We recently connected with Celeste and have shared our conversation below.

Celeste , looking forward to hearing all of your stories today. How did you learn to do what you do? Knowing what you know now, what could you have done to speed up your learning process? What skills do you think were most essential? What obstacles stood in the way of learning more?

I’ve always considered myself a storyteller at heart—it’s something that has lived in me for as long as I can remember. Even as a child, I was constantly dreaming up new worlds, writing little scripts for my siblings, and directing them in our homemade films. My mother kept everything—every scribbled line of dialogue, every sketch of a character, every wild idea I committed to paper. She thought it was hilarious and sweet, but more importantly, she delighted in it. And her encouragement, even in those small moments, gave me an early belief I had something worth saying.

Still, like many artists, my journey hasn’t been linear. It took me years to return to that sense of play and purpose I had as a child. There was a long stretch of time when I lost touch with that part of myself—not because I stopped being creative, but because I wasn’t yet sure how to channel it. I needed time to grow, to experiment, and to figure out what kind of artist I really wanted to be.

The turning point came when I entered Brooklyn College’s MFA Acting program. It was there that I truly began to develop the technical foundation of my craft, and where I rediscovered the desire to play again. In the beginning, I didn’t yet trust my instincts. I often second-guessed my choices, and I brought in habits that had to be gently—but firmly—unlearned. My teachers and mentors were incredibly patient with me. They helped me understand that acting isn’t about perfection—it’s about presence, truth, and vulnerability.

The most essential skills, I’ve come to realize, aren’t just technical. I’ve learned that what I bring to a character—my voice, my history, my unique way of seeing the world—is not just valid, but necessary. There’s no one else who can bring my lived experience to a role the way I can. That realization was both humbling and empowering. It taught me to stop shrinking myself to fit into preconceived molds and instead to bring my full, authentic self to the work.

As always, we appreciate you sharing your insights and we’ve got a few more questions for you, but before we get to all of that can you take a minute to introduce yourself and give our readers some of your back background and context?

My work now spans stage and screen, but beyond the credits, what keeps me grounded is the craft itself. Most recently, I played Cordelia in King Lear at La MaMa. It was a role that deepened my growth as an artist, and reminded me why I continue to be drawn to this work—the language, the connection, the ability to transform. Outside of theater and film, I’ve also been working in commercials, which has been a different kind of challenge—fast-paced, fun, and surprisingly personal in its own way.

Learning and unlearning are both critical parts of growth – can you share a story of a time when you had to unlearn a lesson?

One of the biggest lessons I’ve had to unlearn is perfectionism. It’s something that’s been with me for as long as I can remember. My mom loves to tell this story about how, when I was around five, I was learning to draw shapes—circles, squares, the basics—and every time I’d draw a shape that wasn’t exactly right, I would crumple up the paper and throw it away. It didn’t matter how close it was; if it wasn’t perfect, in my mind, it wasn’t good. That belief lodged itself deep into me, and I carried it with me for years. At school, it served me well—I was ambitious, driven, high-achieving—but in art-making, it became a burden.

The thing about acting is that it thrives on imperfection. It’s about exploration, vulnerability, and the messiness of being human. But for a long time, I didn’t know how to allow myself that space. I approached acting with the same mindset I’d used in school: get it right, don’t make mistakes, be the best. And of course, that only created more pressure and more distance between me and the work.

Graduate school was where I had to confront all of that. At Brooklyn College, through training and self-reflection, I came face to face with the reality that I’m not a machine—I’m a person. I have limitations. I have instincts. I have a lived experience that is uniquely mine. And trying to perform some ideal of perfection wasn’t helping me become a better actor—it was keeping me from becoming an honest one.

I’m still learning to embrace my full humanity—my fear, my joy, my contradictions—and to bring that to every role I stepped into. My instinct is always to want to get things “right,” whatever that means. But I’ve learned that the pursuit of perfection is actually a distraction from presence. And when I’m present, when I’m connected to myself, I can offer something real.

Because when I withhold parts of myself in the name of perfection, I’m not just doing myself a disservice—I’m withholding something from the audience too. And I believe that what I have to offer, what any of us have to offer, is our full, unfiltered selves. That’s where the gift is. And I’m committed, every day, to sharing that gift as honestly and as fully as I can.

For you, what’s the most rewarding aspect of being a creative?

For me, one of the most rewarding aspects of being an artist is the deep connection it allows me to forge with others. When I step into a role or create something, I’m not just performing or producing a product—I’m engaging in a kind of shared experience, an active dialogue. There’s no greater feeling than knowing your work has touched someone, that it has made them laugh, cry, think, or even change the way they see the world.

And, of course, the other rewarding part of it is the simple, selfish joy of creating for myself. It’s my own personal release. I’ve always believed that the act of creating, at its core, is incredibly personal. It’s about digging deep into who you are, unearthing things you might not have known were there. It takes a tremendous amount of courage to be vulnerable in that way. And I’m always inspired by the actors and creatives who put themselves out there for their work— who choose raw honesty even when it feels uncomfortable. Because it not only transforms the work but also the person creating it.

Contact Info:

• Website: https://Celestesena.com

Image Credits

Shani Hadjian Photography

Shin Kurokawa Photography