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Now Do You See Me? A Visual Story of the Mexican-American
Artist Statement
Now Do You See Me? is a multimedia installation that draws upon Mexican-American iconography to explore the quiet strength and collective resilience of a community shaped by immigration, assimilation, and resistance. Through layered visual storytelling, the work invites viewers into the perspective of the “Other”, amplifying voices that have been historically marginalized, particularly those of the Latin community.
The installation centers around an altar, an anchor of faith, memory, and belonging. By incorporating both historical and contemporary motifs, the work speaks to generational cycles of erasure and endurance. This visual language challenges dominant narratives and highlights the ongoing absence of representation within broader cultural and institutional frameworks.
Now Do You See Me? exhibition is both a reclamation and a confrontation: a reclaiming of space, power, and identity, and a call for visibility.
Poem- In the Desert
In the Desert
I am no longer who I was.
The desert has taken this vessel and shed its sins.
On the horizon I look anew
afraid, alone, and with a broken hope.
I look to the mountains for the fountain of youth.
I run just like my ancestors ran;
I ran so fast I forgot to look.
But when I look,
I see what I left behind:
a love, a home, an identity, a belief.
A part of my soul stays, but my vessel moves forward
toward the new bright hope.
In the desert, through another season,
like the cactus, my roots dig deeper:
I grow taller and become stronger
through the drought,
through the heat,
through the vast wasteland of defeat.
I am — I am
Epigraph “In tlilli, in tlapalli — in tlilli in tlapalli, in tlalli, in yolotl.” (The black, the red — the colors of wisdom, the earth, the heart.)
I am no longer—
ya no soy quien era.
The desert takes this vessel,
me despoja, shed its sins,
limpia lo que duele,
in tlalli watching, listening.
On the horizon
I search, busco de nuevo,
con miedo, tan sola,
hope quebrada.
I turn to the mountains—
a las montañas,
seeking la fuente de juventud,
under in tonatiuh — the burning sun.
I run,
como mis antepasados corrían,
so fast—tan rápido—
I forgot to look back.
But when I look—
cuando miro atrás—
I see what I left:
un amor, una casa, una fe,
mi identidad, in yolotl,
part of my alma that stays,
mientras mi cuerpo moves forward
to another season of desert light.
Like cactus—como nopal,
mi raíz digs deeper,
más hondo en in tlalli.
I grow taller, más alto,
stronger, más fuerte,
through la sequía,
through el calor,
through la vasta tlalli
where in teteoh still whisper.
Soy.
I am.
Nativo de esta tlalli.