Carlos Gamez de Francisco

Growing up in Cuba, I was surrounded by silence where music should have been. Western bands like The Beatles, Queen, and Led Zeppelin were forbidden, and even the voices of Cuban exiles—like Celia Cruz—were silenced. Yet, despite the threat of punishment, we found ways to listen. Every sound was fragile, every note a secret. In a home where even a single U.S. dollar could be considered a crime, my father hid money inside bottles within the walls. Words were dangerous, so I learned early to guard my speech.

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Art became my language of freedom. Through images and symbols, I could express what I could never say aloud. Painting became my sanctuary, my resistance, and my escape—a place where I could invent new realities. At fifteen, my obsession with art took root. Supplies were scarce, so I improvised: watercolor mixed with toothpaste for texture, diesel oil when linseed oil was unavailable, and my mother’s blankets primed with house paint. These limitations did not deter me; they strengthened me. I learned that passion has no excuses, and creativity always finds a way.

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Art, for me, is survival. It is joy, purpose, and the purest form of freedom. After fifteen years in the United States, I now work with an abundance of materials and the liberty to pursue my vision without fear. This freedom has allowed me to return to the exhilaration I felt as a child—a boundless joy in making.

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I work across a wide range of media and surfaces, from painting on wood slices and combining watercolor and ink on paper to wool-felting pieces and large-scale wall paintings. My practice celebrates creativity without borders and joy without restrictions. It is an invitation to embrace art as freedom, to find wonder in experimentation, and to remember that even in the darkest circumstances, the act of creating is a revolutionary joy.