An Audio Guide into the Magical Worlds; in Conversation with Rossana Romero
‘Salome, Buscando El Paraíso’
36 x 46 in
2023
Oil on Canvas
Paper Mache on Wood Frame
Rossana Romero:
‘Hi! My name is Rossana Romero and welcome to an audio guide for the painting ‘Salome, Buscando El Paraiso’ This is a 36 x 46 in Oil painting on canvas with a sculpted paper mache on wood frame I created in 2023.
As I move forward with recording an audio guide to my paintings and sculptures, I am seeking peers that I respect and admire to have a conversation with me and ask their own questions on the work that I am making. I am creating my own space where we dissect the work for an open dialogue, in hopes that it will continue the conversation of the research that is referenced within the art.
Today I have Emily Rose asking me questions,
Emily: Hello hello! I’m Emily Rose. I am an interdisciplinary multimedia artist, creating artwork about and for the Caribbean diaspora. Outside of my artistic practice, I consider myself to be an archivist, constantly collecting oral histories, artifacts, and conducting ancestral research to explore topics of identity, home, belonging, and generational trauma. You can find my work by searching emilyrose.artwork.online or follow my instagram emilyrose.art.work
Emily: So let’s begin.
In your portraits, you explore the rich narratives and folk tales of both South America and the United States, combining Western European and Indigenous mythology. What and who inspired you to create 'Salome, Buscando El Paraíso’?
Rossana Romero:
This piece is an altar, it feels like an altar to me—
It’s a love letter to history and an offering to my ancestors.
It’s connecting the stories, knowledge, and inspirations I’ve gathered over the years.
The title, “Salome,” comes from my cousin, who is the model for this painting. But it also nods to the biblical story of Salome, the girl who demanded John the Baptist’s head on a platter out of loyalty to her mother.
Salome dances for the king and when the king asks what she wants, she asks for the head of John the Baptist.
That story of sacrifice inspired me to position her like Venus, the goddess of love, reclining in her vulnerability and power.
The theme of sacrificing softness in love to survive generational trauma has been central to my work for years, and it felt only natural to portray her as Venus.
Venus appears not just in her figure but in other symbols throughout the piece—like the golden Venus statue within the frame, which doubles as a mirror and a portal to another dimension.
Throughout the painting, I reflect on Venus’s many interpretations as both a deity and a planet. Each time Venus appears, it’s a visual nod to the countless moments women have shaped history and time.
I’ve also layered references to several impactful artworks that help enhance the storytelling. These visual cues offer multiple meanings, creating new connections between history, mythology, and the present.
The subtitle, “Buscando el Paraíso,” ties to the Colombian telenovela ‘Sin Senos No Hay Paraíso.’
That series critiques how poverty and survival have embedded violent beauty standards in our culture, pushing young people to see beauty and plastic surgery as a way out of hardship.
It’s a conversation I’ve carried into this piece, reflecting on how deeply these ideas are ingrained in us, linked to power dynamics and colonial legacies.
In the series, Cartel members often finance plastic surgeries to enhance their own image, treating women as symbols of status. This disturbing cycle originates from deeper historical roots:
the infiltration of U.S. military presence and the broader effects of colonization. It’s a domino effect, where colonial influence seeps into culture, reshaping desires, values, and survival mechanisms over generations.
We see that parallel now in the United States with the culture around plastic surgery right now.
This painting is also my first experiment with combining my sculptural paper-mâché frames and my paintings. The frame is adorned with indigenous Colombian symbols—birds and reptiles as gods—paying homage to the craftsmanship of Colombia’s tribes. I sculpted a reference to the God of Birds, known as Waju Wake, the father of birds, alongside my caimans, who serve as personal motifs and guides in my work.
I often reference them as my protectors, their presence symbolizing my connection to the spiritual world.
My choice to use the illusion of gold in my frames and sculptures using paper mache ties back to rituals in indigenous Colombian cultures.
It was believed that gold objects were not just ornamental but essential to ritual practices,
transforming the human wearer into another kind of being—one that blended human and animal features.
These rituals operated on the understanding that humans, animals, and landscapes share a common spirit, and through proper adornments and ceremonies, transformation became possible.
Great religious figures were seen as capable of moving through this shared spirit world, using these adornments as tools of power and connection.
The white tiles and the Corinthian columns reference my mother’s home
Using that as the background, grounds the piece in a tangible reality while the land reflected in the mirror becomes an imagined escape,
a dreamlike place tied back to my earlier works.
Together, they add to the idea of a temple, a sacred space where one would bring offerings.
Scattered throughout the painting are candles, a nod to Día de las Velitas, a Colombian tradition celebrating Archangel Gabriel’s announcement to Mary. The candles symbolize illumination and divine guidance, serving as both a cultural reference and a spiritual offering within the piece.
Literary influences also weave their way into the painting. Gabriel García Márquez’s One Hundred Years of Solitude, Wade Davis’s Magdalena: River of Dreams, and Eduardo Galeano’s The Open Veins of Latin America have all profoundly impacted how I think about history, mythology, and the ongoing exploitation of Latin America.
I also draw inspiration from other artists, often making layered references that intertwine with their work and my story telling.
For instance,
Fernando Botero’s Bird of Peace inspired my pigeon motif;
It symbolizes not only the peace process between guerrillas, cartels, and the Colombian government but also hints again back to Venus, the goddess of love.
Beatriz González’s use of Simón Bolívar’s imagery resonates deeply with me, and her radical critique of Colombian politics feels like a guiding force. I included Bolívar’s flag in my painting as a nod to Beatriz for being a pioneer in political confrontation as an artist and to Simon Bolivar and his legacy as the founding father of La Gran Colombia.
And then there’s Shakira.
I used her Dónde Están los Ladrones album, it was the soundtrack of my childhood during the time period I moved to the U.S. and it was in the height of violence in Colombia in the ’90s.
That album—born from her experience of losing her original lyrics to theft—mirrors the cultural and personal losses tied to migration.
This painting is about merging memory and cultural nostalgia with a critical lens on the exploitation of Latin America. It’s a conversation with history, mythology, and spirituality, all woven into a surreal and layered offering.
Emily:
Thank you.
That was so beautifully said and this piece is just so powerful.
I want to get us a little bit more deeper into the symbols behind your piece.
In your piece theres many symbols and archetypes. Can you explain the meanings behind these three: scorpion, butterfly, and snake?
Rossana Romero:
I love that you asked for these three by the way, I always felt like they are the ones who are never brought up.
People always want to know about the alligators and the other big ones like the jaguars.
I use my motifs as a way to explain which reality we were in. Sometimes I bring you to where I escape to and sometimes I bring you to my real life.
The scorpion is tied to my practical reality. It is what grounds me to reality.
It’s a representation of my grandfather, who was a Scorpio. When he passed, I started including scorpions in my work as a way to honor him and acknowledge his presence. It’s a symbol of loss but also of offerings to the underworld, the afterlife, and my ancestors. The scorpion grounds me in this world—it’s a reminder of the connection between the physical and the spiritual. It’s also a nod to my childhood, because I used to have a scorpion named Chipotle and it got stolen. Me and my sister had a scorpion named Chipotle.
The butterfly, on the other hand, feels more ethereal.
It’s inspired by Gabriel García Márquez and his use of butterflies as symbols of love and conflict—love that’s unrequited, love that endures, and how love can persist through generations.
Butterflies have also come to represent transformation and guidance in my life.
The snake has been one of my earliest motifs, rooted in the mythology of the Amazon.
The anaconda, in particular, is tied to stories of immortality and shedding old skin. For me, the snake is about intuition, moving with the earth’s vibrations rather than what you think you know. It’s a witness to change and a reminder that while the soul continues, the body transforms. I think people often associate the snake with negative connotations, like the story of Adam and Eve, but for me, it’s nothing like that. The snake is the child of the river, an eternal being that never truly dies—it only sheds and grows as it expands.
Each of these symbols—scorpion, butterfly, and snake—reflects a different aspect of existence: the tangible, the transformative, and the eternal. Together, they tell a story of connection, growth, and the ever-present link between the seen and unseen worlds.
Emily:
Wow wow wow.
Well first, I just want to say having a scorpion as a pet is really bad ass and so cool.
I also want to give condolences to your grandfather as well, because hearing you speak more about your family, your history and Colombia and also these symbols and your pieces just makes it come more to life. I think you’re such a great story teller because you’re grabbing from all of these places and what they mean to your family and what they mean to your country and also adding the mythology to it. It’s very beautiful.
Aside from that, I’m really also interested In your artistic practice and your process.
By looking at your work, you’re definitely delving into the realms of surrealism and memory, weaving together elements of fantasy and reality. Can you tell us why and how you use elements of surrealism in this piece?
And also, do you consider yourself to be a surrealist artist?
I like to assume. That’s why I had the first question, you know, so you can answer whichever order you would like.
Rossana Romero:
I mean, that is a good question.
I don’t know if I consider myself a surrealist artist, I like to say that I’m more of a magic realism artist, even though that’s not necessarily a genre in visual work.
But I do think the surrealism in this piece comes from how I bring together elements that wouldn’t naturally coexist in the same space or time. It’s about creating a world that feels real at first glance,
but as you look closer, something feels slightly off,
like the pieces don’t entirely fit—or maybe they fit in ways you don’t expect.
That tension is what I want to explore, to make people pause and question what they’re seeing.
For me, surrealism is a way to have a conversation, a way to push my audience to ask questions. Why is this object here? What does it mean? Every element in my painting has a story—it’s tied to something historical, or deeply personal. It’s a way to layer meaning, to create pathways that lead you from one story to another, revealing connections you might not see at first.
This approach ties back to magical realism, which is so deeply ingrained in Latin American culture and politics. The way violence has played out in Colombia often feels unreal, almost impossible to comprehend. Magical realism, as a narrative style, emerged as a way to process those experiences, blending the fantastic with the everyday to make sense of the absurdity and the pain. It’s something I’ve internalized—this way of storytelling that feels both grounded and otherworldly.
In my research, I’ve explored how colonization has shaped our history and identities, and that’s deeply influenced my work. a mentality rooted in the traumas of colonization and the cycles of poverty, violence, and disconnection it created.
Surrealism allows me to explore that disconnection, to bring together the things that feel fragmented or erased. It’s about taking you on a journey—through dark woods, under rivers so murky you can’t see your feet, into spaces where history, mythology, and personal memory collide.
Love, for example, feels surreal to me. It feels impossible in a world filled with so much horror and loss.
And yet, through surrealism, I can explore what love could look like, even in the face of such brutality. It’s a way to hold onto hope, to dream of something beyond survival.
Through this piece, I’m not just blending fantasy and reality—I’m creating a space where questions can live, where disruptions make you think, and where the unseen can finally be seen.
I think something that most people that participate in our culture don’t really ever notice because it’s so ingrained in our culture is that most of our entertainment is extremely absurd. It’s extremely dramatic. You watch a telenovela and it is, it’s very otherworldly. Being taught that type of story telling only allows for things to always feel surreal. Even our experiences within infiltration and imperialism in our countries and colonialism, those experiences always feel surreal as well.
Explaining that to people who don’t endure it every day, it’s almost entertainment to them, while to us, it is such a normal experience.
So, yeah I guess in that way sure I am a surreal artist, but I don’t see it that way. I see it as something that we experience every day.
Emily:
Thank you for clarifying that because it also came to mind where, I think the new word is neo surrealist. Surrealism was way back many moons ago, but thinking now and you’re kind of already alluding to this idea of like, I recognize that I have some surrealist work or processes, but you don’t consider yourself, but you’re mentioning really great points that surrealism does bring up. It does talk about the subconscious, but you’re mentioning this word about absurdity, which I really want to highlight. I think today, in our world, there’s a lot of absurd things that have been happening for a very, very, very long time that people are just understanding. In your work people have to look even closer to understand how colonialism, imperialism has caused so much pain and suffering and how that has affected not just the country Colombia, but also South America and other countries along the way, Central America and Mexico and all over the world.
That's why I think artists are so important and magical.
You’re bringing things into life. From your own mind, from your subconscious, from your lived experience, and you’re sharing it in a story, and people can perceive it in however way.
And you mentioned that some folks might see it as entertainment, but you’re saying like no, this is every day for me. This is my experience, and when you realize that, they’re like, this is actually sad and scary. And whatever emotions come up, they might feel anxious.
I will say I love how speaking to how you’re so good at telling stories, I loved how you mentioned,
through dark woods, under rivers, so murky, you can’t see your feet,
Into spaces where history, mythology and personal memory collide.
I literally was imagining myself in your painting, in your work, thinking about getting your feet dirty in the mud.
I feel like I get you transporting me. I think your work, in a way transports people into a place that doesn’t exist, but it does exist.
You mentioned that earlier how your paintings, you want to bring in that space that isn’t real but is and that's magical.
I wish there was a genre, maybe you can bring that other amazing artists who have not been on your podcast yet or have been brought to the mainstream but I love to bring this idea of magic, magicalism, magical realism.
How can we combine that with surrealism?
And it’s a whole new thing.
I don't know, someone could coin it.
We got the internet today, people got brains, you know so maybe someone is already on it and there is a word out there. But also you don't have to box yourself in. and you don’t have to fit in those things. You know, i think your work speaks for itself and thats why i asked. I know that frida kahlo did not want to identify herself as a surrealist and i respect that and thats why i asked because you dont have to be in one box. You can do whatever you want to do cause you;re an artist. The creation is boundless.
And being with you today just taught me so much about your work, about you, about your family, your scorpion, and i'm really excited of where you’re going to go in the future. And I know I didn’t have this planned but I was going to ask, how do you see your work changing in the future? Do you have any projects that you would love to share with folks or things that you’re thinking of incorporating in your practice? Are you going to add more magic? Are you going to add, I don’t know what’s coming up for you?
Rossana Romero:
I think my work is always changing because i’m someone as an artist, I tend to lean into experimentation, especially with materials. So i’m always seeking something that itches my brain and I don’t sit well with making the same thing every time. I do see myself experimenting with installations and performance pieces and something that makes you feel like you’re in the work, like you said, because that’s the goal is to allow people to escape into the work. Hopefully I’m able to get to a space where I can bring people physically with me or even just mentally through senses, through sound, through experience, I am able to drag people along with me.
Emily:
I love that.
Rossana Romero:
I also feel like the reason, like what we said before, questioning surrealism, questioning things, I want that in my work because I do think we don’t question enough in society. I think we trust enough through our politicians, through our authority figures, through people, what society brings to you, you don’t ever question your reality enough. I think that’s why it’s so important to do it and why i think it’s good to create things that are not actually present in your or in their life, because it allows people to really question their reality, and I think thats important.
I don’t think we do it enough, I don’t think people ever question, the truth.
Emily:
Thank you for that. I am really excited about your practice, where it’s going to go. I love watching your stuff on instagram and just keeping up with your work. I am so excited to see what you do in the future. I’d love to see an installation, I’d love to see performance and whatever you end up doing. So I just want to say thank you, for sharing that with us today and with myself.
Rossana Romero:
Thank you Emily and every one who has listened through this interview and audio guide. I am excited to continue this journey and bring in more people who have questions and would like to continue the conversation. Please reach out through email if you would like to participate in asking your own questions.
You can find more about Emily’s work by searching emilyrose.artwork.online or follow her instagram emilyrose.art.work
An Audio Guide into the Magical Worlds; in Conversation with Rossana Romero
‘Salome, Buscando El Paraiso’
Discussing surrealism and magic realism as a love letter to history and an offering to my ancestors through myth, memory, and sacrifice.
An interview in conversation with Emily Rose, an interdisciplinary multimedia artist, creating artwork about and for the Caribbean diaspora and with Visual Multi Media artist Rossana Romero on the painting ‘Salome, Buscando El Paraiso’