Rocio Montiel’s practice is rooted in the belief that art is both refuge and revelation. From early explorations in drawing and painting to a defining commitment made during the uncertainty of 2020, the work has grown into a disciplined pursuit of meaning and connection. Through geometric abstraction, each piece becomes a balance of order and chaos, a visual language that mirrors inner worlds while inviting multiple interpretations.

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Can you pinpoint a single moment in your life when you realized art was not just a passion but your purpose? 

Art has always been present in my life. From my earliest memories, drawing and painting were not hobbies but rather a way to connect with myself. For many years, art was a deeply personal practice, something I turned to for my own mental health, a space of refuge and expression. Even as life took me on different paths and through diverse experiences, I never stopped refining my techniques or nurturing my creative practice. Still, for a long time, art lived quietly alongside everything else I was doing, more a passion than a defined purpose.

The turning point came in 2020, when I moved to Los Angeles at the very start of the pandemic. The world was in a state of collective uncertainty, and like many, I was forced to sit with myself, reflect, and decide where I wanted to direct my energy. That moment was pivotal because it asked me to confront not only my personal resilience but also the deeper meaning of the life I wanted to build. For me, the answer was clear: it was time to dedicate myself fully to art, not just as something I loved, but as the foundation of my life’s work.

Those months of isolation became a catalyst. While the world slowed down, my commitment accelerated. I immersed myself in my studio practice with a discipline I had never embraced before. Each day I studied, experimented, and created, not just to pass the time but to expand what I thought was possible for myself as an artist. I reached out to new communities, shared my work more openly, and allowed my practice to move beyond personal healing into dialogue with others.

The pandemic, with all its difficulty, gave me a profound clarity. From that point forward, I chose to pursue my art career with intention, building the foundations that continue to support my growth today.

Since then, I have worked tirelessly to advance my practice, exhibiting my work, collaborating with communities, and committing myself to lifelong learning. The journey has come with ups and downs but, each opportunity has reinforced that the decision I made during that transformative year was not just about my own fulfillment but about how my art can contribute or inspire to the world around me. 

While I am proud of the milestones I have achieved so far, I also recognize that this path is an ongoing journey. Being an artist is not a finite accomplishment but a lifetime commitment, one that continues to challenge me, excite me, and push me to grow. 

Art began as my passion, but in that defining moment of transition and reflection, I understood that it is also my calling. 

What do you think is the most meaningful role an artist plays in society today?

I believe the most meaningful role an artist plays in society today is to create work that inspires, sparks dialogue, and invites people to question and connect with the world around them in new ways. Art has an undeniable ability to influence society positively, not by offering readymade answers, but by opening doors to reflection, imagination, and empathy.

Art is a narrative, and every artist carries within them a unique story. What artists share is pure because it comes from a place deeper than logic or surface appearances, it comes from lived experiences, emotions, and perspectives that are transformed into creative expression. Whether through painting, sculpture, performance, or digital media, artists take something internal and translate it into a form that others can engage with, interpret, and feel. 

I also believe it’s important to recognize that art does not have to carry a social or political message to be meaningful. There is art that confronts injustice, art that documents cultural history, and art that questions systems of power, but there is also art that exists simply for beauty, for joy, or for the sake of personal exploration. All of these are equally valid. The value of art lies not only in its content, but in the act of creation itself and the connections it makes possible. Whatever practice, medium, or technique an artist uses, it holds meaning because it carries the authenticity of the creator.

What matters most is that art has the capacity to reach people on levels that words alone often cannot. A single image, gesture, or sound can evoke emotions that defy explanation. Art can hold contradictions, invite curiosity, and leave space for interpretation, making it a more intriguing form of communication than straightforward statements.

In today’s world, where society is often fragmented by differences in ideology, culture, and circumstance, the artist’s role in building bridges is more important than ever. Art has the power to create spaces where people from different backgrounds can share an experience, even if they walk away with different interpretations. I believe it nurtures empathy by allowing us to glimpse the world through someone else’s perspective

For me, the role of an artist is not limited to producing objects or performances it´s about cultivating connection. Art allows us to connect to ourselves, to each other, and to the world at large. Ultimately, the most meaningful role an artist plays is to remain true to their own voice while offering it to the world as a contribution. Every artist’s narrative matters, because it emerges from within and carries something only, they can give. And while not every work will resonate with everyone, there will always be someone who feels the impact of it.

How important is it for viewers to understand the intended message of your work? Does ambiguity add value, or do you seek clarity in your expression? 

My artistic practice is rooted in abstraction, with my most of my body of work focusing on geometric abstraction. I often describe my pieces as an organized chaos of the mind. Within each composition there is rhythm, balance, and structure, yet at the same time, there is unpredictability, layering, patterns and tension. This duality reflects the way thoughts, memories, and emotions coexist inside us, sometimes in harmony, sometimes in conflict. 

For me, ambiguity is not simply a byproduct of abstraction; it is an essential part of why I create. While every piece originates from a specific impulse or reason, I do not believe the viewer needs to fully understand or even agree with my message. In fact, I find it far more powerful when my work opens space for multiple interpretations. Ambiguity offers freedom for viewers to step into the work without feeling bound to decode it. It transforms the artwork from being mine into something that also belongs to the audience.

Unlike representational art, which often guides the eye toward a clear story or recognizable subject, abstraction leaves gaps, silences, and possibilities. I see these gaps as an invitation. When someone stands before one of my pieces, I want them to sense that there is no single right answer, no fixed interpretation. The painting becomes a mirror, reflecting not only my own history but also their inner world. Of course, my pieces are not random or detached from intention. The concept behind each work matters to me. The shapes, colors, and compositions are chosen deliberately to hold the essence of why the piece was created. Yet I always leave space between my intention and the audience’s perception. That space is where connection happens. 

Ultimately, I do not seek absolute clarity in expression. Clarity may help explain an idea, but ambiguity inviters curiosity, it deepens engagement, and it gives the work a living quality that evolves with each encounter. A single artwork may hold one meaning for me, but when it resonates differently with every person who experiences it. That is why I believe ambiguity not only adds value but is fundamental to my practice. My art is not meant to dictate, but to invite. By holding space for interpretation, I honor both my own story and the stories of those who encounter the work. 

Can you take us through the evolution of an artwork, from that first spark of inspiration to the finished piece?

The evolution of an artwork, for me, always begins with the spark of inspiration and that can come from anywhere. By “anywhere,” I mean the wide range of experiences, emotions, and ideas that make up my daily life. I am deeply drawn to creating from feelings, from moments of emotional intensity, and from the quiet storms of thought that never seem to rest in my mind. My inner world rarely stops moving; it can feel overwhelming at times, but within that constant stream of thought and emotion is where I find the inspiration of my work. In many ways, my art is not only expression but also a form of therapy. Each time I sit down to create, I am processing, and translating what I carry inside. So, in that sense, I am in therapy almost every day haha. 

The process begins when an idea or emotion surfaces strongly enough to demand a form. I start by reflecting on how to translate that feeling into shapes, colors, and structures. Since I work primarily with geometric abstraction, my visual language relies on form, rhythm, and balance rather than direct representation. The first marks or sketches might be raw and instinctive, often guided more by emotion than by logic. I allow myself freedom in this stage, because I have learned that forcing clarity too early can restrict the energy of the work.

As the piece develops, it often begins to evolve in directions I could not have predicted. Sometimes a work that originates in sadness or heaviness transforms into something joyful, filled with color and movement. Other times, what began as playful experimentation reveals a deeper layer of vulnerability or tension. Geometric shapes are central to this journey. They provide me with structure, a way to organize the chaos of my mind into something visible and coherent. Each line, each angle, and each repetition of form becomes a vessel for emotion. Yet even with geometry, I seek flexibility: sharp edges may soften, rigid patterns may break apart, and color choices can shift dramatically depending on what I feel in the moment. The result is a balance between order and spontaneity, between precision and emotion.

By the time a piece is finished, it often carries echoes of where it started but has transformed into something more layered and complex. The artwork may no longer resemble the exact emotion that inspired it, but instead becomes a testament to the journey of processing, transforming, and finding meaning. In this way, every finished piece is both an end and a beginning. It is the end of my process of creating it, but it is also the beginning of the viewer’s experience with it.

Describe a piece you’ve created that has held the most emotional weight for you. What makes it significant? 

I have created several works that carry deep personal meaning, but one piece that stands out as holding the most emotional weight is “Isolation”, one of my recent artworks. This piece was born during a particularly difficult chapter of my life, when I was struggling with depression and the overwhelming urge to withdraw from everything around me. 

The creation of Isolation began with the idea of a monochromatic composition. I envisioned a restrained palette, one that could visually capture the heaviness and emptiness that accompany depression. Yet, as with much of my work, the process quickly became therapeutic. The act of translating emotion into form gave me the space to confront my feelings rather than avoid them. What began as a purely somber vision gradually shifted and evolved to something more than my story and experience. 

For me, this evolution mirrored the emotional journey itself. Depression often convinces you that you are trapped in a permanent state of grayness, but through creating Isolation, I was reminded that transformation is possible even in the heaviest moments, there is movement toward light. 

What makes this piece even more significant is that it inspired me to write a poem alongside it, as if the visual language alone could not contain the weight of the emotion. The poem begins:

“I feel empty, even when I’m full.
trapped, though no cage surrounds me.
Lonely in a crowd of voices,
as if I’m fading quietly.”

The verses speak to the suffocating yet invisible nature of isolation, where one can be surrounded by others and still feel profoundly alone. Each line carried the same vulnerability that was embedded into the artwork itself. And yet, the poem, like the piece, does not end in despair. It acknowledges that clouds eventually move, that darkness inevitably breaks, and that light is always waiting beyond the fog.

The significance of Isolation lies in both its honesty and its transformation. It was created in a moment when I felt most fragile, yet the act of making it revealed strength. The work is heavy because it comes from a place of pain, but it is hopeful because it points toward healing. In sharing it, I offer not just my own story, but also a reflection for others who may have walked through similar shadows.

Isolation is important to me because it reminds me of the purpose of my practice: art is not only about aesthetic form, but about truth, healing, and connection. Through this piece, I learned that even in moments of solitude and silence, creativity can spark a path back to light.

Has there ever been a time when the creative process felt more like a burden than a joy? How did you navigate that? 

There have certainly been times when the creative process has felt more like a burden than a joy. For me, this usually happens not on the emotional or inspirational side, but rather on the technical side of creating. My style of work involves very detailed and geometric pieces, where precision is absolutely essential. In those moments, the smallest mistake can throw off the balance of an entire composition, and trying to fix or conceal such errors can feel frustrating and time-consuming. Even if at first glance my work seems to lack order or direction, every shape is intentionally placed and follows a structure. The work demands an almost meditative patience, but there are days when the technical rigor makes the process feel more like a test of endurance than an act of expression.

When I encounter these situations, my first instinct is to keep pushing through, because not finishing a piece is far more stressful for me than struggling with the challenges of completing it. However, I have also learned that there are limits to how much forcing myself forward can help. Sometimes the frustration only grows if I insist on solving every problem in one sitting. 

One strategy that has been helpful is giving myself permission to step away. If I find that a piece has become overwhelming, I will leave it for a few hours, a few days, or even longer if needed. Allowing the work to “rest” creates distance, and when I return, I often see solutions that weren’t visible before. It is as though the act of pausing resets my perspective, and what once felt heavy or impossible begins to flow again. Some pieces demand more time and patience, while others come together with a natural fluidity. Either way, they all eventually find completion, and that is a discipline I hold myself to.

I must also admit that part of the challenge comes from the very style I have chosen. Geometric precision and detailed construction demand accuracy and focus. Ironically, this is also why I love the style so much. It pushes me to grow, tests my patience, and teaches me resilience. Each piece is not just an artistic product but also a personal exercise in endurance and patience. 

What helps me navigate these burdens is reminding myself of the bigger picture, art is about the process of building, struggling, learning, and finally reaching clarity. Even when a particular stage feels heavy, I know that it is part of the rhythm.

Can art be truly therapeutic? Have you experienced its healing power personally, or seen it impact others?

Art, in my experience, is absolutely therapeutic. As I have shared before, my creative process itself feels like a kind of personal therapy session. Through creating, I am able to access parts of myself that are otherwise difficult to put into words. My art practice has not only given me a way to express emotions, but also a way to understand them, transform them, and keep evolving as a person. I often say that I don’t always know where my practice will take me tomorrow, or what my focus will be in the future, but one thing I do know with certainty is that creating has saved me in many ways. It has been a healing journey that has accompanied me through struggles, transitions, and self-discovery.

The process of making art challenges me constantly. It asks me difficult questions about who I am, what my purpose is, and how I want to contribute to the world around me. Sometimes this can be confronting, but it is also deeply valuable. Creating gives me the space to process these questions, not through logic or analysis, but through form, color, and movement.

Over time, I have come to see that the healing power of art is not limited to my own experience. While my practice is very personal, it also extends outward. Sharing my work with others has shown me that art can connect with them. People who encounter my pieces often tell me that they feel inspired, or that the work sparked something inside of them, a memory, a question, or even just a shift in emotion. What fulfills me the most is when my pieces invite dialogue, when someone feels compelled to stop, reflect, and ask themselves what the work makes them feel. That exchange of energy and meaning is incredibly satisfying, because it means that my personal process of healing is resonating with others.

I believe that is the essence of art’s therapeutic power: it allows us to connect to ourselves, to others, and to experiences that go beyond language. Art creates a safe space where emotions can exist freely, where silence speaks, and where complexity is allowed without judgment. For me, making art has helped me face pain, isolation, and doubt, but it has also given me joy, clarity, and strength. In this sense, art is not only about producing something visually appealing, it is about giving meaning to experience. My practice has taught me that healing does not always come in a straight line, but through layers, repetition, and reflection. Art embodies that truth. It embraces imperfection, struggle, and discovery, and transforms them into something that can inspire.

How do you respond to debates about the accessibility of art—should it be exclusive, or is it for everyone? 

In my view, art should be accessible to everyone, it’s not merely a luxury for a select few. Historically, the art world was dominated by elite collectors and traditional gallery systems that often felt restrictive. Yet today, that landscape is evolving in profoundly positive ways.

Younger generations are reshaping the market. Young collectors purchase art online, and they favor works by emerging and underrepresented artists, including prints and mixed media pieces. Limited-edition prints, priced reasonably, have become especially popular as “gateway” pieces for new art buyers. Also, the shift toward online platforms isn’t just about sales it's about inclusion. 

Beyond structural change, access must also be inclusive in more meaningful ways. It's not enough to simply remove economic or logistical barriers, art institutions must engage with diverse communities. Institutions should reflect a breadth of identities, experiences, and perspectives in their exhibitions and programs. 

I belief art its most vital when it’s shared widely. The expansion of online marketplaces, social media galleries, and limited-edition formats means that more people can own meaningful pieces without draining their bank accounts. This not only benefits new collectors, but also nurtures artists by expanding their reach and sustaining their creative practice. Moreover, when a wider audience can engage with art, whether triggered by resonance, curiosity, etc. it fosters community, shared understanding, and cultural well-being. 

Art shouldn’t be an exclusive domain. It should be shared, inclusive, and evolving. Together, through digital platforms, democratic institutions, and a culture that values diverse expression, we can ensure art remains not only for someone but for everyone.

Identify five habits or concerns you are actively trying to let go of in your practice.

If I can identify 5 habits or concerns, I would say: 

✧ Overcoming impostor syndrome:
One of the most persistent challenges I face is impostor syndrome. There are moments when I question the value of what I am creating or wonder whether my work is “worthy” enough to be considered art. To counter this, I am learning to be kinder to myself, to acknowledge that my practice is valid simply because it exists, and to trust the natural evolution of my work. 

 

✧ Cultivating more patience with the process:
Excitement often drives me to want to see a piece completed quickly. While this can be motivating, it sometimes slips into impatience, where I focus more on the final result than on the creative journey itself. Over time, I have realized that patience is essential not only for producing high-quality work but also for enjoying the act of creating. I am training myself to slow down.

 

✧ Releasing overthinking about the final result:
Closely tied to impostor syndrome is the habit of overthinking how a finished piece will be received. At times, I find myself worrying whether the final work will meet certain expectations. This mindset can stifle spontaneity and diminish the joy of experimenting. I am actively letting go of this concern by reminding myself that the value of my work lies in its honesty and expression, not in how it fits preconceived standards.

 

✧ Reducing the tendency to comparing myself to others:
It can be easy to fall into the trap of comparison. While looking at the work of peers can be inspiring, it sometimes leaves me questioning my own progress or direction. I am working to let go comparisons when they arise by recognizing that every artist’s path is unique. My responsibility is to stay true to my vision.

 

✧ The pressure of productivity:
Another concern I am working to release is the constant pressure to produce. In creative fields, there can be an unspoken expectation to always be making, posting, or showing new work. I am learning to let go of this pressure and allow myself moments of pause, reflection, and rest. Sometimes the most important part is not producing but listening, observing, and simply existing with the work.

What are your long-term aspirations as an artist, both personally and professionally?

My long-term aspiration as an artist is to continue expanding the depth and reach of my practice. I already see my art as a reflection of who I am and as a narrative that carries purpose, and I want to keep strengthening that voice so it resonates even more powerfully over time. My work has already allowed me to connect with others in meaningful ways, inspiring reflection, and I want to keep building on that foundation so the impact grows alongside me.

For me, excellence is not just about technical precision, it’s about creating work that is emotionally honest, conceptually strong, and able to foster change, whether on a personal or collective level. 

Professionally, I envision my art participating in broader cultural conversations, being part of exhibitions and collaborations that bring people together across different communities and backgrounds. Personally, I see my practice as a lifelong journey, evolving with each chapter of my life.

Ultimately, my aspiration is for my art to transcend boundaries of time, place, and context, remaining rooted in my present while continuing to evolve into something larger. 

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The journey of Rocio Montiel affirms art as a lifelong calling, one shaped by resilience, therapy, and the drive to connect. Every composition holds not only precision but also vulnerability, creating spaces where ambiguity and clarity coexist. Beyond exhibitions and achievements, the practice endures as a commitment to growth, dialogue, and transformation, offering a voice that resonates with both honesty and hope.