In my artistic practice, I begin with what has been abandoned: a broken chair, a loose thread, an empty structure that once held a body. I work with everyday objects that have lost their function or place in the world, and through poetic intervention —weaving, embroidering, reconstructing— I seek to return to them a sense of meaning, voice, and presence.

 

Art, furniture, textiles, and design converge in each of my pieces. Each object holds a story waiting to be revealed, and the creative process becomes a journey toward memory, fragmentation, and the unsaid. I use textile art as an intimate and symbolic act of resistance. The thread that binds is also the thread that reveals — stitching absences, outlining wounds, transforming them into visible signs of existence.

 

The chair is a recurring presence in my work. I do not see it as a functional object but as an extension of the human body: a structure for waiting, for holding, for containing. To intervene in a chair is not to restore it but to transform it into a storyteller — one that carries the weight of unspoken narratives, of overlooked lives, of feminine memories that endured quietly within domestic spaces. Fractures, voids, and imperfections are essential parts of its new language, one that embraces what is broken as a source of beauty.

 

My process is slow, manual, and meditative. I think with my hands, I listen to the materials. I am drawn to what has been lost, what resists, and what still holds the possibility of healing. Each piece is unique — found, recycled, restored, and transformed — and within each one lives a part of me, merging the essence of the object with my own identity.

 

I work at the intersection of the personal and the poetical, the intimate and the collective. Through projects like the Sustento Textil Project and as a member of collectives such as Red Threads Studio Miami and FAMA (Fiber Artists Miami Association), I integrate my practice with networks of women who also utilize textile art as a tool for social transformation.

 

I'm not trying to erase its past, but to rewrite it from the present, with hands that mend, threads that narrate, and objects that, once touched, speak again.