Would you like to tell us about yourself?

I’m a California-born artist based between the UK and the USA. I come from a working-class, multicultural background with Nicaraguan and European roots, and I grew up immersed in punk, alternative culture and DIY creative communities. I use she/her pronouns.

My practice is informed by lived experience, feminist politics, disability awareness, and the ways people, particularly women, survive systems not built for them. I’m interested in art as a site of truth-telling, care and resistance.

You completed a residency at ACAVA Spode Works last year and are now curating an exhibition here. How did your time in the studios shape your vision for Anarchy Is Her Birthright?

My time at ACAVA Spode Works was formative. Being in a post-industrial site with such a charged history sharpened my awareness of labour, resistance, and who gets written into cultural narratives. During the loss of my mother, my only living family member, the studio became my anchor, and the work deepened into an urgent practice of grief, endurance and feminist resilience.

Being in the studios during that period made clear how vital shared creative space can be. Conversations with other artists felt honest and necessary, about power, visibility, care and survival. Anarchy Is Her Birthright grew directly from that environment: a desire to honour feminist refusal, intergenerational influence and creative defiance – not as chaos, but as ethical resistance.

What does the title “Anarchy Is Her Birthright” mean to you?

For me, anarchy isn’t disorder; it’s the refusal of imposed hierarchies that harm. The title speaks to women’s inherited right to self-definition, dissent and survival. I hope artists and audiences read it as both a challenge and an invitation: to imagine freedom as care, autonomy and mutual responsibility.

The exhibition pays homage to Gee Vaucher and punk feminist legacies. How do these histories connect to your own practice and curatorial approach?

Punk feminism taught me that you don’t wait for permission. Artists like Gee Vaucher demonstrated that political urgency and emotional depth can coexist, that art can be raw, poetic and uncompromising. As a curator, I’m drawn to work that speaks truth rather than decorates space.

How did you approach selecting work for the exhibition?

My approach was deliberately open. There was no imposed theme and no prescriptive rules. I selected work simply on the strength of the art itself. I was looking for well-executed, thoughtful work with clarity of intention. The aim was to trust the artists and allow strong, honest practices to sit alongside one another without being forced into a single narrative.

What kind of art do you make?

I make work that sits between protest and prayer. Visually layered, emotionally direct and politically aware. I’m interested in tension: beauty alongside rupture, vulnerability alongside defiance.

What themes are you interested in?

Resistance, care, feminist refusal, survival, memory, disability, power structures and the emotional realities beneath political systems.

Returning to ACAVA as a curator, how does that feel?

It feels like a full-circle moment. ACAVA supported my practice during a period of deep artistic focus, and returning as a curator feels like an act of reciprocity – creating space for others to be seen, heard and taken seriously.

Do you have any upcoming shows or events?

Yes – Anarchy Is Her Birthright at ACAVA Spode Works, alongside ongoing exhibitions and curatorial projects throughout 2026.