Campo Solo
Campo Solo grew out of my long pull between places: Houston, West Texas, and Northern California. I come from a background in painting, information design, and litigation graphics, where meaning is built through fragments, evidence, scale, omission, and tension. That way of seeing still follows me into the studio. I am interested in how an image can behave like a document, a signal, a relic, or a map with missing coordinates.
This series imagines the West not as nostalgia, but as a psychological terrain. The figures in Campo Solo are vaqueros, matriarchs, wanderers, scorpions, saints, and sentinels. They occupy a landscape that feels both ancient and strangely contemporary: crumbling missions, hot color, broken symbols, ornamental fragments, and open space that refuses to explain itself.
The title means “alone field” or “solo field,” and that tension sits at the center of the work. These paintings are about solitude, but not loneliness in the sentimental sense. They are about self-possession. The figures stand inside their own weather. They carry memory, grit, absurdity, humor, and a kind of desert authority.
Visually, Campo Solo draws from old West mythology, Mexican and Texas borderland imagery, modern abstraction, and the strange pageantry of handmade signs, ruins, maps, and roadside shrines. I want the work to feel sun-bleached and electric at the same time, like something dug out of the dirt and plugged into a neon socket.
At its core, the series is about identity formed at the edge: between cultures, between places, between myth and fact, between beauty and decay. Campo Solo is a world of solitary figures who are not waiting to be found. They already know exactly where they are.
Vaquero Solitario
He rides where the road forgets its own name.
No one knows exactly where he came from. There are stories, of course—there always are—but none of them stick. What stays is the feeling of him: passing through, never arriving, never chased. A figure that doesn’t ask for witness.
At dusk, the color rises instead of fading. The sky turns electric, like something just beneath the surface is trying to speak. He doesn’t reach for it. He lets it pass through him, the way you let heat settle into your bones.
He is not lost.
He just chose a place where nothing follows.
24” x 24” acrylic on wood panel, framed.
A Destiempo
He doesn’t rush the horizon. Out here, time slips—stretches, folds, disappears entirely. The horse knows it before he does. A hesitation in the reins, a tilt of the head… something just slightly off-beat.
In Far West Texas, solitude isn’t empty—it’s charged. Every movement carries weight. Every pause, a decision.
24”x24” acrylic on wood panel, framed.
El Último Descanso
A vaquero and his horse pause beneath a sky that can’t decide whether it’s ending or beginning. The land is quiet except for the weight of distance. In the Campo Solo series, solitude is not punishment. It’s ritual. A moment to gather yourself before the next stretch of open country asks something from you again.
West Texas filtered through static, heat, and memory.
48”x48” acrylic on found plywood.