Breaking Stereotypes Through Symbolism: A Q&A with Contemporary Artist Luna Licea
- Selfless Art Gallery
- May 15
- 6 min read
Updated: 1 day ago
In the evolving landscape of contemporary art, Luna Licea stands out with work that is as emotionally resonant as it is visually bold. Born in Guadalajara, Mexico, and raised in the U.S., Licea brings a personal and layered approach to painting that fuses cultural heritage, identity, and aesthetic freedom. His art is rich in color, symbolism, and stylistic dualities—blending pre-Columbian influence with modern-day expression. But beyond the visual language lies a deeper message: a call for the Latin community to define their own narratives, rather than live under the weight of imposed stereotypes. Through each brushstroke, Licea challenges the idea that identity must not be shaped by struggle alone. Instead, he invites viewers to embrace joy, complexity, and authenticity—showing that culture, like art, is something we have the power to reclaim and reshape.
Q: Let’s start off with a fun ice breaker: If you could live in one of your paintings, which one would it be, why, and where would you hang it for the world to see?
A: That’s a tough question, but if I had to choose, I’d live in the painting I just finished. I’ve had so much fun creating it, and I can only imagine the characters inside are having just as much fun living in it. Now, where would I hang it? That’s the easy part—it’d go in my grandma’s house back in Mexico. I spent my childhood running around that place. It’s home. And if I were living inside that painting, I’d want to look out and see my family. I’d want them to look in, feel connected, and hopefully feel inspired.
Q: Before we dive deep into your compositions, can you tell us about your background and how you began to use painting as a tool to build confidence and embrace your culture?
A: Yeah, for sure—I was born in Guadalajara, Mexico, and grew up in a small town next to it called Huentitán. I moved to the U.S. when I was 9, and pretty quickly, I started to pull away from my roots. There were a lot of reasons for that, but mostly, I just didn’t feel a strong connection to Chicano or Mexican-American culture. And all the stereotypes about our community definitely didn’t help. So, like many people, I started trying to fit in—to assimilate.
But in the past few years, with all the attacks on immigrant communities—and honestly, on anyone who isn’t a white male—something in me changed. I realized that this country had taken a lot from me, culturally. And I was ready to take it back.
It also became clear that I just wanted to be Mexican and explore what that meant in a personal, cultural, and evolving way. I wanted to explore it visually, aesthetically, and emotionally. I wanted to dive into what Mexican culture is, what it could become, and how I could express that through my work.
Q: The strength of your work lies in its connection to the past—how do you balance honoring that history with envisioning a future for your culture?
A: The fabric of Mexican culture is woven with the traditions, clothing, music, and food of the many Indigenous groups that lived in the Americas long before Cortés and his boats ever arrived. This, to me, is the most beautiful part of our culture—it tells a powerful story of survival. Mexican artists during the Revolution understood this. They rejected Eurocentric styles and embraced pre-Columbian art, reconnecting with something deeply rooted and meaningful, as it was also a way to tell the stories of our ancestors.
Then came the post-WWII era, when the U.S. began expanding politically and culturally across the globe, pulling us into what I like to call a U.S.-centric age—one shaped by American brands and pop culture. And while I do draw inspiration from that world, my goal is to embrace and modernize pre-Columbian styles through it, specifically using clothing, color, and patterns as a tool. It’s my way of keeping my Indigenous roots alive and strong, just like my ancestors did, by weaving their culture into the changing world around them.
Q: In our previous conversation, you shared that you want to use your art to show Latino people that they don’t have to accept the narrative of being a victim. Can you elaborate on what that means to you, and how that message manifests in your work?
A: These days, we’re in a place where Latinos can finally tell their own stories, and there’s so much beautiful, powerful work being created.
But still, I feel like the narrative is often being controlled, and sometimes, the worst part is that it’s being reinforced by our own people. People who’ve internalized old stereotypes have started seeing them as cultural truth.
And look, I get why work that focuses on our struggles exists—my own struggles are an important part of who I am, and yeah, they certainly add to the plot. But that’s not the part I want to highlight about myself. I don’t believe that that’s the part that defines me, and I don’t believe in living by it.
I believe in a good laugh and a good cup of coffee. In time spent with family and friends. I believe in yelling at the referee on TV during a good soccer match. I believe in the simple moments. Living a life that fills the soul instead of draining it.
This is how we overcome struggles—by focusing on the parts we love about ourselves instead of living as victims. I believe in showing my people who we are, through simple moments of life, that embrace slow living, community, and pride.
Q: One of the most striking aspects of your work is your choice to make the figures faceless. Can you share the thought behind this decision and what it represents in relation to your themes of cultural connection?
A: I grew up in a very traditional home—something as simple as growing my hair out wasn’t accepted because it was seen as feminine. Raised mostly by women—my mom and three sisters—I naturally leaned into my feminine side. For years, I struggled with what it meant to be a man and whether I was “man enough.” Especially my liking for clothing. Some feminine choices sparked a good roast session around male groups, and around family, experimentation was out of the picture.
I want the characters in my work to experience the kind of freedom many of us don’t get. Freedom from these weird, made-up ideas that say men have to be one way and women another—ideas that came with colonialism. I try to create space for ambiguity, for characters to exist beyond those categories. It doesn’t matter if the subject wears something masculine or feminine—I purposely leave that open. Through these characters, I’m opening a door in myself to be more expressive or playful with clothing, something I still struggle to do.
Q: You’ve spoken about moving away from measuring success through sales, recognition, or whether you land a solo exhibition—and instead focusing on taking it one day at a time. How has this shift in mindset impacted your approach to art and your sense of fulfillment?
A: The social pressure of “Are people going to like this?” or “Is this going to sell?”—that’s mostly gone. Sure, I still care at times, but what matters to me now is learning about myself and others, connecting with my roots, and creating something that feels truly exciting. I don’t need anyone to validate it.
I don’t know if I’ll ever sit at the top of the art world. God only knows where I’ll end up. What I do know is I’m leaving something special behind, and my work will only get stronger with time. That gives me fulfillment. I believe my hunger to create and my way of seeing life is a God-given gift, and as long as my soul strives to fulfill its purpose, that’s all that matters.
Q: Looking ahead, what are your aspirations for the future of your art and any new projects you would like to share?
A: I really just aspire to keep growing as an individual, to keep growing my community, keep learning, and ultimately that’s going to make me a better artist. But currently, no new projects—just a lot of work that I’m very excited to create and share with everyone who’s interested in looking.
Luna Licea’s work reminds us that art is not just about representation—it’s about liberation. By centering everyday moments, exploring gender expression, and embracing cultural roots without falling into prescribed narratives, he opens up a space for reflection and reinvention. His paintings speak to a cultural experience that is multifaceted, evolving, and deeply human. For Licea, creating art is both an act of personal expression and communal healing—a way to challenge assumptions and reclaim identity on one’s own terms. As he continues to paint, grow, and connect, one thing is clear: his voice adds a vital and refreshing perspective to the contemporary art world.
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