As México abounds with variety and contrasts, so do my paintings. Mood and emotion fuel the thrust in my work as I express realism in a painterly fashion.  I endeavor to capture those glimpses into the human drama, the unembellished fleeting  moments of a tender touch ...a stray gaze ...a wandering thought ...the poetry found in motion, or the expressions registered on the faces of people of all ages as they work, play or relate to one another.  It all speaks to me loudly and beckons to be brought to the surface, to be captured on canvas.
   My childhood in Tijuana, México, was filled with artistry.  From an early age, I remember being captivated by color, light and form.  This fascination developed a fervent desire to draw and paint.  I used to paint people, landscapes and everything that caught my eye.  I began using ordinary, leftover house paint from my father's projects (at that time I didn't know there was such a thing as "oils").  For canvas, I would stretch and prime pieces of cloth, from old sheets to retired jeans, over cardboard and wooden panels. 

Those were some of my first, self-directed artistic efforts.  It was somewhat later, at  the age of thirteen that my aunt Brígida, seeing my keen interest in art, took me along on one of her trips to Los Angeles, and stopped on the way by several galleries for my enjoyment. I was hooked!  She also gave me my first set of oils.  I still have, and cherish, several small tubes left from that original set. 
            
Since childhood, art was the only vocation that I could envision enjoying for the rest of my life.  
The Tijuana of those years did not offer the diverse opportunities for study, which it has today, that could help keep the family together. So it was that my hard-working father Heleodoro, my aesthetic and very giving mother Tomasa (named after an uncle, Tomás Urbina, who was the godfather, and one of the generals of the fabled revolutionary, Pancho Villa),  my younger brother Javier and Lilia, the youngest, made the momentous, and wise decision,  to emigrate to the United States, soon after my graduation from high school. 

It was 1962.  I was seventeen.  I enrolled in an  American high school.  With unbridled passion attended  several art classes, which I savored the most, during that first year of acculturation and catch-up studies. At the end of the school year, I had earned my second high school diploma (I needed that diploma to enroll in college).

That year, we took residence near Balboa Park, in San Diego, California.  It was for me a very fortunate and strategic location.  I would walk, both to the City College, where I was now attending, and the park.  I remember spending countless hours strolling through the park and  the galleries, but  mainly the art museum.  This was an unparalleled, and inspiring experience for me, since I had never been that close to so much art. 
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During my childhood I would hear about famous Mexican painters, the likes of Diego de Rivera, Siqueiros, Tamayo and Orozco. I had been exposed only to some of their reproductions; however, I had never been so immersed as I was now with original works.  Here, I was also seeing Sorolla, Dali, Bosch, Durer, Daumier, Van Dyck and countless other giants of the world of art. In a very humble way, I felt I was in my element, finding delight and inspiration in the art and the beauty that surrounded me.  My young mind was being nurtured and challenged at the same time; and a restlessness was stirring up afresh in me.

I desired  formal education in fine art.  On the other hand, I was aware of the uncertainties that art posed as a career.  

My enrollment at San Diego City College was, for practical reasons, a temporary diversion from what my heart was telling me I should do. I  pursued a degree in Technical Illustration. It presented a way of supporting myself in what I perceived as a related field.  That  specialty was in relatively good demand in those days of military build up (mid-sixties' cold war and, imminently, Viet Nam). I would continue to be active in painting, and taking art courses in the evenings in the same college.  

     Two years had flown by.  With an Associate of Arts Degree in hand, I now faced the realities that every youngster,  fresh out of school, must have confronted in those days: continue in school and avoid the draft, or get a job and risk military service.  The choice should have been an easy one: no military service, no Viet Nam.  By now, the United States was ensnared in a  major conflagration, and many recent graduates were being sent overseas, never to return. 

Odd as it may seem, I opted for a job, and continued with my life in hopes that the draft would somehow overlook me. Going to a four-year college after a degree in Fine Arts was going to be postponed due to financial considerations. However, my love for art remained untouched.

I grabbed the first job that was offered to me. That decision resulted in an artistically unchallenging position in the technical graphic arts. I soon discovered that my heart wasn't  into drawing stationery forms, or general production art. I made the best of it, nonetheless, being grateful I was gainfully employed, and I hadn't been drafted -- at least not yet.
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But that was not to last for long.  Ten months later, in the Spring or 1966, the dreaded greetings from Uncle Sam came.  It was puzzling to me that aliens, albeit legal, tax-paying residents -  but not as yet citizens, were being conscripted to fight in an undeclared war around the globe, against an invisible enemy, in an unfamiliar land, while many young patriots (for the most part hippies), were scrambling out of the country like cucarachas for refuge.

My course of action was to resist the increasingly attractive prospects of joining those who ran for cover to my country.  However, fleeing could forever close the doors for me to this land. and would only place my family under more duress than I was willing to afford. 

I also saw what this country historically represented, and what it stood for, notwithstanding the violent  protests and turmoil enveloping it during those dark years. In spite of the hippie madness, I saw unlimited opportunity during that time in my development as a youth. I was willing to pay my dues, submit to the law of the land, and trust in God's providence for the rest.

  It was the peak of the Viet Nam War; and away I went to boot camp, on my first air flight ever (in the first class cabin, nonetheless!), catapulted into a world of emotional turbulence, and physical rigors (I was not physically robust, either, weighing in at a whopping 134 lb. at the age of 22! - in two months, I would gain 26 lb.). Boot camp was, indeed, going to be a very interesting place.
 
After two blissful months (pun intended) in boot camp in the Fort Bliss, Texas' desert (h-o-t-!), my artistic skills found their way into Fort Lewis, Washington where, during my two years of service, I worked as an Illustrator. My duties consisted in the creation of devices and illustrations for basic and advanced infantry and artillery training.  Sometimes I would do detailed illustrations of artillery equipment, paintings of infantry strategic formations, or  cartooning for special campaigns for the fort. In the evenings, on my free time, I  would spend countless hours painting, sculpting or doing diverse art projects in the activity center. I couldn't have asked for more ideal circumstances. I also learned skills that serve me to this day.  I am still very grateful for the providential protection I was granted.
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    After my tour of duty, I spent several years working in the Graphic Arts industry in commercial and technical illustration. Now, with the GI Bill as a backup, and an undying desire to further my education in the arts, I quit my job, and in 1973 enrolled in  Art Center College of Design of Los Angeles. While there, I spent one summer working as a portrait artist in Disneyland.  That experience helped hone my sketching and observational skills.  In 1976,  I graduated with honors with a Bachelor of Fine Arts Degree.

For the following eleven years, I continued in the Graphic Arts industry in Southern California as an Art Director, Designer and Illustrator.  In 1987 I, my  wife and two children moved to México on an eight-month leave as an interim pastor with Calvary Chapel of Costa Mesa, California.

The artistic value for me out of that experience lies, not necessarily, in the specific paintings I created.  I find that, formerly, I was unfocused and groping for subject matter that had enduring significance for me.  It was at that moment in time, after having lived in close contact with the people of this  beautiful colonial town of Alamos, in the heart of the Sonoran desert, that my  artistic vision crystallized. I  emerged with a fervent passion to paint the people, places and events of working peasants and ordinary citizens.
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Nurturing mothers, pretty maidens, elderly people and beautiful children began to find their way into my canvases.  I was able to savor life as they live it today within the rugged beauty of the land, the villages and the dwellings. Several of the paintings appearing in this web site (El Beso, Side Street in Alamos, Ice Cream Vendor, Mid Night Snack, La casa Blanca, Explorers, etc.) are the result of that short, but pivotal period of my life in Alamos, Sonora.   

My return to the United States was marked by three years of employment  as a Graphic Artist and Art Director.  By 1991, my paintings had been selling relatively well for a while now.  But I could not remain satisfied with occasional painting in my spare time. There was never enough of it left in order to produce the work that would eventually make it a viable career. This made it a difficult transitional period for my family, and I hoped I would soon be able to devote all my productive energy into this one exciting and promising venture.

I could no longer contain myself, so I  became emboldened to make the transition from an increasingly insecure position in my job (due to a drastic business slow-down) -- and also one which could not harness, I felt, my potential as an artist, to the increasingly reassuring possibilities that self-employment offered. I felt convinced this was the right time, and renounced my job of two years as Art Director in a lithographic company. 
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I finally had taken the bold step that was required in becoming a full-time professional artist. The experience I gained in that last place of employment was, later on, an invaluable contribution to my cumulative knowledge in the graphic arts; and was useful in several publishing ventures of my work, which include some of the prints being offered in this web site.

I  have now the enormous privilege of being very productive in my artistic career. The beginning years of this independence did not come without difficulty or loss. I am still adjusting to some of the outcome.  However, for almost a decade now, I have seen God's hand in providing, and covering for all my shortcomings.  I have been able to stay focused in a career that only very few people are privileged to survive.

My original paintings appear in numerous corporate and private collections throughout the United States, including the State of Washington's Art in Public Places, Alaska Airlines, Kaiser Permanente, Helen Grace Chocolates, La Quinta Inn, and Northwestern Memorial Hospital in Chicago.

I continue to paint full-time and feel, after this long journey, that I am just beginning; that much more inspiration, and many more paintings, are still to come.  I enjoy an occasional trip back to my native land.

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