I was born and raised in Lima, Peru, during a period marked by terrorism, economic instability, and fear—fear that existed not only outside, but also within my home. Violence shaped my earliest memories, but so did the quiet strength of watching and listening closely—skills I developed to survive, and later transformed into the foundation of my photographic practice. Observation became my shield, my compass, and eventually, my calling. I came to the United States in 2007 to attend the San Francisco Art Institute. I was not a traditional student—I had already been working as a freelance photojournalist in Peru—but I was hungry for the space to grow. At SFAI, I was mentored by the late Henry Wessel, who taught me to trust my eye, slow down, and see deeply. His approach was not about technique alone; it was about cultivating attention, presence, and care. These values have since shaped not only my artistic voice but my purpose. For the past decade, I’ve pursued a body of work grounded in justice, memory, and resistance—photographing aging populations in isolation, sex workers reclaiming their autonomy, and most recently, the radioactive contamination of Niagara Falls, a legacy of the Manhattan Project that continues to affect generations. My upcoming interdisciplinary solo show, Greetings from Niagara: America’s Chernobyl, was awarded a 2024 Women Photograph grant for its commitment to underreported stories. I believe in using art as a way to bring visibility to what has been erased, whether by policy, stigma, or neglect. But alongside my practice as an artist, I’ve discovered another vocation—teaching. In 2023, I joined the Alice Austen House Museum as artist-in-residence, leading an LGBTQ visual storytelling program. In 2025, I taught photography at the Young Women’s Leadership School of New York City, where I designed a curriculum rooted in the work of women activist photographers and visual literacy as civic engagement. I work with students who, like me, carry complex histories. My classroom is a space where their stories are not only heard but honored. For many, it’s the first time they’ve seen their reality reflected through art. I’m now pursuing higher education because I want to deepen both sides of my calling: to refine my artistic practice and gain the tools to build sustainable, community-based arts programs for young people. I want to explore how archives, photography, and oral histories can become part of a radical pedagogy—one that doesn’t simply teach art, but teaches students how to claim authorship over their lives. This scholarship would make it possible for me to continue my education without incurring additional financial burden, especially as I carry existing undergraduate loan debt and work independently on long-term investigative projects. With your support, I will be able to focus fully on both creative development and the design of impactful education initiatives for under-resourced communities. My long-term goal is to create a mentorship and visual storytelling hub—centered on BIPOC, immigrant, and LGBTQ youth—where art and activism are interwoven. A place where stories are preserved, where students learn to question systems, and where community history becomes a force for collective healing and resistance. Higher education is not a pause in my work—it’s a continuation. I come to it with urgency, clarity, and purpose, knowing that the tools I gain will ripple outward. This is not just about personal growth—it’s about building something that lasts beyond me.

Growing up in Lima, Peru, during the 1990s meant growing up surrounded by fear—both inside the home and in the streets. The country was gripped by terrorism, blackouts, bombings, and economic instability. But the violence wasn’t only political; it was also personal. Home was not always a safe place. As a child, I learned early on to observe carefully—to read silence, body language, tension. Watching became a way of surviving. That instinct eventually became the foundation for my photographic practice. When I first picked up a camera as a teenager, I didn’t know it would change my life. What I knew was that I needed a way to process everything I couldn’t say out loud. Photography gave me a language when I had none. It allowed me to document the world around me and make sense of the world within me. The more I photographed, the more I realized that I wasn’t just surviving—I was creating, connecting, and slowly building a sense of agency through art. Though I didn’t have access to formal arts education until I was older, I was always learning through observation and intuition. Later, when I moved to the U.S. and enrolled at the San Francisco Art Institute, I finally stepped into an environment where my instincts were nurtured. There, I studied under the late Henry Wessel. He didn’t push in the traditional sense. He encouraged presence—he taught me to wait, to trust, to pay attention. His belief in my voice, in my perspective, gave me the confidence to keep going. Henry’s mentorship shaped not only how I make work, but how I teach. In 2025, I taught photography at the Young Women’s Leadership School of New York City, leading a course focused on visual storytelling, media literacy, and the legacy of women activist photographers. In 2023, I was artist-in-residence at the Alice Austen House Museum, where I led an LGBTQ storytelling program for youth. My students often come from under-resourced communities or carry their own histories of trauma. I recognize them immediately. I teach the way I wish I had been taught when I was younger—with empathy, curiosity, and the belief that their lives and stories matter. Art saved me in many ways. It gave me a path forward when things felt uncertain. It allowed me to turn pain into something that could speak to others. But more than that, it gave me a vocation—one rooted in justice, education, and visibility. The people who have inspired me most have been those who saw something in me before I could see it myself—teachers, mentors, fellow artists, and students alike. Their quiet encouragement reminded me that I wasn’t alone and that there is power in telling the truth, even when it’s uncomfortable. Arts education didn’t just change my life—it made it possible. And now, as both an artist and educator, I carry that responsibility forward. I want to create spaces where young people can use visual storytelling to reclaim their narratives, understand the world around them, and begin to imagine something better.

As a queer Latinx photographer, educator, and first-generation immigrant, I believe in the power of visual storytelling to confront injustice, preserve memory, and imagine new futures. My journey began in Lima, Peru, where I worked as a freelance photojournalist during a time of political unrest and social upheaval. I witnessed firsthand how systemic violence and inequality impact the most vulnerable. These experiences shaped my belief that photography is not just a form of expression—it is a tool for resistance, survival, and transformation. When I moved to the United States in 2007 to attend the San Francisco Art Institute, I carried with me a commitment to use my artistic voice not only to tell my story but to amplify the voices of those who are often silenced. Over the years, my work has focused on overlooked communities: aging populations in New York, the aftermath of environmental disasters, and the lives of sex workers reclaiming their agency. But just as important as my documentary work is my role as an educator. In 2023, I joined the Alice Austen House Museum as artist-in-residence, where I led an after-school LGBTQ Visual Storytelling Program. In 2025, I taught photography at the Young Women’s Leadership School of New York City, designing a course focused on visual literacy, the legacy of women activist photographers, and empowering girls to tell their own stories. These experiences solidified my belief that teaching is not a side project—it is central to my practice and purpose. Through this scholarship, I hope to expand my ability to bring accessible, interdisciplinary arts education to youth in under-resourced communities. I plan to develop a program that centers visual storytelling as a form of civic engagement. This curriculum will blend photography with social justice education—teaching technical skills while also encouraging students to examine the systems that shape their lives, from environmental racism to housing inequality. Students will document their neighborhoods, interview elders, create photo essays, and present their work in community exhibitions and online platforms, contributing to a living archive of local knowledge and resistance. My goal is to make this work sustainable. I envision building partnerships with schools, community centers, and libraries—spaces that already serve as anchors in their neighborhoods. I also want to create a mentorship pipeline that connects young artists from marginalized backgrounds with professionals in the fields of art, journalism, and activism. Representation is not enough; young people need guidance, access, and opportunities to thrive within these worlds. Art alone may not solve systemic problems, but it can be a powerful first step. It can help us see clearly, speak truth, and imagine change. In my own life, art gave me a way to make sense of trauma, to connect with others, and to fight for justice. I want to pass that on. This scholarship would help me continue to bridge my work as an artist with my dedication to teaching. I see both as part of the same mission: using the visual arts not only to document the world as it is but to empower the next generation to shape the world as it should be.