top of page

Is migration a linear experience?

I started making work for ‘Entré Worlds’ having the dichotomy of life and death as a premise. Being an immigrant and “new American”, my thoughts constantly revolve around two locations: who I was and who I am. The past and the present. There and here. Then and now.

I realized that in between life and death, there is us: a multiplicity of selves that transform and evolve through time and space. We don’t die when we become someone new in this land. Instead, we might fight or reconcile with a previous self, in a previous land and in a previous time.

Our purity is subjective, impossible to reach. Our longing is vapor that resides in our future, sitting next to our fears and expectations. The resolutions of our identity will never settle. We always were -and still are- in continuous transformation.

Entré Worlds:

‘I wounder of tomorrow’

Entré Worlds:



I am singing from a land 

at the end of my inception

where comfort seems as 

                                               f  o  r        

                                                         e i    g 

                                                                     n          as

my early years in this country;


where self-care and acceptance 

taste like 


where there are moments of tears, 

of exaltation. 


                                                                         o   m

I am coming back to my flourished w                b.

coming back to my future, 

that slowly becomes my burning present.

The fire makes me stronger, 

it rounds my edges softly. 

I am wood carved on a Sunday morning.


My earthquakes, 

my unpleasant bodyquakes. 

They break me 

to put me back in place. 


The dew runs my veins, 

my blood floods your neighborhood. 

I imagine how you b         l            e           e            d.


I wounder of tomorrow

Pienso, imagino,      transformo



Cambio del ayer

The future was born yesterday.


Instincts form the curves of our b                        h

                                                                  r             t

                                                                       e   a

Let me keep this for myself,

no eyes but mine will hold this bare.


How many times have I awakened inside? 

But the doors were closed as it happens underground.

How many times have I envisioned tearing them apart? 

Finding myself in pieces glimpsing how I was.


I     run     for purity, 

I am a                                                                        holy     mess.


It is about to come out,

unpredictable, inside its waiting room.

The smell of a beginning, 

fear of the disaster

the desperation of not being able 

to hold it all,

to lose,

to get lost

and without the pleasure.


The forthcoming rebirth,

My resolution for salvation and peace.

bottom of page