Paola Rascón's Art from the Border

By Sorayda Diaz

In a conversation with VozEs, the artist reflects on a journey that views “the journey” not merely as migration, but as transformation: a cultural and creative journey that crosses borders, identities, and communities.

Paola identifies with the north, with the border. She grew up in a region of the state of Chihuahua where, she says, people often feel closer to the United States than to the rest of Mexico. That environment shaped her: not necessarily because she belonged to certain subcultures, but because she was close to them, saw them firsthand, and understood that they, too, have their own history, codes, struggles, and humanity.

Although he has been painting for about 30 years, he wasn’t sure what his “theme” was at first. He was interested in the human figure, portraiture, and expression. He majored in psychology, a decision he now recognizes as pivotal: his painting, he explains, has a lot to do with human behavior, with what goes on inside people and in society. For years he painted from a place of introspection, emotions, sensations, and inner states, until a trip changed everything.

That trip was to Africa.

Ever since high school, Paola had dreamed of going to Africa. Years later, after studying art in New York and experiencing firsthand the city’s constant flow of migrants—where she saw so many Latinx people working tirelessly—she ran into a priest she had known since she was 17. The invitation came at just the right moment: Paola traveled to Kenya and spent six months in Kibera, a vast slum plagued by extreme poverty.

There, in the midst of overwhelming challenges, she received a piece of advice that brought her back down to earth: “Do what you know how to do.” She painted a Virgin of Guadalupe for a small parish, taught children, and, above all, came to understand one thing clearly: that was what she wanted to paint. For her, art is history, an open book that tells the story of how an era is lived: what happens on the street, what is seen and what is ignored, what society doesn’t want to see, but exists.

Upon his return, he began a series inspired by African people: he needed to “leave that behind for the world,” to capture his experiences and document them. Later, once in Chihuahua, he forced himself to look at his own surroundings with fresh eyes. He went downtown, talked to people, asked for permission, and took photos: the shoe shiner, the musicians, the everyday characters, the city as a living archive. That series became a way to freeze time, to capture what routine often renders invisible.

It was during this process that he encountered the subject that would define the next decade of his work: the cholos.

Paola says she began talking to them as part of her urban series, but something captivated her: the family stories, the ties to Los Angeles, the memory of migration, and the identity forged between two worlds. That’s when she began reading and researching books, theses, and articles to understand the historical and cultural context. What she found left a lasting impression on her: a search for identity born of rootlessness, of “not being enough” for one side or the other; children of migrants who were “too American” for Mexicans and “too Mexican” for the United States.

In her view, there is courage in this assertion of identity: getting tattoos of symbols, speaking Spanglish, creating their own codes, and standing tall in the face of a dominant society. Paola does not romanticize the harsh realities: she acknowledges that violence and gangs created stigmas that are difficult to break, and that today the culture has branched out into new forms and generations. But she insists on what matters to her as an artist: rescuing the human value and historical dimension of that identity.

That intention is also evident in her visual language. In an early series, she portrayed her models against dark, Baroque-inspired backgrounds: a dramatic effect that highlights the face, the adornments, the posture, and the tattoos. Not to “exoticize,” but to exalt: to say, through painting, “look at them as whole people.” Later, in another phase, he introduced gold backgrounds using gold leaf: the metal as a symbol of strength, durability, and permanence. He also incorporates writing, drawing, and collage: fragments that function as both archive and narrative.

One of the most powerful moments in the interview comes when Paola recounts what happened in Chihuahua during an exhibition. She invited several cholos to the opening without knowing if they would attend. They arrived shyly, looking down, as if the museum weren’t a place for them. But people recognized them in the artwork: they asked for photos, struck up conversations, and approached them. And something changed.

“They walked out like artists,” says Paola, recalling how they left with their heads held high, happy, posing proudly. The unexpected became deeply meaningful: for a moment, the stigma was broken. A bond was formed between the community and society. For months, they began gathering outside the museum, going inside, and exploring other galleries.

The museum changed too: it invited them in, showed them other exhibits, and made them feel included. Paola hadn’t set that as a goal, but she saw it as one of the greatest rewards: art creating a sense of belonging.

When she speaks of human beings, her tone turns to psychology: she is struck by the fact that no two minds are alike, nor are any two experiences identical, even though we may share the same climate, neighborhood, or history. She observes faces with devotion: wrinkles, eyelashes, skin, subtle gestures. What she seeks in each portrait is not just the likeness, but the essence. For her, a work makes sense when the audience sees “beyond the portrait,” when something emotional is ignited and that silent connection between soul and painting occurs.

In closing, Paola mentions that she currently has an exhibition in Mexico, in the Condesa neighborhood, at a gallery called Galería L, where she is showing about seven or eight pieces alongside another artist. The exhibition runs through February. Meanwhile, she finds herself in a creative “interlude”: she feels her work is shifting toward new themes, still “in the works.” She mentions a longing that has been with her since Africa: a desire to travel to Brazil, to the favelas of Rio, as if her path were still guided by that same compass: to go where history beats strongly and turn it into visual memory.

Paola bids farewell just as she began: with gratitude and honesty. The conversation makes one thing clear: for her, painting isn’t about decorating the world, but about documenting it. Making the invisible visible. And, sometimes, opening a door so that someone can see themselves reflected in it.

Learn more about the artist on her website