I’m a 24-year-old artist living in Los Angeles CA and since I immigrated from Mexico to the US making art was not something I did by choice, it wasn’t a matter of liking it or not, It was an obsession and as I grew older I felt useless without inhaling the fumes from my paints day and night. I had created an addiction to paint every chance I got. I loved painting for no apparent reason, and I didn’t care if it was healthy or not because it made me feel safe. As I grew I understood that this love and obsession was a language my awkward anti-social self understood and loves to speak, and the canvas is the only soul I feel safe telling my stories, feelings, and thoughts. I don’t have a specific story to tell or focus on to tackle a specific time in my life or history. I go day by day and I tell my stories and feelings as they happen and as they appear in my head.