Today we’d like to introduce you to Jacqueline Valenzuela.
Hi Jacqueline, please kick things off for us with an introduction to yourself and your story.
I’m an interdisciplinary artist from East Los Angeles, and my journey began with a deep connection to my community and culture—especially the world of lowriding, which I grew up around. I started drawing as a way to process and honor the stories I saw unfolding around me, particularly those of women whose presence is often underrecognized in these spaces.
I received my BFA in Drawing and Painting from Cal State Long Beach in 2019, and I’m currently pursuing my MFA at UCLA. Over the years, my work has evolved from intimate portraiture to complex, large-scale paintings that blend personal narrative, Chicano aesthetics, and social critique. Along the way, I’ve also curated exhibitions, collaborated with museums and brands, and maintained a strong focus on storytelling, cultural preservation, and representation.
This path hasn’t always been easy, but it’s been shaped by persistence, purpose, and a commitment to making sure the stories I care about are not only seen—but felt.
I’m sure it wasn’t obstacle-free, but would you say the journey has been fairly smooth so far?
It definitely hasn’t been a smooth road. I come from an immigrant household where resources were limited, and like many immigrant families, mine hoped I would choose a career with a more reliable income. Pursuing art felt risky and, at times, isolating. As the youngest of four and the first in my family to pursue an academic path, I faced a lot of hurdles on my own. I didn’t have the kind of guidance some of my peers had—there was no one to turn to at home when it came to navigating higher education or the art world. These institutions were never built with someone like me in mind: a woman, a queer person, and someone of Mexican descent.
Beyond that, I’ve had to constantly contend with the disparities that exist in the art world itself. Women artists, and especially Chicana artists, are often underrepresented, undervalued, or overlooked entirely. That same struggle exists in the lowrider community, where I’ve faced misogynistic pushback simply for owning a lowrider and for having spent time painting cars—spaces typically dominated by men. But these challenges have only reinforced why I do what I do. My work is about carving space, claiming presence, and honoring the stories of women in communities like mine who have always been powerful, even when they’ve been pushed to the margins.
As you know, we’re big fans of you and your work. For our readers who might not be as familiar what can you tell them about what you do?
My practice is grounded in storytelling, cultural preservation, and the lived experiences of women in the Chicano lowrider community. While I’m primarily a painter, my work also branches into sculpture, installation, curation, and community engagement. What I’m most known for is blending fine art techniques with lowrider aesthetics—particularly the detailed surfaces and storytelling traditions embedded in custom car culture. My work doesn’t just depict lowriders—it speaks the visual language of the culture from the inside out.
After receiving my BFA from Cal State Long Beach, I spent time in body shops, hands-on, learning how to paint cars. I was involved in the technical process—masking, sanding, and painting kustom murals in collaboration with my fiancé. It was in those spaces, surrounded by the scent of paint and lacquer, that I began to understand the depth of detail, care, and labor that goes into customizing a car. I carry that same meticulous energy into my paintings. That experience also shaped how I see the body—especially the female body—as a site of transformation, storytelling, and craftsmanship. Like a lowrider, the body is worked on, adorned, and layered with meaning. This is a theme I am interested on expanding on during my time in my MFA program at UCLA. I am also looking at subjects I’ve yet to unravel such as exploring deeper emotional and spiritual themes, including generational trauma, death, and the cosmos. A recent turning point came after my own Cadillac became a crime scene when a shooting occurred behind my studio. That moment, and its lingering psychological weight, led me to develop a new series that weaves together violence, memory, and cosmologies with lowrider aesthetics. I’ve been incorporating references to Mictlán, the Milky Way as a spiritual pathway, and subtle iridescence and glitter to echo the custom finishes found in lowrider paint jobs—turning them into poetic, haunted surfaces.
What sets me apart is that I’m not just documenting the culture—I live it. I’m a lowrider owner. I’ve been in the shops, at the car shows, and in the streets. My work is both personal and communal, deeply embedded in the aesthetics and politics of visibility, representation, and resistance. I’m proud to be creating work that not only reflects my world but also pushes conversations forward about who gets to be seen in the art world—and how.
What matters most to you? Why?
What matters most to me is my art practice—its longevity, its purpose, and its potential to leave something behind. I’ve been asked if the time I dedicate to making work—time that could be spent with friends, family, or one day, my future children—is really worth it. For me, it is. My practice isn’t just about creating images; it’s about preserving memory, culture, and identity. It’s a way of freezing people, places, and emotions in time so they can exist for future audiences.
It might seem selfish from the outside, but to me, it’s necessary. This work is my legacy. It’s how I contribute to the world and how I make sense of it. My art holds space for the stories and communities I care about, and that’s something I’ll always protect.
Contact Info:
- Website: https://www.jacquelinevalenzuela.com
- Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/pieldemazapan
Image Credits
Photo by Argel Rojo, Courtesy of Los Angeles Performance Practice
Photo by Jennifer Williams-Cordova, Courtesy of Bakersfield Museum of Art
