Story & Lesson Highlights with Kissbell Preza of Los Angeles, CA

We’re looking forward to introducing you to Kissbell Preza. Check out our conversation below.

Kissbell, really appreciate you sharing your stories and insights with us. The world would have so much more understanding and empathy if we all were a bit more open about our stories and how they have helped shaped our journey and worldview. Let’s jump in with a fun one: What do the first 90 minutes of your day look like?
4:30 am Wake up & get dressed
5:00 am Gym

Can you briefly introduce yourself and share what makes you or your brand unique?
Hi! I’m Kissbell, a Guatemalan and Salvadoran American artist of reconnecting Native descent (Maya-Topilzines), born and raised in East Los Angeles. My work is deeply informed by my intersectional identity, as I explore and interpret my life through the lenses of anthropology, psychology, and the Afro-Caribbean religion of Santería, in which I was raised. Santería remains a guiding force in my work, weaving spiritual themes, ritual symbolism, and ancestral wisdom into each piece.

The Indigenous spirituality also influences me, passed down through my mother, rooted in Maya traditions and enriched by the stories, folklore, and resilience of my family’s homelands in Guatemala and El Salvador.

A significant focus of my art is the examination of intergenerational cycles of abuse and their impact on the mind, body, and spirit. As a survivor of child abuse, sexual assault, domestic violence, and narcissistic abuse, my art becomes a space for catharsis, survival, and transformation. Every piece I create serves as a journal entry — a way to process lived experience and express what words often cannot.

My visual style blends magical realism, surrealism, post-impressionism, expressionism, and mixed media. I’m particularly drawn to materials that carry symbolic meaning. I often incorporate hair, cowry shells, thread, and ceramic fragments into my canvases. These tactile elements connect to both ritual and memory, making each work a spiritual artifact as much as an artwork.

The thematic content of my practice is self-understanding. I unpack trauma, reclaim identity, and restore personal power. Through my work, I hope to connect with others who have experienced abuse of any kind and offer a space for reflection, healing, and solidarity.

Beyond visual art, I express myself across many creative fields: I am a performance artist, model, dancer, curator, organizer, singer, and actor. Creativity is not just a profession for me. It is survival, ritual, and resistance.

Fun Fact: Every artwork I create is paired with a song that resonates with its essence.
My anthems: Latinoamérica by Calle 13 & Red Future by Snotty Nose Rez Kids.

Okay, so here’s a deep one: What was your earliest memory of feeling powerful?
The earliest memory I have is of an abusive family member throwing my eldest sibling down a flight of stairs. My sister was around 13 at the time, and I was 6 or 7. I rushed to her, held her, and whispered for her to stay quiet because I knew it would only get worse if she cried out. She curled into a fetal position, paralyzed by fear.

From the top of the stairs, our abuser shouted, “Leave her! Come here!”

I screamed back, “No!”

I looked directly into their face, burning with anger. They barked, “Come here, or I’ll throw her again!”

I glanced back at my sister, feeling helpless and heartbroken. When I started to stand up, she grabbed my hand and held onto it tightly. She didn’t want to let me go. For a moment, I wanted to stay right there with her. But I knew if I didn’t go, it would be even worse for both of us. I gently pulled my hand free and forced myself up the stairs, preparing for my beating. I was ready for the worst. I refused to break.

When I reached the top, I stared straight at my abuser. I was full of rage and hurt. My eyes asked a question I couldn’t speak aloud: Why are you doing this to us? They glared back, but after a moment, the abuser turned and walked away. In that moment, something crystallized inside me. I decided I would become the exact opposite of everything they told me I was. I had been called stupid, told I’d never amount to anything, and I was destined for nothing.

However, my teachers would tell me about a place called “university”, where smart people went, and built their futures. I could escape and become someone new. I thought of university as a magical place where I could be free, so I made a promise to myself: I would become educated. I would become strong. I would build a life far away from the cruelty I grew up in. My rage became a tool to push myself forward. I just had to play the long game.

If you could say one kind thing to your younger self, what would it be?
I’m so proud of you. You didn’t have the tools, but you believed in the ancestors, the great spirit, and most importantly, in yourself. You didn’t have the vocabulary to articulate what was right or wrong. However, you felt and knew that something was off in your life. You met people along the way who helped you in your path. You have always been the “better to be alone than to have bad company” kind of person. Now, as a grown woman, I get to articulate how you really felt. What you wanted to say is that, “I will never have someone’s foot on my neck, but if I do, it won’t be there for very long. I will be free.”

So a lot of these questions go deep, but if you are open to it, we’ve got a few more questions that we’d love to get your take on. Is the public version of you the real you?
No, the public version of me is not the real me. The public me is part of the real me, but not completely. I code-switch like everyone else. There is a time and place for everything.

Before we go, we’d love to hear your thoughts on some longer-run, legacy type questions. What is the story you hope people tell about you when you’re gone?
She was a strong and adamant character. Her adamant aura would come off as intimidating to others. She didn’t care; she was in her own world. She was also kind and gentle. She was an elder who guided others with her infectious laughter and irresistible smile. Her improv performances were a joy to witness. She wanted others to be as free as she was.

Her tombstone reads, “I know something that you don’t. lol.”

Contact Info:

• Instagram: art_is_my_religion_
• Other: Tik Tok: art_is_my_religion_

Image Credits
IG:

@officialjohnfawkes
@bryancdutton
@floydphoto1
@Pulpolibri
@the.matt.quest
@x_jerrbearr_x