—it’s about me.

Who am I? I am the son of Zelma and Miguel Ángel. Partner to one, guardian and caretaker to two, sibling to three, cousin to many, and elder to a growing number. This is how I define myself—through relationships. But is there any other way to understand who we are, except in the context of others? And if I must point to something to define myself, do I point to my mind or my heart?

This is where art comes in.

I make art because it is essential to my being. It sustains me, as nourishment sustains life. At one point, I was horrified to realize that I need to create to live. The horror stemmed from the precariousness of this path—it’s a statistically impractical, almost self-destructive way to sustain oneself.

But with that horror came gratitude. To be in this position—to create, to express—is a privilege. And because I strive to be a person of integrity, I feel an obligation to honor that privilege by producing the best work I can.

Right now, my work is both figurative and abstract. Some of it doesn’t represent anything concrete or easily describable, some of it represents actual images of my surroundings. In both cases, my work conveys specific feelings in particular moments. . I don’t create because I believe my emotions are inherently valuable or worth sharing, but because I suspect others feel similar things. It is in that shared experience, in that act of relating, that I believe our humanity lies.

So, here it is—structured, blurry, orderly, blue, undulating, translucent or gold. My work is a reflection of me.

MO, 2026