Aguelita, 2025

Acrylic, colored pencil, paper, glue, on wood panel

4 x 3 ft

This is a piece I recently completed during my residency at Galeria De La Raza in San Francisco. Mentored by the incredible artist Anthony Jimenez, this piece will be a part of an upcoming show titled How We Hold Memory at Galeria.

When I was around 6 years old I helped my abuelita off the ground for the first time. At the center of this painting is a woman in a wheelchair—my abuelita—surrounded by the tools and aids that have become part of her daily life.

She is someone whose life has deeply shaped a part of mine, though often in ways difficult to articulate. My relationship with her is layered and, at times, one-sided. She raised her family in a migrant labor camp, working the fields and enduring the long-term consequences of exposure to pesticides and harsh labor conditions. My family has suffered a legacy of chronic illnesses as a result. When my abuelita was in her early 40s, she was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis.

After my grandfather passed from liver failure—another result of their grueling work experience—my abuelita’s health declined rapidly. I’ve witnessed her battle with her body and her refusal to accept its limitations. I’ve lifted her heavy body out of tangled corners she insisted on navigating herself, wiped her butt and showered her, shared a bedroom. It has taken me time, but I’ve come to see her not only as someone who is sick, but as someone who lived a whole life before me—someone full of complexity and heartbreak.

The reference image I used was a photo I took during a visit home—an unfiltered, unposed moment that felt more honest than any memory.