Artist Statement
My artistic practice is rooted in close observation and in a lifelong fascination with the ways nature adapts, resists, and evolves—even in the face of direct human impact. I have witnessed this resilience both on land and along the ocean floor, yet I am equally aware of its limits. Corals, among the most fragile species on the planet, cannot recover on their own once they are bleached. Their restoration demands precise care: relocation, temperature monitoring, cultivation, anchoring, and years of patient waiting. This reality leaves me with a persistent question: if corals disappear, what will sustain the life that depends on them? What is the ocean’s plan B?
This concern does not come from imposed activism but from direct experience and a deep emotional connection with the marine world. I hold close a phrase by artist Jason deCaires Taylor, known for his underwater sculptures that support coral regeneration:
“We only see the surface of the ocean.”What happens beneath—what blooms, what dies, what struggles to return—is what guides my work.
My current process is shaped by the year I have spent walking the fields of San Miguel de Allende. Observing the shifting pastures, I was struck by how closely they resemble the seabed. Both landscapes reveal subtle transitions when light touches branches, or in the case of water, when it penetrates the surface and reaches the marine flora. This parallel between land and sea has become a central thread in my work.
In the studio, I build this dialogue through layers of acrylic, marble dust pigments, inks, and final strokes with oil pastel bars. This combination of materials creates organic shadows and color fields that echo the rhythms of water and earth. I often create digital sketches to guide my compositions on canvas or cotton paper. Moving between digital and physical media has become a bridge that enriches my practice, allowing me to discover new characters and forms—many of them functioning as alter egos that give voice to what I wish to express through painting.
If I had to reduce my intention to a single sentence, it would be this: “My work is a cry expressed through characters that are my alter ego.”
I do not paint to seek approval. I paint to evolve as a human being and to express the fragility of nature, the urgency of reconnecting with it, and the stories that emerge from that connection. My journey through many countries over more than a decade, my experience of exile, and my need to remember my roots have deeply shaped my visual language. The characters that appear in my work—organic in form and chromatic energy—have become symbolic vessels: they are memory, identity in motion, and a reminder of our purpose on this one planet we share.
My artistic lineage has expanded over the years. I carry with me the influence of Jesús Soto, whose work filled the landscape of my hometown in Valencia; the luminous sensibility of Armando Reverón; the intuitive gesture of the CoBrA movement; the symbolic magic of Remedios Varo and Leonora Carrington; and the emotional honesty of artists such as Louise Bourgeois, Jean Dubuffet, Beatriz Simón, and Francisco Icaza. Under the mentorship of Mexican artist and sculptor Ernesto de la Peña Folch, I deepened my understanding of materiality and artistic discipline. A recurring companion in my research is Hans Prinzhorn’s Artistry of the Mentally Ill, which reminds me that creation is also a way of revealing what is human: vulnerability, impulse, memory, and the essential need to narrate.
My work is, above all, a way of listening—to nature, to memory, and to my own inner voice. I seek to reveal what lies beneath the surface, waiting to be seen.
Jennika