Corruptio Unius Generatio Alterius.

“Corruptio Unius Generatio Alterius” (The corruption of one thing is the beginning of another) - Pencil and Color pencil on Moleskine paper

A year ago, I opened this blog space to share a little bit more about my thoughts, my process, and to provide a bit of insight into my art-making. Also, a year ago, I had a huge peak of energy and motivation to drive my artistic career forward. That lasted at least 4 or 5 months before it turned into some hard burnout that almost completely stopped my art-making pursuits in their tracks.

Circumstances are more favorable now mentally, though, and I feel very creative and ready to give it another go. I have been working on my main sketchbook for the past couple of months. I have also been very judicious in keeping a daily sketchbook practice too. I am 11 pages away from finishing a work that has become a journal for my development as an artist.

With that context in mind, here’s my latest sketchbook drawing titled “Corruptio unius generatio alterius.” The title comes from a Gerard de Lairesse etching I saw last year at the Norton Museum of Art in Palm Beach. Paradoxically, at the peak of my possibly maniacal state, I decided to fly to Palm Beach so I could see a Ruprecht von Kaufmann show at the Kristin Hjellegjerde Gallery. This title translates to “The corruption of one thing is the beginning of another,” and that resonated with me a lot because I happen to be obsessed with cycles and circularity. I put it down in my notebook so I could save it for later. I usually name the piece after I complete it and not the other way around, but when I was in the process of this one, I felt that the time had come for this title to be used.

“Corruptio Unius Generatio Alterius” — Gerard de Lairesse, Circa 1668. Norton Museum of Art, Palm Beach, Fl.

The image comes from a series of photographs I took of myself lying down on the ground—images that I have also shared publicly on my Instagram and in the Cane Yo public (and less public) reference chats—and that have spawned tons of amazing artwork from other fellow artists. My face happens to look a bit sad and defeated when I am at rest. I feel like that is a very attractive feature for artists who work with themes of melancholy, loneliness, and alienation—and of course, I am one of those folks. I have made other versions of this same theme (a head that rests on the ground looking defeated), and I first had the idea of using this image as an oil painting earlier this year (a piece I titled “Doomscrolling”), which initially was to feature a plant growing from my ear canal. However, when I was finishing “Doomscrolling,” I decided that it wasn’t necessary for that piece. I also felt that due to the size of the piece, maybe the addition of the plant would feel forced and too much. So I decided to resolve it by replacing the plant with a hint of red and pink in the ear that is barely visible because of the deep purple atmosphere of that painting.

“Doomscrolling” 2025. Oil on Panel.

I still felt that the initial idea I had for that reference resonated with me a lot. In a year that has felt odd and scary to be a Latin American immigrant in the United States, I have absolutely found myself mentally feeling like my reference a lot of times. Reality seems to be increasingly hostile and aggressive, and I offer my head in a gesture of total submission—as I lay my head down on the floor, maybe awaiting my fate, maybe fate already caught up to me—a small plant grows from my ear. “The corruption of something is the beginning of another”: a glimmer of hope that is ever-present in every tragedy. An end is a beginning. Life finds a way. The image of a plant growing from the concrete is something that has been a personal obsession ever since I was a younger artist. As I would walk through the city (Bogotá and then Chicago), in the hardness of the concrete, you would always find plants growing from it, and I thought then—as I still think now—that this was the most incredible display of resiliency and strength: something delicate growing in an environment that, in theory, should not facilitate its existence and growth. And yet, it exists and grows—unapologetically and invisibly.

The plant featured is also a little homage to a little houseplant we own (that’s not so little anymore). I don’t know a lot about plants, but this one we call “La Dramática” (The Drama Queen). It used to be a little plant, and if we didn’t water it exactly when it needed to be watered, it would completely shrivel and look like it was about to die—if not dead already—only to completely come back to life the next day after being watered. Eventually, we re-potted La Dramática into a larger pot, and now this plant has been developing a tree complex and has grown at least 10 times its initial size. I add this little note because Fernanda asked me to do it, as this plant is very special to her. She has been great at taking care of our little apartment plants, and they have been thriving.

I think there’s nothing much left for me to add about the piece, other than reflecting on a decision I made while I was at the initial drawing. When I completed the first linework, I felt that the lone head would be a little boring and decided to split the head in two using the page divide, as a way to add an element of time and movement by shifting the pose to 3/4 in the left section—an idea that I think worked pretty well with the finished piece and made it strong enough to not need my other usual narrative devices (ghost elements, cartoon characters, phrase cutouts). It was pretty easy to decide when this piece was done, and it's one of the very few pieces where I haven’t felt that I could have added or subtracted an element.