In early 2021, there were challenges in managing immigration at the U.S.-Mexico border, with an increase in the number of migrants, particularly unaccompanied children, arriving in the U.S. This situation strained resources and led to debates over immigration policy and border security.

According to data shared by Border Patrol, the number of migrant apprehensions since October 1999 had never exceeded 225,000 in a single month until last year. In 2023, U.S. Border Patrol agents took into custody more than 225,000 migrants who crossed the southern border—in between official crossings—during the first 27 days of December (this number does not include approximately 50,000 more migrants who come each month to ports of entry usually with appointments). The recent influx of migrants at the southwestern border has been a critical topic of discussion between the U.S. President Joe Biden and his Mexican counterpart, Andrés Manuel López Obrador, as they work to address these issues through diplomatic efforts and domestic policy changes.

Laura Sanchez, a Mexican-American journalist, shares her upbringing straddling the border of two nations. She deftly expands the dialogue by engaging six fellow creatives whose artistic expressions are similarly shaped by their bicultural backgrounds. Through their collective voices, the ceaseless cross-border movement is humanized, transcending statistics and evolving into an inspiring portrayal of individuals seeking to embrace their identities.

On most Saturday evenings, while growing up, my dad, uncles, and their friends would drink beer and blast corridos from my dad’s truck outside, while the women sat inside, catching up on the latest family updates, you know, chismeando, and watching TV. And the kids—somewhere running around way past dark. Saturdays were for carne asadas, Modelos and too much junk food. When the beers kicked in, the men would migrate back inside and play their favorite rancheras while we all laughed at their humorous attempts to follow along. The nights were long and full of life. Sundays were for birria and lounging around until traffic somewhat abated, and it was time to drive back home—how we dreaded that weekly journey.

Thousands of cars line up daily at the San Ysidro Port of Entry, the largest land border crossing between San Diego and Tijuana, all waiting to do the same thing we were doing—return home to San Diego for work and school on Monday. It’s been about five years since I last crossed the border, but I can still hear vendors’ incessant honking and shouting. The vendors with their religious trinkets and fruit doused in chamoy and Tajin, the acrobatic street performers, singers, and those with impressive yet dangerous spit-firing skills. But no matter the distractions, the crossing was always long and exhausting. Sometimes my dad would chase lanes that were moving faster. He would cut cars and yell back at other drivers (I’m sure he still does). In a way, it made the wait a little more exciting.

The Mexico-U.S. borders are mere geographical demarcations. They represent cultural and social intersections marked by shared histories, economies, and familial ties. The heightened security measures established by the U.S. government in these zones often manifest as barriers, both physical, like walls, and procedural, like stringent customs and immigration checks. Paradoxically, such rigorous measures have hindered movement and incited waves of rebellion and bursts of creativity throughout the years.

I often look back at that time in my life, as a kid, when crossing the border was just a boring trip back home to San Diego, not nearly understanding the political and social tensions that affect millions of families today, including mine. As I got older and started crossing to Tijuana to frequent bars and go to local shows, I began to understand how both sides of the border have maintained connections for generations, even when increased security feels like an abrupt dislocation. But far from being mere points of division, these cities and their interwoven fates remind us of our drive to connect, express, and evolve.

When I moved to New York City, I met other creatives who, like me, had grown up in a border town. I spoke to six of them living across different cities about their experiences and how the cross-border flow of culture and ideas has influenced their work.

Itzel Alejandra Martinez, Photographer & Ceramicist, Juarez/El Paso

Can you describe a vivid memory from your childhood in El Paso/Juarez that encapsulates the energy and tension of growing up near the border?

My earliest memory of understanding the border and the tension there was when I was six years old, going from Juarez, where I lived most of my childhood, to El Paso, where I went to school and my mom worked. Every school day, for about an hour, we would cross el puente libre with two of my friends who carpooled with us.

I remember my mom playing her usual tapes—Juan Gabriel, Ana Gabriel, and probably Ricardo Arjona; we’d sing along with my two other friends. But this one time was different, customs stopped us. We were separated and searched for what felt like half a day, a K-9 stripped our car, and then once nothing was found, the border patrol gave us some sad little K-9 trading cards to calm us down. To me, this is what it means to grow up in border cities, it’s being in a state of ambivalence, of understanding joy and distress at the same time, a never-ending cycle.

Being raised in a border city, especially with heightened security measures, comes with challenges. How have these challenges shaped your perspective on resilience and rebellion, and how does that perspective manifest in your creations/work?

Before this land was established as Texas or Chihuahua, it was seen as the frontier from the U.S. and Spanish sides. It’s a desert where only a small percentage of the land is suitable for agriculture, you have to be resilient to survive. It’s a place that historically has seen many wars and is currently a highly militarized area. Still, people have not only survived and thrived but, through their resilience, created beauty.

In my photography, I capture people from my border community in a way that reflects their personal and collective pride. Creating those images is crucial since most people outside border communities only see the atrocities. Ceramics, on the other hand, is one of the oldest artistic practices and, because of that, is inherently resilient. Handbuilding ceramics has been a healing journey, inspired by generations of Southwest indigenous potters.

Stories from the border often revolve around themes of separation and unity. Can you share how as a creative you address or challenge these narratives?

In my creative process, I want to understand the role of the imaginary and the intangible. What would an anti-capitalist and anti-border El Paso/Juarez feel like? What would a monument to promote collective grief look like? What would the Rio Grande/Bravo sound like today without border intervention?

Border cities inherently house dichotomies—two countries, cultures, and sometimes contrasting lifestyles. How have these inspired your creative process, and influenced the themes, aesthetics, or styles in your work?

In Juarez, my mom would stop the car to look at beautiful houses and their fountains. She would reflect on the shapes and colors, and dream of having one on our patio. Influenced by her love of fountains, I started creating my own ceramic ones. In them, I merge the geometrical forms of mid-century modern architecture, the silhouettes and coiling method of Casas Grandes’ pottery, the shapes of Talavera fountain bases, the decorative elements of norteño and southwest fashion, and phrases that have lingered in my mind. I see them as small monuments that carry a collection of the countless histories that make up the Texas and Chihuahua region.

Looking forward, how do you aim to further incorporate or evolve the influence of your border city upbringing in your future projects? Are there any untold stories from the border that you are eager to explore or share?

Right now, I’m particularly interested in interviewing and photographing working border artists who have been creating for over 30 years. I’m also looking into the influence of corridos in the border region.

In my ceramic work, I’ve explored collective grief and imagined what that could do for our border communities. Cristina Rivera Garza, a fellow fronteriza and amazing writer, states, “I do not want to avoid suffering. I want to think through and with pain, and too painfully embrace it, to give it back its beating heart with which this country—these countries—still palpitates. Grieving breaks us apart, indeed, and keeps us together.” Fronterizos have not been allowed to grieve, to heal, or even simply to process shock and pain, and the time for that is now.

Fabian Guerrero, Photographer, Brownsville/Matamoros

Can you describe a vivid memory from your childhood in TX/MX that encapsulates the energy and tension of growing up near the border?

[Every other weekend I would leave] my grandma’s house [in Mexico] and head back across the border [to the US] to see my mother. At the time, those were tense moments. My life as a kid had already been adapted to being in my grandma’s house in Mexico. Since my mom and dad never married, my grandma’s house became my foundation, [and leaving felt like] I was getting taken away from it all, so I think that’s where some of that pain and trauma began. I remember always crying because I didn’t want to leave.

Being raised in a border city has challenges, especially with heightened security measures. How have these challenges shaped your perspective on resilience and rebellion, and how does that perspective manifest in your creations/work?

This is a very long conversation to have. However, the manner in which certain challenges have influenced my perspectives and methods of resistance involves confronting the primary issue in this country: white supremacy. The Republican Party in Texas has been finding more ways to push higher security and life-threatening measures to keep people from crossing. Yet, as someone growing up by the border, you are most likely to get recruited to work for border patrol because historically, poorer communities and brown folks have been easy targets to recruit. This causes our people to go against each other to enforce rules and punishment. I hope the more time I spend here and the more research I do, the more these [tensions] and conversations will be reflected in my work.

Stories from the border often revolve around themes of separation and unity. Can you share how as a creative you address or challenge these narratives?

The work I’ve been doing around the border has been shedding light on the communities/people that come from these places, telling their stories of how they navigate, network, build, and create. It’s a matter of building trust, being willing to listen, and being aware of the many situations when it comes to border life. It is not always about trauma; there’s still beauty.

Border cities inherently house dichotomies—two countries, cultures, and sometimes contrasting lifestyles. How have these inspired your creative process and influenced your work’s themes, aesthetics, or styles?

For a long time, these two places, from one side of the border to the other, have developed a unique culture and way, but you get the best of both worlds by the border. For example, a particular way of talking has developed by the border. Cultures clash in ways that tend to stay there. Sometimes, it’s hard to explain, which has inspired me to make work about these places and their people.

Looking forward, how do you aim to further incorporate or evolve the influence of your border city upbringing in your future projects? Are there any untold stories from the border that you are eager to explore or share?

Our histories aren’t included in textbooks. Our stories lie buried deep underground or forgotten, especially in the Texas valley. We should all know these stories to have a deeper understanding and connection to our history. I’m doing my best to highlight the places that were always home, Brownsville, the valley, and across, into Tamaulipas and Monterrey.

Pablo Lara, Coffee Trader, Tijuana/San Diego

Border cities often see a fusion of various practices and tastes. How has this blend of coffee cultures influenced your career as a coffee trader?

The obvious answer is my focus and respect for coffee from Mexico. In the specialty-coffee world, especially ten years ago when I started, Mexico was not known for having the best coffee. Mexican coffee was [often considered a] blender coffee, known for producing high volume, lower grade lots. This has changed in the last eight years or so. [Production of Mexican] high-quality coffee has increased, and the market for Mexican coffee has expanded.

High border security can impact the trade of goods, including coffee. How have you navigated these challenges in your trading practices? Has it forced you to be more creative or innovative in your approach?

Developing that market and changing the paradigm of Mexican coffee has been a driving force in my career. I’ve had the privilege of working with Israel Paz of Denso Coffee, Samuel Ronzon of La Joya, Andreas Kussmaul of ECC, and many others. These people and my trips with them have helped me understand the complexities of buying coffee in these regions, the challenges, and the potential for strong supply chains and delicious coffee.

How does the creative spirit that exists by the border manifest in your coffee trading practices?

Our San Diego and Tijuana border is a cradle for creativity. I’m constantly influenced by local artists like Panca, Itzel Martinez and Georgina Treviño, to name a few. There is a border aesthetic that is very fun and particular. I try to bring that with me by buying fun coffees and fostering collaborations between coffee roasters, artists, breweries, and bakers. And this also led me to do Cold Brew City Fest with Itzel Martinez and Kain Adams. Here, too, the border comes into play by inviting competitors from Ensenada, and Tijuana, and vendors from across the border to create an atmosphere truly representative of our unique border region.

What factors do you think contribute to the unique popularity of Mexican coffee and the emergence of Latino-owned cafes and roasteries?

The SoCal clientele is very unique. Mexican coffee is very popular because we are so near the border, and people feel a familial tie to it. It’s beautiful. I’m witnessing an increase in Latino-owned cafes and roasteries: Iron & Kin, Provecho, Picaresca, and many others inspired by the border, such as Genteel Coffee; people care about Mexican coffee and its development, and are proud to carry it.

Looking ahead, how do you aim to integrate your experiences of growing up in a border city into your future trading endeavors? Are there unexplored markets that you are keen to introduce to a wider audience?

Working with Andreas of ECC and sourcing an anaerobic natural from Chiapas from Victor Ruiz has been a hit in San Diego. Seeing everyone’s take on this coffee called Dragon has been beautiful. I’m very excited to see the collaboration between Itzel Martinez and the Coffee & Tea Collective. The Women’s Coffee from Veracruz, Zongolica Women Power, has also been a hit. Supporting women-grown coffee is very important to me, and I love that so many people support Ultreya Coffee and Nostalgia Coffee, both women-owned coffee companies.

Tania Maldonado, Head Chef, Tijuana & San Diego

Can you recount a specific memory from your childhood in Tijuana/San Diego that encapsulates the unique flavors and culinary culture of growing up near the border? How has this memory influenced your approach to cooking?

What always reminds me of home is crossing the border and seeing the stands and vendors who walk up to you, offering tacos, burritos, tamales, and other foods. I grew up with that Mexican food and that experience of crossing the border is what captures the unique flavors of my childhood. For me, growing up by the border is tasting homemade food on the streets. So, when I cook, I want people to take a bite of my dish; for example, mole tostadas, and experience my take, as well as the type of food their mother, grandmother, or tia used to cook.

With heightened border security affecting the availability of certain ingredients or limiting cultural exchange, how have these challenges shaped your resourcefulness or creativity in the kitchen?

Getting Mexican ingredients by the border was relatively easy because you typically have access to them on both sides. However, now that I am in New York, it’s harder. Before, if I needed a special ingredient unavailable in San Diego, I would just cross over and get it. When I can’t get a certain ingredient in NYC, the challenge is finding other ingredients I can experiment with to achieve my desired taste.

How does the rebellious or activist spirit, often seen in border towns, manifest in your culinary choices? Are there dishes you create that aim to make a statement or challenge the status quo?

Well, it doesn’t so much challenge the status quo, but [I aim] to share [my] culture while eliminating certain stereotypes. As a chef at Public Records, I’m very pleased to share my culture at a vegan restaurant. Adapting certain dishes can sometimes be difficult, but I enjoy the challenge. I try to find new ways of creating dishes that most people might not expect at a vegan restaurant; I want to prove that vegan food can have a lot of flavor, with a taste of my culture.

Living in a border city exposes one to contrasting culinary traditions from both sides. How have these dichotomies inspired your menu choices or the ingredients and techniques you employ?

Growing up in a border town has definitely influenced my interest in fusing my culinary practices. I don’t like to focus only on one type of cuisine. I like to encompass various styles of food from different countries, not solely Mexican. The border exposes you to many different types of fusion food that may sometimes only exist there.

As you look to the future, how do you plan to incorporate your experiences growing up in a border city into your culinary ventures? Are there any untold stories or unexplored flavors from the border that you’re excited to bring into your kitchen?

I try to show Mexican culture in a different and modern version but with that classic touch that reminds you how great it is. I experiment with new ingredients, creating something unique, rich in flavor, and innovative.

Raul Muñoz, DJ & Producer, Juarez/El Paso

Can you describe a vivid memory from your childhood in Juarez/El Paso that encapsulates the energy and tension of growing up near the border?

My mom, brother, and I would drive to Ciudad Juarez to stay with my dad on weekends. Before getting on the bridge lane, my mom would park at any light on the main road headed to the tollways. It was an unspoken bus stop where commuters with big vehicles, like my mom’s truck, would take extra people across the bridge. I remember it was mostly elders and sometimes whole families. My mom would roll down my window in the front seat and offer them a ride back to Ciudad Juarez. It was a small gesture, but it meant so much to my mom and the people at the light. She did it every time. There is still so much lacking in human connection and empathy, especially in a place as unique and fragile as the El Paso and Ciudad Juarez border. It’s important to show kindness when you can.

Being raised in a border city comes with challenges, especially with heightened security measures. How have these challenges shaped your perspective on resilience and rebellion, and how does that perspective manifest in your creations/work?

Even in a border city, with so much culture framing the narrative, colonization [still exists], repackaged and sold to the masses. Some people are told different stories of how a city grows and why certain neighborhoods get erased. It’s important to fight for your neighborhood, your community, and your history. Resistance comes in different ways but starts with loving yourself and your gente.

Stories from the border often revolve around themes of separation and unity. Can you share how as a creative you address or challenge these narratives?

I feel like Chicanos sense a separation from their ancestors and their heritage as they become more in touch with their feelings and see a bigger picture for themselves. Not every person fits into the same box as past generations. While we separate ourselves from the past, though it’s painful, we go through a metamorphosis that sheds the necessary and binds us to the love displaced in our history and culture.

Border cities inherently house dichotomies—two countries, cultures, and sometimes contrasting lifestyles. How have these inspired your creative process and influenced your work’s themes, aesthetics or styles?

Growing up with two cultures, they constantly compete for your attention, growth, and love. As we get older, and our Spanish worsens, we cement some ideas and bury others. I’m more open now to my past, the cultures, and the sensitivities that groomed me in the borderland. You could say that my work now has a refined flavor that is picoso. I’m working to create my own mold as a Chicano, and I’m trying really hard not to forget my origins.

Looking forward, how do you aim to further incorporate or evolve the influence of your border city upbringing in your future projects? Are there any untold stories from the border that you are eager to explore or share?

I want to visit Texas more and reconnect with the city that brought me up. I was a writer before I started producing and DJing. I had a lot of fun writing short stories and creating worlds in my children’s books. But I was never able to write about my family. All the characters and chisme were there but my pen never had the attention or heart to begin. There is trauma there that has calcified. I hope one day I can get closure and write my damn story.

Georgina Treviño, Contemporary Artist & Jeweler, San Diego/Tijuana

Can you describe a vivid memory from your childhood in Tijuana that encapsulates the energy and tension of growing up near the border?

I have many vivid moments, both positive and negative, but the ones that stuck more are memories that are part of why my parents decided to move to San Diego. Back in the early 2000s, when the narco groups were constantly terrorizing the city, [we had to take a detour to school] because there was a man hanging from a bridge with a narco message. It’s not a great memory to have as a child, but these stories were normalized while living on the border. As you get older, you realize it wasn’t normal for others. It’s that moment when you start understanding the tension and challenges of living by the border.

Being raised in a border city, especially with heightened security measures, comes with challenges. How have these challenges shaped your perspective on resilience and rebellion, and how does that perspective manifest in your creations/work?

Being a fronteriza and living on both sides has made me fearless because I feel I have the liberty and privilege to cross and navigate either side and perhaps that has translated into my work. That fearlessness has made me more resilient, so I don’t mind what people might think about my work. I am very unapologetic when it comes to creating.

Stories from the border often revolve around themes of separation and unity. Can you share how as a creative you address or challenge these narratives?

I see it as two countries, two cities, but one community separated by a wall. For my most recent work, I was invited to be part of a two-part show called “The Border.” One is in a museum in El Paso, and the other is in a space in Juarez. The concept behind the show was to exhibit one or two pieces per artist, but my idea was to create one piece on either side, which communicates with each other. So I created two flip phones to reference when I lived in Tijuana, during the early 2000s, when I used a Nextel. I incorporated many Y2K motifs from crossing the border, like decals on cars, “tacky” imagery, and objects that remind me of when I lived there. [One flip phone is in either location,] with a number attached to each one so that people can send anonymous messages, selfies, or photos to the other side. Surprisingly, the messages have been very poetic; I hope to document these messages in a book that speaks on those themes of separation and unity.

Border cities inherently house dichotomies—two countries, cultures, and sometimes contrasting lifestyles. How have these inspired your creative process and influenced the themes, aesthetics, or styles in your work?

I’ve been using the 90s and Y2K motifs and typography that we still see crossing the border as an aesthetic and inspiration for my work.

Looking forward, how do you aim to further incorporate or evolve the influence of your border city upbringing in your future projects? Are there any untold stories from the border that you are eager to explore or share?

As I get older, I’m looking back at the bars and venues I grew up frequenting in Tijuana, like Estrella or Tropics, and I want to incorporate elements that reference those places in my work. The idea is to dissect these places and use parts of them for inspiration, like the lighting or colors, because we grew up going there before we were even 21, and now I see them from a different perspective. Sometimes you look outside for inspiration, and when you start to find yourself, you notice the places that were always there and represent where you’re from.

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Laura Sanchez is a Mexican-American writer and DJ based in Brooklyn, New York.

On a warm Saturday in Brooklyn, sounds of cumbia, R&B, and the crush of a strobe light alternated rhythms in a small photography studio. A cast of queer and POC models periodically filed in, each posing for the camera to their chosen soundtracks — music they were asked to select that would allow them to feel at ease, open. Calm and focused behind the camera, makeup artist and filmmaker Marco Castro encouraged each model to apply his newly developed serum as they would organically. Then came the glow, which Castro, grinning, explains to be the “all-in-one Peruvian liquid gold.”

That multi-functional beauty serum, AMAZONICOIL, is Castro’s first product from his debut gender-inclusive beauty and skincare line, MARCO CASTRO®. The serum is crafted in Brooklyn but its ethnobotanical ingredients are sourced from the Peruvian Amazon Rainforest, in his native country. The versatile serum is composed of natural ingredients, including sacha inchi, wild buriti, and full-spectrum CBD extract derived from hemp, and can be used topically and orally. While the serum offers lightweight moisture and nurtures the skin, diminishing signs of aging, age spots, and acne scars, it also aids in anxiety and stress reduction, pain relief, and boosts the immune system with rejuvenating antioxidants and essential macronutrients.

“That’s when I thought, ‘I can do more than this, I can contribute more to the community than just doing beautiful makeup and representing where I come from.'”

That moment of creative alchemy, where traditional ingredients meet the healing powers of CBD, resulted in a transformative serum. This unique blend addresses both external radiance and internal balance. Castro believes in the holistic nature of beauty, and by harnessing the power of organic elements, he was able to craft a product that speaks to his vision of comprehensive well-being.

Castro’s beauty and skincare line is reflective of his upbringing. Born and raised by his grandmother in Lima, Peru, he experienced the healing properties of natural medicine and ancestral rituals.

“I still do my own cleanses. Every time I feel down or sick, we use herbs, flowers, eggs, soaps, and salts, to create different recipes that are a tradition in our family, used to take care of our bodies and minds. I believe natural ingredients are the cure for many things, both in our diet and used topically. It’s what the universe has given us, and this is how our ancestors would treat themselves and survive,” he relates.

At the age of 13, Castro moved to New Jersey to be with his mother and her family. But it wasn’t until he moved out on his own to New York City that he felt the freedom to be himself. There, he survived his first years by staying with friends and surrounding himself with a chosen family who supported his coming out journey.

During that time, he met other creative youth who inspired his first film and photography projects. Coming from a theater background as a kid, he was always drawn to foreign films and the transformative power of makeup. Castro fondly recalls filming skaters in Washington Square Park and producing fun, short films with his friends. Although his dream was to attend NYU, he soon realized that it was financially impossible for him to do so at the time.

However, he was soon introduced to the person who would provide him with unimaginable opportunities. Castro’s friend was dating the cousin of Françcois Nars, one of the biggest names in makeup and beauty and the founder of NARS Cosmetics. She introduced Castro as a makeup artist, but he admits, laughing, that he didn’t have much experience other than the campy makeup he was doing for his friends. Still he got his first job as Nars’s assistant.

Castro soon learned how to apply makeup properly. After gaining experience he began training other makeup artists at store openings in NYC and Europe. It was during his many travels to London that he decided to move to Spain.

Through his work with NARS, Castro was able to put himself through film school. “I finally got to achieve something that I wanted to do. Because makeup gave me the money to be able to,” he explains. Castro studied acting at Estudio Corraza para la Actuación in Madrid. “I wanted to know [an actor’s] craft to understand how to direct.”

While attending acting school, Castro still worked in makeup for local magazines and continued to assist Nars whenever he was in Europe. It was during those days that he met Spanish filmmaker, Pedro Almodovar, who became one of his regular clients. Castro became part of Almodovar’s film family and also worked on his own projects that were later featured in various film festivals such as Palm Springs International Film Festival and Malaga Film Festival. However, after several years of producing work in Madrid, he decided to take a break and move back to the States. Upon his return in 2016, NARS, who had also recently moved back to the States, offered Castro to continue working with him.

“That’s when I thought, ‘I can do more than this, I can contribute more to the community than just doing beautiful makeup and representing where I come from.’ This is where I decided to combine my background and all of my experiences into one: filmmaking, painting, growing up with my grandmother, my curandera mother. This is when everything comes into place and into one,” he explains. His first project was “We, Mexicans,” a short film shot in NYC, which explores Mexican identity and work ethic through the lens of fashion film.

Castro met fashion designer Willy Chavarria in 2017 and continued to collaborate. Together they work on expanding the narrative of fashion by focusing on Latino identities and underrepresented faces, not just the garments.

But when the pandemic hit, Castro, like the rest of the world, was forced to put everything on hold. While at home with his husband, they both began to plan their next big move. “I told him, I think it’s time for us to start something. Let’s start a beauty brand.”

During the initial phases, Castro decided early on that he wanted his beauty and skincare line to represent his Peruvian roots. He started researching Amazonian ethnobotany. “I wanted to do something related to the Amazon because shamans and Ayahuasca come from the Amazon, and what is purer and stronger than the source of everything?” Castro asks, rhetorically.

After taking a trip to Peru, Castro returned with various indigenous ingredients and learned about their properties. That’s when the idea of creating a serum that could be used topically and orally was born. The manufacturing of such a versatile product seemed to pose some manufacturing hurdles, but the real challenge came in blending the ingredients with CBD and finding the right chemist who understood the mission.

Castro and his husband found Emma, a woman Castro describes as a bruja, who is also a medical botanist. She understood his background, the source of the ingredients, the spiritual aspects, and how to make them sellable. After two years and 16 trials, the vision behind AMAZONICOIL was realized, becoming the inaugural product that launched Castro’s beauty and skincare line.

Acknowledging the holistic nature of beauty, Castro has harnessed the power of indigenous elements to craft a Latinx, gender-inclusive line that speaks to his mission. “I highly advise everyone to discover where they come from: the origin, the essence of where their family is from and to take that trip to rediscover and ground yourselves. Once you do that you really find beauty within yourself.”

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Additional credits: Model Photographs by Jordi Perez@jordiperez.com Styling by Raul Guerrero @ralguerrero Hair by Karla Hirkaler @karlahirkaler Talent Yuji @vvjujiiSodia @solisbeingDiego @diegocajasparraZaire @bbbibliotecaJayden@nycc_jaydenJarek @ak47killerguy28Briana @briana.angulo. Special Thanks to General Management @jhendi

Product Photography by Dimitrios Poppis @dimi.pop

Laura Sanchez is a Mexican-American writer and DJ based in Brooklyn, New York.

“Ein Kilo Orangen, ein Kilo Bananen bitte [One kilo of oranges, one kilo of bananas, please],” recites the Berlin-based Venezuelan singer/producer, Gotopo, during a heartfelt phone conversation with her mother, who is home in Caracas. Giggling as she proudly relates her first grocery store purchase in full German, Gotopo reassures her mother she’ll soon be sending money as new opportunities arise. “Te dije que valía todas las penas del mundo venir a Berlin [I told you that it was worth all the pain in the world to come to Berlin].” Now, about six years since that interaction was filmed, Gotopo can still humbly say that she made the right decision.

That bittersweet moment between mother and daughter was captured in the award-winning short film, “The Sound of My Destiny,” directed by Gotopo’s good friend, Juan S. Gimenez. The documentary gives an intimate glimpse of Gotopo’s early days as an expat, searching for a creative hub and artistic breakthroughs, while being thousands of miles away from home. Despite having no friends, family or connections in Berlin, Gotopo consciously opted for an isolated environment where she could flourish as an artist.

As we sit outside chatting in Union Square Park, Gotopo admits that people always question why she chose Berlin. In comparison to other major metropolitan cities, like New York or Los Angeles, which could have potentially offered similar opportunities with a larger Latino community, Berlin was completely outside of her comfort zone.

Before moving to Berlin, Gotopo knew she needed to reset to create something new. Although at the moment she had not yet defined her unique sound, she knew she had to leave her own comfort zone in Venezuela. “And now I’m convinced that it played a big role. My music wouldn’t sound as it does now if I had stuck with my community in a linear way. I needed to get lost to find myself again,” Gotopo explains.

The Berlin-based artist was born in Caracas, Venezuela, where she was classically trained in the town of Barquisimeto, home of a renowned musical conservatory. Gotopo trained with the youth orchestra system El Sistema, the prominent program which produced Los Angeles Philharmonic conductor Gustavo Dudamel. During her musical training, Gotopo learned to play the guitar, piano and cuatro, a traditional Venezuelan ensemble instrument, similar in shape and tuning to the ukulele, but with a vastly different playing technique. The musician also learned composition and later became a vocal instructor for the Niños Cantores de Lara Children’s Choir, and El Sistema’s orchestras and choirs.

After about five years of training with the symphonic orchestra, Gotopo sought to find an ancestral connection in music that went beyond the European influences in her classical training. Gotopo found a bridge within El Sistema and began performing with the “Simón Bolívar Afro Venezuelan Orchestra” and in the acclaimed flamenco gathering “La Cumbre Flamenca.”

During her travels throughout rural Venezuela, Gotopo met several musicologists who were working to preserve many variations of traditional music, many of which, she discovered, remain unknown amongst the general population. She became interested in researching traditional music, and wanted to share these musical influences. But she realized that in order to appeal to a younger audience she had to modernize the music by incorporating other elements.

Soon after moving to Berlin, Gotopo found herself isolated from the Latino community, in a foreign place that would give her the space and opportunities to reinvent herself as an artist. But although she sought to innovate, Gotopo held tight to her Afro Venezuelan influences, both musically and spiritually. “It was more about placing myself in the 21st century, understanding that my ancestral memory had been stolen from me [due to colonization], and trying to rediscover myself, while making the decision that I don’t want to solely play classical music anymore,” she explains. “My drive was clear, I don’t want to repeat, I want to create.”

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In the capital of techno music, Gotopo found a connection between her ancestral rhythms and electronic beats.

“In the rave culture, I found ritual, these long, extensive beats that feel similar to Indian mantras. That is when I decided that I can take [those beats] and incorporate sources of ancestral wisdom. And that’s how “Malembe” came about,” she says.

Gotopo’s debut single and accompanying music video, “Malembe,” was released in 2020. It is a reinterpretation of an Afro-Venezuelan hymn intended for slaves to give a spiritual farewell to their relatives who died at the hands of the enslaver, which Gotopo infused with hypnotic electro-beats. The video depicts three periods of the South American civilizations: Pre-Hispanic, Colonial and Post-colonial. Gotopo embodies a timeline of her ancestors through the eyes of three epic women: BACHUÉ, head goddess of ‘The People of Gold;’ MARIA LIONZA, Goddess of ‘Espiritismo’ and ‘Santería,’ born in the colonial era; and IEMANJÁ, Yoruba goddess who came to America though the Transatlantic Slave Trade. It was through this first track that Gotopo introduced her unique indigenous-futurist aesthetic and sound.

By 2022, the singer/songwriter had cemented her mark as an artist, establishing a unique fusion between folkloric instrumentation and electronic dance music. That year, Gotopo performed with electro tropical pop band Bomba Estereo at Columbiahalle in Berlin in front of an audience of 3,500 fans.

Gotopo recently delivered her biggest project yet. Her new EP “Sacúdete,” which was released on May 19 via Waxploitation Records, is a collaboration with producer Don Elektron (Ulises Lozano), a longtime member of Mexican electronica band Kinky. The album continues to pay tribute to her Afro-indigenous roots, while reinventing folkloric sounds through her exploration of techno-inspired beats. Gotopo exudes sensuality as she takes the listener through a spiritual journey that is both earthbound and otherworldly.

Gotopo seeks to reach younger generations that identify as Afro indigenous, who, like her, have felt the burdens of historical erasure. She feels responsibility to create a bridge for other Afro indigenous youth to feel connected to their roots through new music that preserves their folkloric history.

“I love transforming, innovating [music], because I love how new music can be a bridge. Many of us expats and immigrants find feelings in music that connect us back to our homes when we are far away,” she explains.

“The Sound of My Destiny,” concludes with Gotopo stating, “If my music doesn’t stir the blood, doesn’t agitate the body, doesn’t awaken doubt, doesn’t disturb one’s thinking…que se calle mi canto [better let my voice be silenced].”

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Laura Sanchez is a Mexican-American writer and DJ based in Brooklyn, New York.

When Natalia Lafourcade returned to her home in Xalapa, Mexico, after a long period of traveling and performing, she found a withering garden with only a few blooming flowers. Lafourcade had neglected her garden during her time away. But soon after her return, the pandemic hit, and, like the rest of the world, she had to sit at home and face all that she had lost sight of. It meant reprogramming her routine, after having been used to being on the road around large crowds and bursts of energy. And it meant reconnecting with her home, her garden, and a part of herself she had not nourished in a long time, her inner garden.

After seven years, the Mexican singer-songwriter is releasing “De Todas Las Flores,” her first all-original album since her Grammy-winning 2015 LP, “Hasta la Raíz.” It is Lafourcade’s most personal collection of new material, an album she describes as her musical diary. “The album is called ‘De Todas Las Flores’ because I felt like I was the garden without many flowers left. I needed to connect to my universe [her own voice and ideas] again.” Lafourcade tells Latina during her visit to New York City, where she premiered “De Todas las Flores,” live at Carnegie Hall, joined by guests Omara Portuondo, David Byrne, and Jorge Drexler.

The singer-songwriter launched her career in the early 2000s, and became one of Mexico’s most beloved post-rock singer-songwriters — collaborating with contemporary pop singers like Ximena Sariñana and Julieta Venegas. But it was her folkloric interpretations on albums like “Musas I” that established her as one of the most successful singers in Latin America.

As the daughter of Gaston Lafourcade, a harpsichordist who served as a music professor, and Maria del Carmen Silva Contreras, a pianist and music educator, Lafourcade was exposed to classical and folkloric music at a young age. When she began recording the homages to Agustin Lara, Pedro Infante, among others she felt connected to all the great composers and singers she had grown up listening to, but she was no longer writing or composing her own music (her last original album was “Hasta La Raiz”). “It was beautiful for me, and I was learning a lot. So I really got into that [recording homages], not noticing that I was leaving aside an important part of my story,” she tells Latina, “which is me as a songwriter, me as an artist, or creator of my universe, my sound, my ideas.”

Lafourcade explains that around 2017, she began thinking about working on her own material again, but the timing was not right yet. She wanted to continue performing and traveling for a couple more years. But in the back of her mind, she knew she would soon begin planning for her return home, back to her family, back to her studio.

During the initial phases of “De Todas Las Flores” she wondered if she had it in her to produce an all-original album again. Lafourcade searched through voice memos for songs, clips, and lyrics she had worked on during her last several years of touring, and came across a song she had written in 2018, after a romantic breakup, a sadness tucked away in her memories. Although the song was written during a time of heartbreak and she was no longer in that place, Lafourcade could hear her voice again in the track. Unlike the interpretations she had been working on for the past few years, this song was raw and original. It would become the first single and name of the album “De Todas Las Flores,” a dedication to those we loved and lost. It references the inner flowers that have withered and the ones still blooming.

In the summer of 2020, Lafourcade reached out to her good friend, filmmaker, actor, and musician, Adan Jodorowsky — son of the Chilean-French avant-garde filmmaker Alejandro Jodorowsky. Lafourcade explains that she chose him to produce this personal album because she wanted to work with someone that felt like family, someone that shared her taste in music and aesthetic.

In a podcast produced by Lafourcade, titled after the new album, she shares the intimate processes of creating “De Todas las Flores.” The podcast’s first episode features Jodorowsky, and includes Lafourcade’s early conversations with him about producing the album, and his impressions of the initial versions. From the beginning, Jodorowsky encouraged Lafourcade to avoid digital recording and a click track, instead suggesting she record the tracks live on analog tape in a Texas border town near El Paso. Jodorowsky also brought in accomplished musicians to collaborate on tracks, like guitarist Marc Ribot, bassist Sebastian Steinberg (Soul Coughing, Fiona Apple), and the French percussionist Cyril Atef.

After seven years, Lafourcade has finally released an intimate musical diary that explores the cycle of loss, grievance, acceptance and growth. “It wasn’t until [the pandemic] that I had silence and emptiness at home, that I was able to perceive that there was [pain] inside that did not allow me to be at peace. I realized I had to go back to the studio. It was then that I was reminded how much I love making music.” Through this musical journey, Lafourcade has revisited her moments of heartache and agony, and allowed herself to let go of the dead flowers and replant new ones.

Fans captured clips of her performance at Carnegie Hall on October 27, 2022, including a final standing ovation beside Byrne, Drexler, Portuondo, and more.

Gracias totales New York por este increíble inicio de lo que será una gran gira el próximo año. Carnegie Hall fue lleno total esta noche.
Natalia Lafourcade Oficial @lafourcade pic.twitter.com/PLPyzrNVAG

— Natalia tu sí sabes quererme veracruz (@lafourcadeverac) October 28, 2022

Natalia Lafourcade se presentó ayer en el Carnegie Hall en NYC pero no sólo estuvo ella, también don Jorge Drexler❤️❤️❤️
Para mi fue un honor estar ahí y por fin poderla escuchar en vivo pic.twitter.com/CEMwTfDULl

— Lina Rueda (@LINA_mrp) October 28, 2022

 

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