Many of Marisol Ruiz’s most cherished memories center around her father and their shared connection to the land in rural Guayanilla, Puerto Rico. Growing up in a place where the soil was once sugarcane land, Ruiz’s father nurtured an environment of love and care, planting native vegetables, fruits and flowers, including around 30 coconut palms to ensure his daughter always had access to their sweet water. This intimate act of devotion is still alive in her paintings today. Every time Ruiz drinks coconut water, she is reminded of both her father and the land that shaped her.
Ruiz’s formative experiences have deeply influenced the complexities of her paintings, where personal nostalgia intertwines with broader cultural histories, and reclaims memories that have been lost, forgotten or rewritten over time. Her work navigates inherited memories tied to diasporic identities, critiques colonial histories and exists between the tensions of past and present. In pieces like La Sillita (2019), Ruiz uses rococo furnishings and gold leaf to confront imposed beauty standards and reflect on familial histories. Recurring motifs such as sensuous female calves and high heels become symbols of femininity, strength and power, rooted in complex intersections of identity and heritage.
As Ruiz prepares for her 2024 presentation at the Nest section of Untitled Art, Miami Beach with Selenas Mountain, her practice continues to evolve in her studio. Her new work incorporates diverse materials and textures, adding depth to her exploration of memory through a more focused use of materiality, including the exciting addition of natural dye from hibiscus flowers. For Ruiz, the land, her father’s influence and the fragmented stories of the Puerto Rican diaspora coalesce into works that occupy spaces she is both deeply connected to, yet continually questioning.
Throughout our conversation, Ruiz explained that her process is not simply about creating visually compelling pieces but about honoring the lives and histories that define her own experience. Ruiz’s work serves not only to reclaim personal narratives but also to confront the larger histories often erased or overshadowed by colonial forces. Her paintings stand as a form of resistance, preserving stories that must not be forgotten, and challenge the colonial structures that continue to shape, mold and distort our world.
Clare Gemima: Marisol, your work weaves together both personal and collective experiences, especially in relation to your Puerto Rican heritage. Can you elaborate on how your painting processes have evolved over the years, particularly in terms of how you integrate inherited memory, consider colonial histories, and celebrate diasporic identity? How do you see the role of painting as a medium for embodying such complex and deeply embedded narratives?
Marisol Ruiz: When I first started studying painting, I read the book Sweetness and Power (1985) by Sidney Mintz, and it completely changed my life, and the way I saw the world as it connected to my family history. I come from a family that worked the sugarcane fields and they would tell me many stories about it growing up, but the book helped me pay attention to it more. It made me realize how even everyday items carry colonialist connotations. Iron work went from being something that I thought was pretty, to being a symbol of colonialism. There is a layered history, yet we can still delve into ideas and standards of beauty that are imposed on us. This led me to focus on the topic of colonialism in my thesis, where I explored how certain architectural elements in Puerto Rico were a symbol of the colonial. Through this research there were many objects that reminded me of certain family members and friends, so eventually it all connected to memory and its complexity, making my painting process evolve as I built a more intuitive relationship with my findings. In the early stages of my work, I had focused on research and archives. While I still pull from those, I have slowly started to focus on personal memories as I kept being reminded of them. A lot of memories can be shared memories, or aspects of some of the larger themes throughout colonial history. They inform one another, and go hand-in-hand. I feel as though painting is a good medium to talk about these subjects, as the visuals I choose to work with exceed words and language. I’ve had many people tell me that certain parts of my paintings remind them of their childhood or of loved ones who have passed. Moments like these reinforce my love for painting. Each piece isn't just a record of memory but a bridge between myself and others.
CG: Thinking about your work overall, many of your paintings, such as La Sillita (2019), tease out tensions between the domestic space and the home’s colonized influence, especially through your incorporation of rococo furnishings, gold paint and other elements tied to colonial aesthetics. Can you elaborate on how these materials function not only as critiques of colonialism but also how they evoke personal memories and connect with your own family?
MR: La Sillita and other paintings that incorporate rococo furnishings and gold paint reference colonial aesthetics. They're beautiful, but I also question why I consider them to be beautiful, and why those thoughts were imposed upon me.These ideas infiltrated our everyday spaces. When I was painting with gold paint, I was thinking of catholic churches in Puerto Rico and how they have so much gold everywhere. Historically speaking, they are made to evoke senses of grandeur – almost like being in heaven, yet they can translate to other meanings too. My critique intertwines with a reference to family because a lot of their houses had these elements. So these pieces, with their gold and ornate details, sit in a space that I am both connected to and constantly questioning.
CG: You’ve spoken about your work as fragmented depictions of stories that should not be forgotten. Could you talk about one of your favorite memories growing up in Guayanilla, or an unforgettable tale you were told as a child?
MR: Many of my favorite memories center around my dad. I grew up in a rural part of Guayanilla where the soil was very fertile because it used to be sugarcane land. He was such a Taurus and had planted so many native vegetables, fruits and flowers that I loved. One of my favorite moments was when I became obsessed with young coconuts and their water. Their water is super sweet, and the meat is very thin inside. Because of my love for them, my dad planted around 30 or so palm trees so I could always have access to coconuts. Our house was surrounded by them, and everytime I drink coconut water, it reminds me of him and this beautiful act of love.
CG: The rhythms of salsa, often considered fundamental to Puerto Rican identity, pulse through paintings like Bailando (Levántate ponte hyper) en la marquesina (2024), where you capture a woman mid-step in glossy yellow heels. I'm also drawn to other works such as Un chisme (2021) and Salió el Sol (2022) in which figures are seated but seem to yearn for the dance floor. Why have you chosen to focus on sensuous calves and glamorous footwear in these works? What can these recurring motifs tell us?
MR: For me, they’re empowering and a symbol of femininity. They’re a motif that relates to feeling strong and feminine. Growing up in an old school household, where modesty was the norm, dancing was off-limits – it was considered too expressive and too tied to the body. Because of this, salsa and similar rhythms became a symbol of freedom that I’d always longed for; a way of embracing movement that felt natural and empowering. It's as if my paintings reclaim the space I wasn't allowed to take up. I feel the same way about the glamorous heels you’re talking about. I wasn't allowed to wear them, and I didn’t feel particularly feminine growing up, but now they symbolize a feeling of strength. You definitely need strong calves to walk, let alone dance, in heels.
CG: Your use of vibrant pastels and rich colors are maximalist and highlight your understanding of the complimentary and contrasting tones of the color-wheel. How do you select your color palettes? Do they serve to complicate or challenge viewers’ expectations of what ‘tradition’ might look like?
MR: I take a lot of photos when I’m outside. When I find something that has colors in it that I am drawn to, I immediately document it so I can make references to it later. I also think a lot about color theory. I took a class in college that taught me how colors interact, and I’m often thinking back to those basics. Josef Albers is a huge influence, too. Looking at his work taught me how subtle shifts in color can change the feel of a piece, adding complexity and depth wherever I decide. My color choice also connects to where I grew up and the bright vibrancies of tropical architecture. I want to bring that inspiration into my paintings because those colors are so powerful. They challenge tradition because most people didn't grow up in bright pink or yellow houses but that to me is completely normal.
CG: Your studio process seems to blend both the act of painting and the act of memory-making. Could you describe a typical day in your studio and the way your environment or even your daily experiences might influence the direction of a work? How do you balance moments of intense reflection with the physicality of creating a painting?
MR: When I paint, sometimes the paintings have been on my mind for months by the time I paint them. I rework them a lot in my head before I sketch them, but I am always taking notes on ideas. I’ve found meditation to be very helpful and complimentary to my art practice. Before I paint I always meditate because it helps clear the mind so I can be more open to ideas and get into a flow. Some days I will only paint thin layers on a canvas, and it can take me months. It can be a very meticulous and time consuming process. I also have Coloraid papers and printed references pinned everywhere on my studio walls. Other times, ideas come to me, and I’ll paint them immediately, resolving them as I go. It really just depends.
CG: Your use of unconventional materials, like leather, hibiscus, plantain leaves, car tires and glass beads, push beyond the boundaries of traditional painting tools. As someone raised to appreciate European paintings, can you elaborate on how your materials serve as a subversion to Western art history in general?
MR: I was taught to appreciate classical techniques and materials, but as my ideas kept changing, I felt like a lot of them didn’t fully encapsulate my memories and experiences in the ways in which I wanted them to. I feel like it’s really important to think about our connection to materials used in art making and also to ask why we use them at all. I also love experimentation, and pushing the boundaries of traditional ideas that revolve around painting.
CG: In preparation for your showcase at Untitled Art, Miami Beach, I wanted to talk about some of the paintings that everyone can look forward to seeing in person soon. In Go! you reference the nostalgic, playful nature of childhood friendships, particularly through the game of paper-scissors-rock. The work also incorporates a deep purple border, created by dyeing your canvas with hibiscus – a plant deeply tied to your memories of growing up in Puerto Rico. How does working with hibiscus in this piece serve to preserve cultural continuity, and how does it relate to the energy of your characters at play?
MR: Working with hibiscus in this piece has been very special. I saw the Puerto Rican hibiscus, flor de maga, everywhere growing up, and it symbolizes a deep and beautiful connection to the land. All hibiscus are different even though they may look the same. Everytime I see hibiscus in New York, it’s very nostalgic, but it’s not at all the same as being back on the island. It’s more like a reminder that time has passed and so much in my life has changed since. The rock-paper-scissors game I played a lot growing up, and it always brought me an abundance of joy. The game is a beautiful reminder of friendship and being silly, but in this painting, my nostalgia is encased by a reminder that life is very different to what it once was.
CG: Your piece, Thursday afternoon, wishing for peace, and thinking of you delves into the fragility of memories, and considers how they can be both elusive and omnipresent. Can you discuss the interplay between time and space in this work? How does your visual language capture the feeling of memory being both fractured, shown through the painting’s curly iron gates, and equally timeless, like your inclusion of an eternal, albeit veiled sky?
MR: Thursday afternoon, wishing for peace, and thinking of you was inspired by how memories can feel broken or incomplete. It’s that feeling of trying to piece something together, but it doesn’t quite align, leaving memories just out of reach. It goes beyond time and place, as if the memory is constantly shifting. The iron gates with the sky are a reminder of how these memories still have a degree of separation from our current selves but also how they transcend time.
CG: Miami, with its dynamic fusion of cultures, serves as a rich backdrop for your paintings. How do you think your participation in Untitled Art this year will enable you to deepen the conversation about diasporic identity, particularly in a city with such a large Latinx population? Are there specific dialogues or intersections you are particularly interested in exploring further during your visit?
MR: I think Untitled Art will give me the opportunity to connect to such a large Latinx population, an understanding of how the culture has shifted and changed, while also giving me a chance to reflect on my own experiences. Miami’s large Latinx population means that there’s an incredible range of shared experiences and histories, but also, of course, differences. I hope my work can become a bridge, connecting my own story to the broader diasporic experience.
CG: What do you hope to achieve from your participation in the fair’s ‘Nest’ section with Selenas Mountain this year, and how do you envision it informing the next phase of your practice?
MR: Participating with Selenas Mountain in the Nest sector of Untitled Art, Miami Beach feels like an exciting opportunity to engage with a group of artists and people who are interested in work that pushes boundaries and connects to history since the theme is ‘East meets West.’ I hope that my focus on memory and identity opens and connects with people from various backgrounds. I think being part of Untitled Art will help inform the next phase of my practice by giving myself more room to keep experimenting with painting and exploring unconventional materials.
Marisol Ruiz earned her Bachelor of Fine Arts in Painting and Humanistic Studies from the Maryland Institute College of Art in 2020. She has exhibited at The Bishop Gallery, The Latinx Project, NYC Culture Club, Tchotchke Gallery, Selenas Mountain, Paradice Palase, Beverly’s NYC, Grimaldis Gallery and Current Space. Ruiz was featured in Visionary Magazine, Cult Bytes, Dome and New American Paintings, Issue 160.
@mariissuun
Clare Gemima contributes art criticism to The Brooklyn Rail, Contemporary, Artsy, Frieze, Painting Diary, and other international art journals with a particular focus on immigrant painters and sculptors who have moved their practice to New York.
@claregemima