Art Conversations with Ruby – Interview with Luciana Guerra
- rubyrhizome
- Mar 17
- 6 min read
Madness, Memory, and Metamorphosis: Luciana Guerra and the Alchemy of Turning Loss into Light
R: When did you start creating art, and what were the first moments that connected you to start investigating your visual language?
L: Art has always been a part of me. My mother was a sculptor, and I grew up surrounded by her work, watching her shape materials like wood, ice, and stone into sculptures. It was natural for me to start drawing and painting as a child—it wasn’t even a decision, more like something that was always there. Later, in high school, I took workshops with different Argentine artists before pursuing a degree in Fine Arts, where I specialized in painting. Over time, my visual language evolved through curiosity, experimentation, and constant learning.
R: Your work is never accidental but rather rich with different references. Psychoanalysis seems to be an important area of your research. How does your art allow you to explore these questions more deeply?
L: Yes, psychology has always fascinated me. In Argentina, therapy is deeply embedded in our culture—it’s the country with the highest number of psychologists in the world. I even studied psychology for two years before fully dedicating myself to art. That influence is visible in my work, especially in how I interpret dreams, symbols, and subconscious imagery. I’ve always been drawn to surrealism, Jungian archetypes, and the idea that art can reveal hidden layers of the psyche. Painting allows me to explore these ideas freely, without the need for strict logic—it’s a space where emotion and thought merge.
R: The themes of madness and death are central to your work. These are uncomfortable themes for many, yet in your art, they seem to be explored confidently. How did you reach that point, and was it difficult for you to confront them?
L: It was deeply personal. I’ve never spoken about this publicly before, but the root of this exploration comes from my own experiences with loss. My parents both passed away, and witnessing their illnesses was incredibly difficult. My mother suffered from cancer and later dementia, and my father had a long battle with illness as well. Seeing my mother, who was once so strong, live in a state where she no longer recognized us—it made me question everything about life, death, and reality itself. I had to process it somehow, and art became the space where I could do that. At first, I struggled to accept those emotions, but eventually, I started seeing the process of death as a transition rather than just an end. This shift in perspective is what shaped my work.
R: Even though your work questions themes of death and madness, I never found it heavy or difficult to digest. Rather, it feels vivid and joyous, almost like a dream or a fairytale. Do you see it that way too?
L: Yes, exactly. That’s the paradox of my work. I never wanted to dwell in darkness—I wanted to find beauty in chaos. When I was experiencing grief, I needed to imagine that there was something beyond suffering, beyond what we can see. I started working with bright colors, fluid and melting landscapes, and immersive compositions. I was inspired by moments of altered perception—like the surreal way my mother saw the world in her final days, or even my own past experiences with psychedelics, which showed me that reality isn’t as rigid as we think. I think that’s why my paintings feel like a dream: they’re both unsettling and comforting at the same time.
R: Your work is filled with symbols—sometimes collective archetypes, like religious imagery or literary masterpieces, and sometimes very personal, self-referential elements. How do you balance these two worlds?
L: I think the two are naturally connected. We all carry collective symbols within us, even if we don’t consciously realize it. Mythology, religious iconography, literature—all of these shape our understanding of life. But at the same time, I have my own personal symbols, my own way of processing the world. I often take classical references, like Bosch’s chaotic compositions or Dante’s Inferno, and reinterpret them through my own lens, adding layers of personal experience. That’s how I create my own world—one that exists between personal memory and collective history.
R: In your latest series, I noticed a deep exploration of witchcraft and feminist research. This is a theme I personally find fascinating. What drew you to this subject, and what is your personal relationship to feminism and witchcraft?
L: I’ve always been drawn to witchcraft, mythology, and the esoteric, even before I fully understood why. But last year, I read Malleus Maleficarum (The Hammer of Witches), the infamous 15th-century book that was used to persecute women accused of witchcraft. That book made me realize how much history has silenced and demonized female power. Around the same time, I was invited to an exhibition focused on women’s narratives, and everything just aligned. I started researching the female surrealists, especially Leonora Carrington and Remedios Varo, who infused their work with magical and mystical elements. That led me to deconstruct historical male artists like Bosch and Picasso, integrating their symbols into my own, but from a female perspective. It became a way to reclaim those narratives and give them new meaning.
R: Your paintings have a strong sense of structure, despite their richness and complexity. They breathe, they have space, they maintain balance. That kind of equilibrium reminded me of Bosch, Carrington, and Cecily Brown. Do any of these artists resonate with you? Who else influences your research?
L: Yes, absolutely. Bosch has been a major influence, especially in the way he constructs chaotic yet incredibly structured compositions. Leonora Carrington and Remedios Varo are huge inspirations, not just visually, but in the way they create entire universes within their paintings. Cecily Brown is also an artist I admire—her ability to balance abstraction and figuration, to create compositions that are in constant movement. I also draw inspiration from literature and film—Lynch, Tarkovsky, and Borges all influence how I think about narrative and space within my work.
R: Thank you so much, Luciana. I’m really eager to see where your work takes you next. Is there anything upcoming that you can share with us?
L: Thank you, Ruby. Yes, I have a very important exhibition in Argentina on March 22nd, where I’ll be showcasing a new series using backlit prints, which is something I’ve never done before. I’m also planning to explore 3D printing—I recently started experimenting with 3D pen drawings, and I’d love to take my paintings into a sculptural dimension.
R: And finally, where can we follow your work and stay updated?
L: You can find all of my links and artworks here https://linktr.ee/lucianaguerraok
About Luciana Guerra Luciana Guerra (b. Rosario, Argentina) studied Fine Arts at UNR University. She has participated in residencies in Argentina, Peru, Berlin, and Rio de Janeiro.
She has received numerous awards, including First Prizes in Painting at the APS Foundation, Banco Tornquist National Salon, and the Goethe Foundation in Rosario, as well as honors at the Manuel Belgrano Salon and San Juan Drawing Biennial.
Her work has been exhibited at Jorge Mara La Ruche (Buenos Aires), Castagnino Museum (Rosario), MACAB Museum (Adrogué), Solana Garage (Miami/New York), and in multiple editions of Otra Feria with Gabelich Contemporáneo Gallery. She was also invited to Eduardo Stupía’s De Este Lado del Horizonte and #Hashtag at UCA University.
Internationally, her work has been featured at Artcrush, Superchief, NFTNYC, JRNY Gallery, Art Basel, and the Solana Foundation. In 2024, she was selected as one of Hug Artists to Watch, recognized by curators from MoMA and Christie’s.
She currently works with drawing, monotypes, painting, and digital art.
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