Monica Curiel, La Mari Chair, 2023. Oak, steel, and matte black oil finish; 30 × 20 7/8 × 20 in. Denver Art Museum: Funds from 2023 Luncheon by Design, 2025.35. © Monica Curiel. Photography © and courtesy Jimena Peck.
Monica Curiel is a multidisciplinary artist based in Denver. Monica recently spoke with Kit Bernal, Curatorial Assistant of Architecture and Design, about her La Mari Chair and the interactions between art, design, and her family and cultural identity.
Kit: You’ve said your background is one of the main drivers of your work. How would you describe your background or your identity in your own words? Are there any specific experiences that you feel like factor into your practice?
Monica: Absolutely. I’m a first-generation Mexican American—my parents immigrated from Mexico, and I’m the second of five siblings. That experience, in its entirety, deeply informs my practice. During my final semester in university, a professor told me that if I referenced Latin American culture in my work, it needed to be colorful. At the time, that comment felt reductive, but ultimately, it gave me clarity and drive. It made me interrogate how my culture shows up in my work. Being first-generation has helped me understand the complexities and gaps within my identity. Art became a way to examine and navigate those in-between spaces—what I want to bring to the table as a person of dual cultures.
Kit: Do you feel like your art and design work has changed your relationship to your identity? Or do you feel like it went the other way around, like when you started thinking more about this, your art and design work changed?
Monica: It’s definitely a reciprocal relationship. In the early stages of my practice, I saw identity as a source of inspiration and research—I drew from memory, language, and personal history. Over time, my perspective evolved. I began to embrace the fact that I’m not only Mexican, but also American. For a while, I felt I needed to center Mexico exclusively to properly honor my roots. Now I understand that both aspects of who I am deserve space in the work. Let’s honor it and celebrate both. It’s a fusion.
Monica Curiel, La Mari Chair (detail), 2023. Oak, steel, and matte black oil finish; 30 × 20 7/8 × 20 in. Denver Art Museum: Funds from 2023 Luncheon by Design, 2025.35. © Monica Curiel. Photography © and courtesy Jimena Peck.
Monica Curiel, La Mari Chair (detail), 2023. Oak, steel, and matte black oil finish; 30 × 20 7/8 × 20 in. Denver Art Museum: Funds from 2023 Luncheon by Design, 2025.35. © Monica Curiel. Photography © and courtesy Jimena Peck.
Rendering of La Mari Chair. Courtesy of Monica Curiel.
Kit: You make both fine art, like your plaster paintings, and functional objects, like design and lighting. Both of these are very connected to your identity, but I felt like in your plaster work I saw more of that connection through process and material. In your design objects, I saw that connection more through form. Do you approach making those types of work differently?
Monica: I’d like to say the approach is the same, but in truth, it differs. When I’m working with plaster or spackling paste, the process is intuitive—I respond to the material in the moment. In contrast, something like the La Mari Chair required a clear, resolved design before fabrication began. It challenged me to consider both form and function from the outset. Now, there’s more fluidity in how I work. I might begin with a sketch, then transition to the studio, and let the process evolve from there. It’s become more integrated.
I hope that anyone who shares even a part of my story—someone navigating multiple cultural identities, someone who never felt a clear sense of home, who grew up without access to higher education, or who’s simply trying to understand what it means to live authentically—can look at my work and feel a sense of possibility.
Kit: La Mari Chair is handmade, but it's not made by you. What was that process like?
Monica: It was my first experience designing something for fabrication. We produced a limited edition of four, which was intimidating at first. I’m used to making changes instinctively, through direct interaction with the materials. With this process, everything had to be planned in advance. I partnered with a woodworking company in Boulder, presented the concept, and shared the inspiration—mariachi culture. My father is a lifelong lover of mariachi music. On our road trips from Dallas to Mexico, which were an 18-hour drive we would span into three days, my dad would blast mariachi music. At that time, it was like, "Oh my gosh, please save me. I'm tired of this music." But now as an adult, I'm like, "What beautiful memories we had of just seeing a landscape and time together as a family." I wanted to honor that memory. I referenced mariachi vestments with the spherical elements on the chair back, and I wanted the legs to have a flare, like the pants have a flare. The craftsmen helped me translate those ideas into a piece that could be responsibly produced.
Kit: Can you tell me more about your relationship to mariachi?
Monica: You know how you grow up with certain things and you don't think they're quite special or anything different until you realize not everyone does? I think mariachi was one of those things that was so integrated into our daily life, just based on what my parents listened to, that it didn't feel overly special.
As I’ve gotten older and travel to Mexico less frequently, I’ve become more aware of the longing I feel. I don’t associate myself with one singular “home,” but Mexico feels like a facet of home. When I miss it, I turn to that music. That’s when the memories resurface—those long drives, the landscapes, the time we spent together. It was during that time, kind of feeling a little homesick, that La Mari evolved.
Photo courtesy of Monica Curiel.
Photo courtesy Monica Curiel.
Photo courtesy Monica Curiel.
Kit: Mariachi wasn’t part of my cultural upbringing, but when I was looking into it further, it really was developing concurrently with the definition of Mexican national identity following the Mexican Revolution. The combination of all these different elements, like rurality and cities, Indigeneity and Spanish influence, and then bringing in the charro suit, and the trumpets—there’s this kind of feedback loop where both the individual components that make up mariachi and mariachi itself are symbols of Mexico and being Mexican.
Monica: Absolutely.
Kit: Hearing you talk about your relationship to mariachi and the inspiration for La Mari, and then also your broader experiences of creating your own mixed cultural experience, it feels like you’re doing that same layering of mariachi as Mexican and mariachi as its distinct themes, homeland and sentimentality and family, in this object. The formal inspiration is deeply linked conceptually the whole time. Is that something you were intentionally thinking through, or that resonates with you at all?
Monica: It resonates completely. I think you articulated it beautifully. Often, I don’t even realize what’s affecting me until the piece is complete. La Mari Chair was one of those moments where, as I stepped back, I realized—I miss home. I love how you spoke about it symbolizing individuality or even nationalism. For me, it also represents courage. Strength. It brought up all the stories I’ve carried, seeing the sacrifices my parents made, the limitations they faced, and the lack of opportunities that were available to them. That lived reality shapes so much of what I do. In my practice, I’m always drawn to using symbolism that holds personal significance—fragments of memory, experience, and culture—as a way to honor where I come from. When I visit my mom’s village, or the house where my dad grew up, I always think the same thing, that I couldn’t be doing what I do if I had grown up there. I wouldn’t have had the exposure, or even the language, to imagine this life. That recognition carries a sense of responsibility. It doesn’t have to manifest in a literal way, but for me, it’s a beautiful responsibility. A way of saying, I am here because of them.
Kit: Another big theme in mariachi is this concept of authenticity, being authentically Mexican, or something being authentic mariachi versus a commercial mariachi. You've talked about this a little bit already, but how do you feel like you relate to the concept of authenticity in your work? What makes something feel authentic to you?
Monica: I think I’m still in the process of defining authenticity—culturally, personally, and within my creative practice. At this point, authenticity for me means using art and design as a lens through which I can explore, understand, and share who I am in this moment, knowing that who I am is constantly evolving.
My work is derivative of memory, self-reflection, and cultural lineage, and I’ve learned to accept that what others define as “authentic” is often fluid, even subjective. As a child of immigrants, I’ve experienced what many in our position feel: in Mexico, I’m not perceived as fully Mexican, and in the U.S., I’m distinctly not American. But I’ve come to a place of peace with that duality. My lived experience exists in that in-between space, and rather than resist it, I choose to celebrate it. The authenticity I bring to my practice is rooted in embracing that liminal space—the place where one might not feel entirely seen or invited—and using it to ask questions about identity, belonging, and community. It’s not a rejection of either side, but an affirmation, a “yes, and.”
Kit: I would love to shift that into the context of the delineation sometimes between art and design. You've talked a little bit about how you want to challenge those boundaries. What do you feel like the boundaries in that space are? How do you respond to them?
Monica: I love this question. I often think of the art/design divide as paralleling the dualities within my own identity, being both Mexican and American. In the same way I don’t feel like I fully exist in just one cultural category, my work doesn’t exist solely in the realm of fine art or purely in design. It occupies a space between, and I’ve grown to embrace that. Early in my career, I struggled with value—how to see it in myself and in my work—because I didn’t fit neatly into one category or tradition. But in merging art and design, I found freedom to say, “This is the value of my work, this is what it stands for, and this is unapologetically, unequivocally me.” That’s the grace, and frankly, the healing, that art and design have offered me.
Kit: Something that you've spoken about in a few different interviews is your relationship to the American Dream. I would love to know what exactly the American Dream does mean to you, and how that comes through in your art.
Monica: For me, the American Dream is the possibility of doing something that would have been otherwise inaccessible—something that, without living in the United States, I might not have had the opportunity to pursue. Despite the challenges in our current political climate, I still believe in the core ideal: the ability to forge your own path. As an artist and designer, I see entrepreneurship as a central part of that dream. The freedom to build something from the ground up, to express myself through my work, to investigate my heritage and identity—those are privileges I don’t take lightly. This country has allowed me to create a space for myself, and through that space, I’ve come to better understand who I am and where I come from.
Kit: That’s a lovely interpretation. Last question, what is the number one thing that you hope people will take from your work, or experience with your work?
Monica: That might be the hardest question I’ve ever been asked—and I mean that in the best way. I welcome a good challenge. What comes to mind is that I hope that anyone who shares even a part of my story—someone navigating multiple cultural identities, someone who never felt a clear sense of home, who grew up without access to higher education, or who’s simply trying to understand what it means to live authentically—can look at my work and feel a sense of possibility. I want them to know their dreams are valid—and not just valid, but within reach. If my work can reflect even a glimmer of that hope back to someone else, then I know it’s doing its job.
This interview has been edited for length and clarity.
