For as long as I can remember, art has been my language, my refuge, my way of existing. I was born and raised in Mexico, a country where opportunities are a privilege, not a right. Where, to get ahead, you need money or connections… or, otherwise, you’re left with the darkest path. But I found another destiny one that, at first, seemed like just a crazy hobby, a simple pastime, but over time, it became my reason for being.

Since childhood, I dreamed of becoming an artist. Everything became my canvas. My notebooks weren’t filled with notes but with sketches; each page was a work in progress. The streets were my gallery, and graffiti was my cry for freedom. I didn’t care about rules I just wanted to create, to leave my mark on the world. I got into trouble more times than I can count, but nothing could stop me. I knew my art needed space, needed a purpose… I just hadn’t found it yet.

Although I never had the fortune to study at an art school, I explored multiple creative disciplines, from poetry to music. Out of pride, I once underestimated drawing, never imagining that it would be this very art form that would define my destiny. I had no teachers, no access to workshops or academies. Everything I know, I learned on my own exploring, practicing, making mistakes, and improving. But there was one man who, unknowingly, taught me the foundation of everything I am today: my father.

He is a carpenter, a man with strong, skilled hands capable of transforming wood into something extraordinary. He also knows how to draw, and although he never pursued art, he was my first teacher. I remember when I was a child, he helped me with a school project and drew the silhouette of a man. That moment awakened something inside me. I was fascinated by how he turned a simple pencil and paper into something so real. From that day on, I never stopped drawing.

The years passed, and life took me far from home. In 2017, with the help of an uncle, I obtained a work permit and came to the United States, leaving behind everything I knew in search of a future. I worked in the fields, in construction, climbed to the highest skyscrapers, and touched the sky with my own hands, but deep down, I knew I didn’t belong there. I wasn’t meant to build structures… I was meant to create art.

More than a decade ago, I picked up a handmade, rustic tattoo machine for the first time. I had no idea what I was doing, but I had the same passion I had when I covered walls and notebooks with drawings. But when I saw how the ink settled into the skin, I realized I had my destiny in my hands.