We were lucky to catch up with Veronica Kovats Sánchez recently and have shared our conversation below.
Veronica, thanks for taking the time to share your stories with us today. Are you happy as a creative professional? Do you sometimes wonder what it would be like to work for someone else?
Art is the best way to fuel my feelings and make me happy. It’s the best way to express myself and tell others a deeper story about me. It took me about eight years to finally become a full-time artist after graduating from college in 2010. Though the two years of unemployment helped me practice my skills more, I needed income. After looking for a while, I got a job as a customer service representative for a car insurance company. It was hell; the customers were rude, and I lost my faith in people and realized how messed up they could be. I moved around in different departments and became an accountant clerk doing data entry in the same company. It was okay because I didn’t have to talk to anyone over the phone; I could just put my headphones in and work. After a short while, the data entry and my daily routine became repetitive and boring. In my six years at that job, I stopped creating and hardly had time for myself. I wouldn’t say I liked the way I looked and felt; that job left me with depression and anxiety. After finding professional help and getting on mild medication, I started to feel better for bits at a time. I began painting again and using all those feelings to create things that were related to my depression. I reached out to people to be part of art shows, and it helped me network and find more artists to be around. Meeting more people meant more opportunities. My company was slowly downsizing until they finally laid us off in February 2018. It was a relief to leave that place and take a little break. I started teaching art for after-school programs at elementary schools and never returned to that 9-5 capitalistic lifestyle. That system just isn’t set up for me as a creative.
I’ve been able to tell a story with my pieces about my emotions, and I’m always grateful to share my experiences with others in hopes of them connecting to my work. That is the best part of being an artist: when someone tells me one of my pieces is very relatable to them. I’ve had a few good encounters with people telling me their stories, but one moment brought me to tears.
This past summer, I was playing around with my iPad and wanted to practice drawing hands more, which is one of my favorite things to draw. I bought a new set of colored pencil “brushes” for the Procreate app and began drawing my design. I drew a graceful hand with a blue butterfly flying towards or away from it. I added pink and purple clouds in the background, with rays of sunshine seeping through. There was no real meaning behind it, just a simple practice of design and color. The drawing looks like the hand is releasing the butterfly to fly away into the cloudy sky. When I finished the piece, I shared it on Instagram and named it Letting Go. It was named after a song by a Latina pop singer called Ambar Lucid. The rhythm of the song matched the image perfectly. After posting it, two friends told me similar stories about how that piece spoke to them. One friend told me the same day I posted the picture it was her late grandmother’s birthday, and she wore her purple dress to honor her memory. She explained that when she feels her Grandma reach out to her, she sees her spirit as a blue butterfly. I don’t know what else to say if that wasn’t the most remarkable coincidence! Another artist friend explained that the piece reminded her of her late mother. When her mother passed away, she held her hand and took a picture of both their hands, which she later painted. She then explained that my piece and its title were a perfect way to give her mother’s death closure. Sometimes, things align at the right moment. Both stories fulfilled me and reassured me I’ve made the right decision to make art my career.
Do I think about having a regular job? The short answer is yes, but I think about how miserable I was then. I sometimes wonder where my life could have ended if I continued that 9-5 route. How many more tears would I have shed, and what would have happened if I didn’t seek professional help? I also think about my incredible support system, not only with my parents and sister but also with my partner, who saw my ugliest moments and was there to pick me up.
I enjoy creating full-time and teaching what I love to others. I can inspire them to be great artists, which makes me happy.
Great, appreciate you sharing that with us. Before we ask you to share more of your insights, can you take a moment to introduce yourself and how you got to where you are today to our readers.
My name is Verónica Kovats Sánchez, and I’ve been working professionally as a Chicana artist for seven years. I teach art at the Language Academy of Sacramento for their Enrichment program. I was born and raised in Merced, California. Growing up, I was constantly creating drawings of portraits and mermaids. I simply enjoyed drawing people. I learned the basic drawing rules when my sister and I took informal art classes with one of my dad’s friends. I learned the structure of how to draw a portrait, and this experience encouraged me to keep practicing. My parents helped me realize this talent by taking us to art museums in the US and Mexico. Having the privilege to travel, I was exposed to the arts and, more specifically, representations of my culture. My first formal art class was in seventh grade; I loved it so much that I decided to keep taking art in high school. I concluded that I could no longer see a life or career without art, which led me to pursue it in college. I graduated from Sacramento State University with a degree in Art Studio.
I describe my artwork as expressive realism and surrealism. My work concentrates on a variety of subjects, from Chicana and Mexican culture to anxiety and depression, nature, bodily autonomy, self-love, and acceptance. The most comfortable medium for me to work with is oil, allowing me to include intricate details. I also work with watercolor, ink, and digital art.
My culture and lived experiences are represented in the subject matter of my artwork. In combining these elements of my identity, I create images of resilient women of color reconnecting with the earth physically and spiritually. For a long time, I felt the way I looked did not fit into Eurocentric beauty standards, and it was tough to express myself as a woman of color. My college experiences helped me find a voice through art. In high school, I felt pressure to distance myself from my culture. I slowly let go of that by not listening to music in Spanish or speaking the language. During my sophomore year of high school, I told my mom I did not want to go to Mexico again for the summer. It’s not that I resented Mexico; I just wanted to have what I thought was a “normal” summer at home and hang out with my friends. In the summer of my junior year, my sister studied abroad in Oaxaca City, and we visited her. My sister and I had a night out with her friends, and the experience was life-changing. It opened my eyes again to how amazing Mexico is, and honestly, it was nice to be somewhere my parents were not.
During my senior year of high school, my perspective changed. I was proud to be who I was. I flaunted all the cool stuff I would get in Mexico- purses, shirts, music, jewelry- and styled myself uniquely, making me feel complete. I was in a good place and happy to move on to college.
In my first year of college, however, I experienced blatant and overt racism from my dorm roommate. She did not appreciate my Mexican decor, Spanish-language music, or when I spoke Spanish on the phone. She demeaned everything I had embraced- everything that made me happy. I found out about her racist attitude from her boyfriend’s roommate, who lived across the hall from us. “Why doesn’t she just go back to Mexico if she loves speaking Spanish?” One night, she rudely told me her boyfriend was sleeping in our room, and I responded, “I do not feel comfortable with him in here.” She told me I was being disrespectful. That set me off. I’m a Scorpio, and I don’t like confrontation. It took all my energy and might to confront her about her racist comments. She was surprised I knew about it and didn’t say a word. It was heartbreaking for me, and unfortunately, I had more experiences like this later in life, but I felt that I dealt with this incident justifiably. I reported her to the resident advisor (RA), and she talked to her. However, not much was done since there were only two weeks left of school. Fortunately, she did not spend much time in our room because I told the RA I did not want to interact with her. Our confrontation resulting from her bigoted comments was well-known throughout our dorm, and I was glad everyone knew her true colors. I don’t know if she felt ashamed, but I was satisfied by putting her in her place. Nonetheless, I was reluctant to show my Mexican pride through clothes or jewelry because I did not want to be a target and have that experience again.
Aside from this incident, I experienced other microaggressions. I am bi-racial- a Mexican mother and a white father- and was raised to be proud of who I am. I would describe it as living the best of two worlds. These two worlds were disrupted by my college years when people started making me feel I had to pick a side; I couldn’t be both. White people would tell me I was too Mexican, and Brown folks would tell me I was white-washed. Because of these microaggressions, I developed two sides of my art. I had two audiences: one to please with pretty portraits of Eurocentric beauty and another audience for my art with cultural depictions. I felt that I was skilled in painting both types of subject matter, but one of my art professors told me to choose one. Instead of choosing, I decided to bring these two worlds together.
One of the ways I did that was by becoming part of a Chicano art collective. I took a printmaking class and met a local Sacramento Chicano art activist, Xico Gonzalez. He recruited me for an art collective on campus called The Brown Syndicate. Being part of this group helped me realize there was more to art than what I learned in my traditional art classes. Technique is essential when taking art classes, but this group helped me develop my style and subject. By my senior year of college, I was finally able to explore new art subjects and techniques by adding brighter colors to capture and evoke emotions for an audience I strongly related to.
In addition to uplifting my culture, I use art to depict mental health struggles and illness visually. These traumatic college experiences led to anxiety that I became aware I was struggling with about eight years ago. Aside from forming my racial identity in college, I also struggled with body image issues. I was socialized that I had to adhere to unrealistically thin standards about body size and became very critical of my shape. I can now articulate what I was experiencing was body dysmorphia. Eight years ago, these pressures and anxiety caught up to me, and I fell into depression. In this fog, I lost my passion for art. I had built up so much anger as a result of experiencing racial microaggressions and hating my body, causing stress and overeating, which led to physical symptoms of vertigo. Sometimes, it was hard to leave the house. Because of weight gain, I was concerned with my looks and would get incredibly dizzy while shopping. A friend who went through something similar helped me understand that anxiety could cause these symptoms. With the help of my family, I sought professional help and began to take medication. Speaking to a psychologist allowed me to reflect and reconnect with myself and my art. I started going places with fewer people, enjoying nature hikes and camping, and being in places that helped me feel whole by breathing the fresh air. Being around nature made me realize there is more to the world and that I am just a tiny footprint residing in it as a guest. I have to appreciate what I have and make the best of it. For about the past six years, I’ve used my art to explore my anxiety and depression, tying it with nature. Using nature to help translate my growth by bringing the outside in — creating versions of myself not only growing, thriving, and moving forward but also conscious images of the beauty provided to us by the land. As an artist, it always brings me pride and great pleasure when people find a connection in my work, and it offers me a crucial reminder that we are not alone in our struggles to balance our mind, body, and spirit.
In your view, what can society do to best support artists, creatives and a thriving creative ecosystem?
In today’s age of technology, artists are overlooked and underestimated. Everyone expects things to come to them fast. If it doesn’t, then they move on with the cheapest, most straightforward way to get it. Capitalism has trained us to be individualistic and not appreciate what we have around us, nor realize that it takes time if you want something done well. Technology has advantages, and since we’re obsessed with convenience, we’ve become reliant on it with everything. From our phones and TVs to food deliveries and Google, we can’t seem to remember anything and use our internet browser to look it up; many of us also don’t read books anymore. I am an accomplice to this as well. From what I’ve seen on social media, “AI art” is making its rounds and is heavily used by non-artists and influencers. I’m all for the advancement of technology, but AI art has been problematic from the start.
I’ve learned that the humans who created these apps have been stealing actual artist’s artwork. The AI programming is trained to “study” art and create a style based on the user’s wants. Some artists have said they can see every painting and brushstroke they’ve ever created on these images, down to their blurred-out signature. The biggest problem is the artists need to be compensated for using their property. Once you create something, meaning, a poem, a story, artwork, or a song, it is automatically copyrighted. AI technology is hurting not only artists but also anything creative. The laws around AI usage should change because they will eventually replace writers, teachers, and many other jobs. However, AI will never be able to capture a meaningful moment or tell a story behind any image it creates.
On that account, I want non-artists to realize that it takes months to develop and turn an idea into a painting. Hence, patience is vital in receiving something of quality. Most importantly, do not expect free labor; there is a reason why you hear the term “the starving artist.” We are often tricked into believing we will get “exposure” by providing our free services. The best way to support artists is to invest in your community by attending local creator markets, supporting small businesses, attending art shows, and purchasing their art. If you’re following artists on social media but cannot purchase one of their paintings, consider buying a print or simply supporting them by liking and sharing their work. The bigger the audience, the more opportunities.
Is there something you think non-creatives will struggle to understand about your journey as a creative?
Though some people may think art is easy, learning and perfecting your skills takes years. We don’t wake up one day and decide to be a great artist by waving a magic wand. It takes a lot of time to get to where we are. Comparing my skill levels from when I graduated college, I am much better now than when I was completing my degree. I continued to use the tools I learned then to develop my skills over the years. As an art teacher, I constantly remind my students that perfection is not essential in art; creating art takes a lot of patience and practice. When I develop an idea for my next big painting, I sketch it to ensure I get the composition right. Later, I transfer it to a canvas to begin the process. The painting process can take up to six months, possibly more. I have to take it in doses. Otherwise, I get frustrated and start hating the painting.
Regarding commissions, some people need help understanding this, may not plan, and need something done in one month. Some artists work fast, but others, like me, don’t. I’m always honest about how I work, and advising my clients that setting timelines gives me a lot of pressure. They can see and love my work; that’s why they would want me to create something personal for them, but if the client were to set a timeline, my work would turn out completely different. As I’ve said before, tying back to capitalism, we have been conditioned to want and need everything done hastily. Luckily, I’ve had many clients who are lovely and understand this. The best advice I could give non-creatives is that it is worth planning when you are about to drop some money on a commission.
Contact Info:
- Website: www.veronicakovatsart.com
- Instagram: @veronicakovatsart