Hola,

Here you will find a glimpse into my art practice. I enjoy painting, filming, photography, video editing, sculpting, dancing and vejigante mask making as a vehicle for art therapy and creative expression. I have been a writer since grade school and continue the practice to express my sentiments towards current political affairs, popular culture and matters of the heart. I am grateful to be a part of an art studio, The Giggle Factory, where Valentina, Maxine, Sebastien and myself create and laugh in tandem. 

Open to collaborations, commissions and commiserating. 

xoxo,
Karely


P.S. Get back to work








































Feed

Dear Reader (2025) - I wrote this essay as an introspective reflection as to how world events and personal ruptures led me to experience new grief. 
...

I’ve never experienced grief for strangers the way I have this year. The martyring of journalists in Palestine, seeing blood on the streets of el-Fasher, Sudan from the sky, the category 5 hurricane that struck the Caribbean, the rapid influx of US Military presence (land, sea, and sky) in Ponce, Puerto Rico and the neoliberal political circus that is New York City have all sobered me. This year I grieved a version of me I will leave in the past. I grieve knowing I spent so many years in a cycle of repetition within a framework I was never meant to be in in the first place. I grieve knowing now how distracted I was by the constant stream of relationships that caused me to shrink myself. I experienced personal grief as well with the passing of my uncle Cico. My closest friends have also lost family, friends and their little pets. I alchemized the grief into rage, and the rage into physical transformation. I’m the most muscular I’ve ever been. I was punched in the face for the first time this year in a drunken match between righteous me and a blur of a white woman who was using too loud of a tone while speaking to another Black woman. Getting punched in the face this year was a goal of mine (I mean it) and I’m happy I manifested it. That moment taught me that most people can’t fight, that I can get up, and that I’m the right one. 


I spent a lot more time alone this year. I spent my birthday alone. I did some traveling alone. I went to protests alone. I went to the movies alone. I went to restaurants alone. I went to the beach alone. I went to bars alone. I created alone. I’m grateful I can enjoy life when I please. It is my life’s greatest work and privilege to experience a bit of joy amidst the grief that engulfs us all. I also experienced life with so many friends. The birth of a baby on my ex’s birthday (it’ll always be Antonio’s birthday now!), vacations with a group, vacations with friends from other places, perreando en Paris con la pareja perfecta, yelling underneath waterfalls, the best Puerto Rican wiken up to date, concerts, a book club, carving pumpkins, the best short ribs you’ve ever had, thee most delicious cocktails – I feel rich. I am surrounded and protected by loving people, no matter where I am in the world. I want everyone to experience this richness. 


It is clearer to me now more than ever that I have to use whatever privileges I embody to dismantle the white patriarchal system that makes it so people are stripped of their well-being and joy for the sake of capital and pedophilia. I cannot live my life in ignorance. Ignorance is not bliss. Ignorance is violence. My years of complacency were harmful to my community and to myself. This year I became dedicated to wearing a keffiyeh, especially as I travel. I wore it to remind myself that my solidarity towards the people of Palestine should be unwavering and constant. It is a reminder to myself that I must refrain from giving money to entities that fuel the ongoing genocides in Palestine, Congo, and Sudan. Wearing my keffiyeh garnered attention everywhere I went, and it was all warm and positive. Every single interaction was bright. On my flight to Paris, a nice gentleman gave me his window seat and sat in the middle seat willingly. When we first sat down, we giggled about how some of the other passengers might perceive us. As I slept, he put all the snacks on my tray table. On my second trip to Paris, someone driving stopped and waved at me to thank me. I had many people thank me. I had a young Black woman take a photo of my keffiyeh paired with my Telfar backpack. Although I found these interactions sweet, I know that gratitude must go to the resistance in Palestine. 

This year I learned a lot more about Palestine. In one of my many visits to Toñita’s I befriended a young Palestinian Dominican femme. She saw me wearing my keffiyeh and came over to chat. She showed me pictures of Palestine from a few years ago. She offered to stitch my keffiyeh. She also offered to take me to Palestine. I wish we had exchanged numbers, but if you read this girly pop I hope you’re well. I have started to read Refaat Alareer’s body of work. It is heartbreaking. The most important work I could read. I read about how his brother, Hamada, a children’s entertainer on television, was martyred in 2014. Israel killed over 30 of his family members. Refaat Alareer was later martyred in an Israeli airstrike on December 6, 2023. Alareer speaks to me, speaks to us, in a way where we cannot turn our faces away from the truth. He shows to me the gravity of writing - transformative, everlasting and pressing. Through him the memory of Palestine grows new roots. I am forever indebted to the poetry and teachings he has graciously given us. I first discovered Refaat Alareer’s work through Twitter – my social media vice. The people on there are much more honest, whether left or right leaning. Through Twitter I was better able to center Palestinian voices like Nerdeen Kiswani, founder of Within Our Lifetime, and Anas Saleh, who confronted Mamdani regarding his statement around Israel’s right to exist months before the primaries. They have helped me better understand the connection between Palestine and New York and have directly caused me to attend more protests, donate more, and made me very serious about the end to this genocide. Their survival is our survival and that is my North Star. 


Art played a massive role for me this year. I learned so much through making my first vejigante mask. I look at her with so much love. She feels so new, so elementary, so playful, so beginner, so bold, so fun. She helped me heal through my heartache and pushed me through moments where I wanted to quit. And I almost did quit until I went back to Ponce for my uncle’s funeral. I found out he passed away while I was in my art studio as I was starting the horns. The trip back home made me realize that my culture is slipping through my hands. It is being sold for millions, plastered on every billboard across the world. Now it is being used as a playground for warfare. While home, I strategized and planned my way to the finish line. Everyone’s reception of the mask has been extremely sweet. I don’t necessarily center my own work and have spent an entire career of being behind the scenes (literally), so it felt quite fun to have so many interactions because of something I made. Above all, I had a great time creating the vejigante mask and I aim to create more for the rest of my life if I can. It is a long, long process that uses so many artistic techniques that range from sculpting to body movement, but it is so fun. While making it, I got to watch the Knicks beat the Celtics, listened to a lot of Matt Louis, who I realized later also used a vejigante mask in his work, and used that time to catch up with my long-distance friends. I love her and I love myself for doing it. 


2025 was a year of shedding for me — relationships, jobs, habits, fears. I move with more honesty now. I am enjoying putting my vulnerabilities on display. I have spent a lifetime controlled by a narrative I never subscribed to. But this year I subscribed to my own and I think I’m better for it. 



La vejigante en cuerá (2025) - This was my first time making a vejigante mask in the traditional way it is done in my hometown of Ponce, Puerto Rico. I used an old detergent bottle given to me by my local laundromat, mixed and filled it with cement. I then used different clays to sculpt its face, eventually landing on Monster Clay. Next, I made my own glue using flour, water and a pinch of boric acid to deter insects. I used the glue and alternated between newspaper and brown paper bags. To finish, I spray painted it in the traditional Ponce colors of red and black. Photography done by my dear friend Iris Torres-Gatherer and photo editing done by the lovely Sam Nandez.


  

Digital Postcards Series (2022 - ongoing) - I created this series of digital postcards to grapple with the sense of nostalgia and longing I felt for a home that is ever changing due to colonialism, death and despair. In these postcards I capture through photography and video memories, places and people that have now become a part of my history.



postal 001 - a moment of zen (2022)




postal 002 - wish you (i) were here (there) (2022)




postal 003 - woo, saludos! (2023) 




postal 004 - ambient room ponce pr (2025) (TRT 09:16)

The first visual layer is a video I took from the outside of my bedroom back home. The water you see is the Mediterrean Sea. The top layer is my handwriting of a poem (see below) I wrote that touches on themes of generational and sexual trauma. One audio layer is of the birds I used to hear from my bedroom during sunrise. The next day that tree was uprooted. The second audio layer is a recording of me improvising on a cello I don’t know how to play.  


Cello is the most human of instruments. 

Within its chords it encompasses the range of the human voice. 

I open my mouth as wide as the waves that carry the sound of my cello voice. 

Human imperfection packaged in perceived beauty. 

Dark nights surrounding a bright room filled with grief, interrupted yet again by moments of beauty. 

Do you hear the birds playing their instruments? 

I hear them at 6 am. 

I still hear them, far from the room. 

The closest thing to human memory. 

Can you hear the birds sing? 

I feel every wave. 

The vibrations against my chest, holding me. 

The walls are pressed with secrets, some I’ll never know. 

Some I can never forget. 

Sunrise. 

Sunset. 

Light and dark oscillate. 

They dance like Grief and Joy. 

Perpetually in love. 

Perpetually connected. 

Destined to experience the same tragedies over lifetimes. 

My pain is your pain. 

My pain was her pain. 

A constant blurred rotation with no exit. 

The room becomes more bearable as we continue to circle around. 

Can you hear my voice?

Can you hear the vibrations I created? 
I am soothed by my imperfections. 

What is there to hide? 

A familiar touch. 

A shame in many shapes. 

Sitting inside the full range of the human voice echoed by the cello. 

I can rest on its vibrations, familiar and always new. 

New and young. 

Excited and lacking experience. 

How experienced are you? 

I have little knowledge when it comes to deciphering each wave. 

Can you ride the wave? 

I move my hips with ease. 

Controlled and patient. 

Until I mimic the cello string I pluck. 

The birds know more. 

I listen to learn about the future. 

The impending storm that washes it all down. 

The need to gather and protect. 

To be resourceful and scared. 

Can you run away? 

I run in both directions, looping around again, stopping only to rest. 

Resting inside the waves knowing I cannot avoid the inevitable crash that spins us under right back to the beginning. 

To the mouth of the sweet waters that prepare us for the movements swiftly to come. 

The birds have since left the tree that no longer exists

Their song has become loudest in the distance. 

Now married to the most human of instruments, the cello. 



When the Internal and External Meet at Anarchy (2025) -  A hodgpodge of thoughts around my relationship to the US Military, the white patriachal system and how it has plunged me deeper into subscribing by the ideals set forth by anarchism. 
...

I have been mothering several wounds since I was in a womb. I was conceived shortly after my parents began their 15 year exodus from the southern coast of Puerto Rico to the United States of America and the occupied territory of Hawai’i. I was born in Fort Bragg, North Carolina, the largest military installation in the U.S. and what seems to be the epicenter for drug trafficking and murder in this country. (The Fort Bragg Cartel, Seth Harp) Colonialism, imperialism and the U.S. Army have shaped my existence since inception. From then on, other systems have encroached on my way of being, resulting in shrinking myself into a mold that helped me survive all of the violence I had no option but to endure. I have felt a sense of powerlessness since I was a child until present day. It is a constant feeling for me. 


I have been in monogamous cishetero relationships for the past twelve years and now I am not. I’ve been unpartnered for the past year and it has completely ruptured the way I see myself now and the role I must play in society. There were countless moments within my romantic relationships where I felt like I had no control over my identity. Compromise seems unimaginable to me now. There can be no compromise within a white patriarchal system. As a chronically disabled Black Puerto Rican femme who experiences the violence of a broken medical system on a daily basis and the perpetual trauma of being a rape victim in a country where abusers are celebrated billionaires, I cannot afford to compromise any longer. There is an overwhelming need and desire to be one’s whole self during a time where AI and conservative propaganda have found ways to slither into all of our devices, no matter how far left you lean. 


The internal revolution I have experienced this past year has absolutely informed how I choose to show up for the external revolution happening around us globally. Being unpartnered has opened the floodgates of rage for me. I have spent so much of my young adult life being heartbroken over men. I am a sucker for romantic love, at least I thought I was. I have been learning how to transmute the romantic love I once held for men and sculpting it onto the insurmountable love I have for people, Earth and their right to happiness. I have experienced this internal revolution that caused me to step away from the heteronormativity that inflicted so much pain it left me unable to think about liberation. The liberation of myself and the urgent need to liberate the communities of Palestine, Sudan, Congo, Uganda, Haiti, and Puerto Rico who continuously suffer at the expense of the imperialist capitalist killing machines that are the United States, Israel, the UAE and all the other European countries that wash their bloody hands with the water they refuse to distribute to those experiencing genocide. I have been blinded and brainwashed by everything around me to strive for complacency within my relationships because that complacency allows for the government to continue its white supremacist terror on every marginalized community. While I cried about incompatibility, the need to keep our relationships’ business private, why things never change, and the emotional immaturity that comes programmed into men that has consumed me, the world around me continued to plunge into depravity. 


I was interested in history and politics as a child. I watched a lot of Fox News and owned books written by Ann Coulter and Bill O’Reily before I was 18. I never really read those books. I received a Bachelor's of Arts in Politics from New York University with the initial intention of working for some political news network. My Type 1 diabetes diagnosis during sophomore year and the depression that shortly followed made it difficult for me to focus on my studies. Much of what I might have learned in the moment has since been erased and now I know as an adult that New York University is infamously a Zionist institution which contributed to my lack of understanding of how and why the Palestian genocide began. I am absolutely ashamed by previous ignorance around the depraved violence the U.S. government has been funding in Palestine for the past 77 years. I have been shielded from the truth for so long. 


I come here with transparency and honesty to track my journey towards anarchy. 



Basketball Alien (2026) - Basketball is my favorite sport. It’s poetry in motion. I’m really into Wemby these days so I made a silly doodle with him in mind.