Celeste Diaz Falzone (b. 1998 in Dallas TX to Colombian mother and American Father) lives and works in Pawtucket RI. Her studio practice consists of 2 and 3D mixed media with a base in textiles. Celeste's work is built on her experiences and touches on themes of neurodiversity, identity, and humanity.

Divided by body, confined to the mind, the end always coming, we count life in time. Dreams process life, and create a scattered parallel between all things. An offload of refracted memories, misinterpreted visions and emotions made into entities. These entities are what I am interested in creating. Vast ideas that touch on consciousness, point of view, emotion, behavior, and life experience, boiled into visual form. Talking about dreams, you may have felt stuck trying to explain or understand what was experienced… “ I dreamt of a tiger, but it wasn't really a tiger, it felt like one in a moment, and in others it was an old friend of mine…” This phenomenon of clarity in experience that is lost in translation is how I approach imagery. I am interested in the thing that exists between what is real and what we can recall. This inbetween space is unique to each person's point of view, yet reveals a collective consciousness. When remembering anything, the image is altered, and elements that stand out are what we are left with. Over time as we get further, the memory is reduced until it is the essence of how you felt about it; an endless game of ‘Telephone’.. All things slightly off kilter from the original, lost in translation to a degree. This is how I want to portray the tiger, as the memory of the last time I remembered one, meaning the most simplified version that maintains the energy of the real thing.

This concept also ties into why I am fascinated by stereotypes. They are honest without fact, and the damage that they can cause parallels their inherent purity. I did not grow up with a typical education or socialization and often fill in the gaps, informationally and behaviorally. Making assumptions or associations constantly to survive, so much so to that if something rhymes I have to at least consider it to be true. In this way I feel as though I consistently make stereotypes of the people around me to attain a foundation of understanding. I believe most people do this unconsciously, tethering each other to something desirable or tangible, even if they know it may not end up being accurate. However, if enough people agree on that assumption, a conscious consensus is learned. How close is symbolism with stereotype, where do the two meet? Why does teeth falling out mean stress, and how did this image become so collectively recognized? In dreams we are untethered from our bodies, but we must use images gathered by our bodies. I think of dreams as purgatory between life and my death; dying a dream without images.

Life is chaotic yet simultaneously made of patterns. Are these patterns not the only graspable truth, in that they are the only inherent thing. I believe we are all deservant of nothing, and from what I can see, all that life guarantees is beauty. I feel thankful for beauty always being at the forefront of importance to me. It protects me, as the foundation of my life is built upon something that cannot be taken away. All I want is to move people how I am constantly moved by the beauty of and in life. I want to help people detect it in themselves and others.  I want to organize and assemble as many ordainments of life I find in a way that feels emotionally logical to me, and encourage others to play in the vast field of their minds.

The amount of change a human can endure is beyond our capacities of comfort, as accepting this threshold we would have to confront the true fallacy of self, and give into the collective consciousness fully. If we lived forever, we would shift through different versions of being, the only thing remaining unique, our vessel and experiences gathered, our personalities and perception completely maluable with time.

Maybe being an artist is just needing to process things physically.  I feel as though I am stuck in a primary state of processing, witnessing the world around me that I see instead of engaging in it, and picking something to do. I know that this doesn’t make sense, as making art is doing something and I am part of it, but reflecting on life itself as a way of living is a strange thing, that puts you at a distance from everything in it.