When I sat down to redo this gallery, I didn’t realize how much work I actually had. I had to dig through files and various platforms where I had posted the work to gather everything here. Creating a large collage seemed to be the best way to display it since I am no longer in possession of any of this artwork. I wasn't great at taking high-resolution photographs back then, and if I remember correctly, most of these were photographed with a basic camera, not a phone. Given the differences in lighting, definition, and resolution, this was the only feasible way to share what I created ages ago.
At that time, I was at the beginning of my tattooing career while also actively playing bass guitar in a band. I’ll share another gallery showcasing some of the album covers I did for several local musicians during that period.
Looking back at many of these paintings, I can see how influenced I was by the tattoo artists I met and collected tattoos from. I remember wanting so badly to have the skills to create tattoos like those of the artists I admired. I was new to the field, and platforms like Instagram or YouTube didn’t exist yet. I had to learn by studying books, magazines, and, of course, observing the tattoo artists I was fortunate enough to be around. I used painting as a way to practice how bold-colored tattoos were shaded. Ultimately, my tattooing took a different direction that aligned more with my drawing style, which I consider a positive outcome. The tattoo artists I admire have mastered their techniques, and those styles belong to them.
Around this time, I also painted on Venetian masquerade masks, doing a set every year from 2012 to around 2016. I started making them for others after creating two for myself and my husband. We were invited to a Día de los Muertos exhibition and celebration at an art collective in Columbus, Ohio. I was encouraged to submit artwork for the show, and dressing up in theme was part of the experience. The reactions we received to the masks were very positive, with many people asking—because the room was quite dark—if we had painted our faces. This encouraged me to try making more masks, with the first few being made only by request.
These masks were very successful, and I probably could have continued painting them, but a few factors led me to change my mind. I didn’t make the Venetian masks myself; I ordered them from an Italian mask maker. Initially, it was easy to source these masks, but eventually, I could no longer find Italian-made ones, as they had all been replaced with lower-quality masks manufactured in China. While they were cheaper, as you can probably guess, cheaper usually means poor quality. I would order a dozen or so masks, only to find that the eyes were crooked or the holes didn’t align properly with where a person's face would be. They didn’t mold to a person's face as perfectly as the Italian-made ones did. That marked the first strike against continuing this project.
Secondly, this issue was rooted in cultural sensitivity. I always aimed to avoid making my masks resemble traditional Mexican designs. However, the truth is that when you paint designs on a skull face, it inevitably evokes the imagery of a Day of the Dead mask. As people became more aware of who was creating these masks, there was a growing concern that I might be profiting from a culture to which I don't belong.
I painted these masks out of love for the tradition and symbolism of the Day of the Dead celebration, as well as a deep interest in humanity’s relationship with death. Nevertheless, I felt it was best to respectfully conclude this project before it escalated into confrontation. The last thing I wanted was to turn something meant to be positive into a controversial issue.
Interestingly, I never received negative feedback from individuals of Latin American heritage; their reactions were quite the opposite. I am at peace with the series coming to an end; some things are simply meant to be that way.