Museum Gallery Series

The Museum Gallery Series was born from my curiosity about how context changes meaning. I took a handful of my acrylic paintings and reimagined them as museum posters from around the world (from fictional exhibitions that feel almost believable. By blending painting, typography, and location, I wanted to play with perception: how easily something personal can become “institutional” with the right font and address (even historical, or absurdly important)

Each piece becomes its own traveling exhibition, set in a different country, language, and cultural mood (from Tokyo to Marrakech to Bogotá). Together, they form a kind of portable museum that blurs the line between fine art and poster art, between seriousness and play. I enjoy that tension: what happens when an artist becomes both painter and curator, when humor disarms prestige, and when a single body of work can speak multiple visual dialects.

A vibrant, Fauvist-style portrait turned into a Japanese exhibition poster, an imagined moment where an everyday face becomes a national treasure through nothing more than framing and type. I loved the contrast between Western painterly expression and minimalist Eastern layout (proof that context can transform an ordinary face into something ceremonial).

In Spanish, “la muchedumbre” means too many people (uncomfortably so). It’s the chaos of a Bogotá bus, a Sunday market, or a family lunch when everyone talks at once. I found it funny to place this noisy word against an empty, calm blue field. Three figures stand far apart, like introverts at a party that got too big. It’s my ode to solitude disguised as social commentary.

A royal portrait gone delightfully wrong. I imagined a monarch tired of tradition, deciding one day to grow a mustache just to see what would happen. Maybe power is just a costume, and a good sense of humor. Underneath it all, this piece pokes fun at how we worship appearances, titles, and crowns, when sometimes the most regal act is not taking yourself too seriously.

A chicken confidently walking through the ocean…because why not? It’s part surrealism, part Sunday-market poster, and part childhood daydream. I imagine it as France’s most ambitious poultry fair, with seagulls as judges and a fish jury panel.

Anapoima is a small, sunny town in Colombia where I spent many weekends growing up. There are no museums there, only mango trees, long naps, and childhood mischief. My parents used to joke that if we didn’t behave in school, we’d move there permanently. This piece is a loving parody of that memory: a museum born out of nostalgia and imagination, where “Arte” floats in a speech bubble because art there exists mostly in storytelling.

The address on this poster belongs to La Casa del Florero, the birthplace of Colombia’s independence movement in Bogotá’s historic La Candelaria district. I loved the irony of pairing it with an abstract bouquet…flowers for the revolution. It’s a quiet tribute to how something as small as a vase (and a refusal to lend it) can ignite an entire nation’s awakening.