You Are Here: Lupita Carrasco

You Are Here

Lupita Carrasco

June 7th 5-9 pm
June 7th-28th
artist talk: June 18th, 5:30 pm


There was a time when I didn’t recognize the beauty of Colorado Springs like I do today. I spent most of my first two decades residing here longing for the ocean, the tropical and Mediterranean climates I had grown up with. I missed the trees, blooms and fruits, the quality of gentle sunlight, and the marine layer. I enjoyed summer here but struggled with autumns that seemed only to last a week or two, springs that took an eternity to show up without snow days, and winters that looked like a dead landscape to me.

I had experienced camping in the summer months and enjoyed the mountains and rivers, but it wasn’t until I started walking daily when I was pregnant with my seventh child that my view of nature along the Front Range began to transform. I started off walking around Quail Lake in the mornings after dropping my children off at school. It was mid-spring and the mornings were chilly but tolerable. Each day the walk around the lake held new surprises. I paid close attention as the new shoots emerged from under mats of last year's yellowed grass, buds formed and burst open revealing flowers in white, yellow, violet, and pink. Some time in the summer I ended up out at Cheyenne Mountain State Park. Trails were clearly marked and the landscape changed dramatically from grasslands to scrub oak-dotted hills, to cool mountain trails shaded beneath ponderosa pine.

I walked with friends and I walked alone, exploring trails in Palmer Park, Garden Of The Gods, Red Rocks Open Space, North Cheyenne Canyon, and other locations. Autumn came and the brilliant greens began to turn, mostly yellow and orange. There were little flashes of red, different flowers blooming late, dotting the dying landscape with specks of blue and yellow. As winter neared, my belly weighed me down, leaving me to waddle along trails. I continued exploring familiar places well into late December.

My baby arrived on December 25th and by January 20th I was out walking with my new little one. 2020 and 2021 taught me so much on my frequent walks. I began walking further, learning the names and uses of native plants and I continued to notice all the little moments of beauty around me. Lifespans can be witnessed across a year of moving through familiar places. Animal behavior and plant cycles can be observed up close. Walking in the winter landscape reveals colors and textures that can’t be distinguished from the road. Even in our longest season, when all things seem dead, there is transformation happening, and so much to look upon and be grateful for.


The images for this show were copied from my sketchbooks that I started bringing along on hikes two years ago. The spontaneity of mark-making created in sketchbooks carries the feeling of the day. Working from these imperfect images, instead of photographs, was an exercise in vulnerability and surrender that I hope will still allow the viewer to enjoy and recognize these locations.

About the Artist:

Lupita Carrasco is an artist, wife, and mother of seven children. From  2002-2023 she was also the sole caregiver to her mother, who suffers from schizoaffective disorder. Born and raised in San Diego, California, her tumultuous childhood and vibrant Mexican culture lend their voice to her artistic language. Existential connectivity, intimate wonder, and belonging are familiar themes found in her paintings.

Lupita’s work revolves around survival. Allowing herself to break open in the most vulnerable of places, she explores how trauma affects self-worth, self-care, and the ability to love and nurture others. Family, friends, and the environment she is intimately acquainted with are at the heart of her work. She pairs images from hikes, interactions between her children, mothering activities, and places she longs to be, showing a perceived interpretation of the self, familial relationships, and the monotony of domestic obligations. Art is an avenue for processing her measure of the human condition.