This painting of my Mother is from a series of works depicting my loved ones in water, thinking about my family’s relationship to our home, Miami, whose future is at the forefront of the climate crisis. As sea levels rise, I am forced to imagine our home and the people I love flooded and sinking into saltwater.
I am continuing to paint my loved ones within the water—imagining the future of my home as sea-level rises while depicting him in an orange glow, referencing the increasing warmth of our Earth and the growing wildfires across the world.
‘Dancing In Water And Fire’ illustrates my friend, Max, submerged, abstracted, and distorted within the water, the color red consuming the image. His body flickers in light as if lit by a flame while simultaneously underwater. Wildfires and a rising sea comment on the duality of burning yet drowning earth.
A video of collaged trees, a window, and Biscayne Bay move simultaneously from the wind. The video is filled with bright warm tones, and flickers as each frame passes.
A video of the artist's mom, a saturated red takes up the frames while scattered details of contrasted blue make up the face of the figure. The figure is continuously submerged underwater, the image distorting into a blur.
Red consumes my vision of the home I treasure while I can. I archive my present moment while imagining the future of Miami before it devastatingly floods. Using collage, video, and painting, I reconstruct my home, loved ones, and environments affected by the imminent danger of the rising water. Love submerged, abstracted, and distorted within the water, red consuming the image. Their bodies flicker in light as if lit by a flame while simultaneously underwater. Wildfires and a rising sea comment on the duality of burning yet drowning earth.
My home is warm; it smells of saltwater and humidity. It tastes sticky like mango, filled with screw pines, royal palms, and orchids. Venetian blinds and mosquito netting cover each window. Home is my family, my friends, my loved ones. Red. Home is the bending of palm trees during a storm—the heavy rainfalls sideways, echoing through the walls of our house. Home is the water leaking through the layers of paint on the walls, puffing out like a vein.
I imagine the predicted future of South Florida by collaging imagery of human-made infrastructure and elements of nature. Watching the waves of Biscayne Bay come in and out of each frame, taking over the structural architecture of South Florida. Palm trees, a stag fern move passively behind the force of water above. As South Florida sinks and autonomy dwindles, I am charged with the pressing objective of bringing awareness to the continually worsening climate.