Coming from backgrounds in 2D animation and tattoo art, what inspired you to focus on bodies in motion and their connection to inner, symbolic images?
My work in 2D animation was focused on backgrounds and cameras, which is called layout. It is a beautiful medium, with so many possibilities, but it is intense work where I didn’t have the space to draw for myself. Tattooing allowed me to have more time to dig into my own world.
There was a rough period where I needed to move, not physically, but mentally; drawing bodies in motion was like a catharsis. Later, my readings and centers of interest infused into those drawings, and now with painting I can explore a bit further. It feels like trying to learn your own language: first you have one or two words, then you can make a sentence, and with time and patience you can start to express more complicated things.
Your art revolves around mythological, religious, and archetypal images. Can you share a bit about how your personal journey led you to explore these themes in such depth?
My family comes from a Buddhism background, which created an attraction in me for spirituality and the search for meaning. Everything that I could not comprehend with my head but seemed to hold some truth was appealing. As a teenager, I was more skeptical and questioning. But some personal experiences led me to believe that there was “something else” to that reality. I always like to have different angles to look at something, and each new field or author that I discover helps me understand my own experiences a bit more. Philosophies, spiritualities, psychology, and science are all looking for answers, and it’s with all of them that I can form my own vision of life.
Jungian psychology, alchemical texts, and religious studies are all part of your research. How do these disciplines inform your work, and what specifically draws you to each of them?
I started reading Jung because I wanted an approach that was a bit more practical on what was going on inside of us. He led me to alchemy and a vision about myth and religion that I didn’t really have before. His goal was really similar to what Buddhism is trying to achieve, for example. In Buddhism, it’s accessing the state of Buddha; with Jung, it’s called “individuation.”
Alchemy has the same goal—it’s a spiritual path in which you consider that matter is a reflection of your inner world, summarized in the famous “as above, so below.” When working on matter, you work on yourself. Traditionally it’s on metals, but it can be applied to anything—painting, cooking, dancing… Matter acts like a mirror that we have to polish to see our reflection and gain a better understanding of ourselves. I try to apply that to the mediums that I explore.
You described your work as a journey through the labyrinth to confront personal fears or inner “dragons.” How does this concept influence your approach to each new piece?
One myth that comes back frequently is Saint Michael vs. the dragon, or Saint George, but it’s also Theseus against the Minotaur, Siegfried against Fáfnir, and so on. It’s part of a rite of passage. In alchemy, the dragon is the prima materia. It’s chaotic, it’s raw. But the dragon, or Lucifer, is not negative—it’s an energy, a light, that is imprisoned and needs to be freed.
For me, it means that we have to go to the darkest place inside of us, the center of our labyrinth, and face what is sealed there if we want to find the light. I feel that symbol comes back because it’s a process that takes time—an entire life, probably—and painting it regularly is like a mantra for me of not giving up.
Your practice involves an “automatic” approach, similar to Surrealist techniques. How does this process work for you, and how do you stay open to these inner images during creation?
For me, everything usually starts with one or two days where I can’t do anything—I feel stuck. Drawing in an automatic way, as Breton put it in his manifesto, is a good way for me to empty my head, to be in a state of receiving and listening, where I can finally start to paint or whatever I’m working on. Then the rest comes in an instinctive way: a new color or a new shape guides me to the next movement. The hardest part for me is always to start.
Tattoo art has a unique permanence and intimacy. How does this medium complement or contrast with your 2D animation and painting practices?
After a few years of tattooing, I focused my practice on creating the drawings on the day of the appointment. To share that process can be really inspiring, and it allows me to take time to know the people that I tattoo a bit better.
Tattooing is a dialogue, with the person getting the tattoo leading the way. It’s a social and human medium that enables people to bond with themselves and with others. With 2D animation, as much as I like it, I got stuck in a “technical” practice, where I couldn’t use it in an expressive way. While with drawing, painting, or ceramics, I feel completely free to go wherever I want. Weirdly, I feel more comfortable expressing movement with static mediums.
Finally, if you could leave your viewers with one idea or feeling about their own “inner images” or personal myths, what would you hope they take away from your work?
What I find interesting with those images, those archetypes, is that it’s in all of us, but to get in contact with them is a personal journey. No one can do it for someone else. But I feel like art, in any form that it can take, is a way of opening doors in our minds.
When I see an exhibition that I really like, it brings me joy and inspires me to continue my own journey. I don’t know if my work can do that for someone else, but if it does, even to a few, that’s all I can wish for.
