Between Myth & Reality: The Art of Luisa Rivera

For Luisa Rivera, illustration is more than just an artistic practice—it’s a way of preserving memory, reinterpreting folklore, and reconnecting with the natural world. Her work moves fluidly between the personal and the universal, blending lived experiences with broader cultural narratives. Whether she’s illustrating classic literature, exploring environmental themes, or capturing the quiet magic of everyday life, Rivera’s art is a study in storytelling—one that invites viewers to find their own meaning in the details. In this conversation, she shares insights into her creative process, the places that have shaped her vision, and the role of imagination in a rapidly changing world.

LOREM: Your work often incorporates themes of folklore and nature. How do you approach balancing personal memory with external cultural or environmental narratives in your art?

LUISA: In my work, I bring personal memory, but I also look for ways to connect it to broader cultural and environmental narratives, inviting others to find their own meaning within it. In that sense, the natural world becomes a thread that unifies that experience because we are all part of it. Whether through direct contact or absence, it has shaped our perceptions and collective memory throughout history. Because of this, we can find reflections of ourselves in images that explore these themes, even if they originate from personal experiences.

L: How has living in different parts of the world, like Chile, Minneapolis, and London, influenced your artistic perspective and creative process?

LR: Every place I’ve lived has left an imprint on me and inspired different aspects of my work. I think my love for storytelling began in Chile, where I was exposed to Latin American literature, myths, and folklore from a young age. I also developed a deep connection with nature, especially in the south of Chile, but in Minneapolis, this connection became even more radical. The stark contrast of the seasons heightened my awareness of the environment, turning the natural world into a character in my work rather than just a setting. Then, in London, with its many cloudy days, shades of gray began appearing in my palette, along with themes like uprooting—not just in my own experience but in the city’s multicultural reality. Each place has given me something new, and those influences have stayed with me.

L:Your illustrations are known for their storytelling qualities. Do you start with a narrative in mind, or does the imagery guide the story as you work?

LR: It depends on the work. With my paintings, I sometimes start with a clear idea or a motif I want to develop, but I also love seeing how these ideas take on a life of their own. Their meaning can shift when contrasted with a specific color or element, which is always fascinating to explore. When working on client projects, this process is often less experimental since some briefs require a more direct approach.

L: You’ve mentioned the importance of women and nature in your work. Are there specific personal experiences or moments that have shaped this recurring focus?

LR: My focus on the female figure comes from my experience as a woman in this world, and my depiction of nature is rooted in childhood moments spent in natural settings, especially in the south of Chile, where I remember feeling different. These themes emerged intuitively early on, but over time, I’ve come to understand their deeper significance. Today they shape a broader perspective in my work, allowing me to explore ideas beyond my own experiences.

L: Many of your illustrations have a dreamlike quality. What role does surrealism or imagination play in your depiction of real-world issues like environmentalism?

LR: In my work, I create scenes where the boundaries between self and environment dissolve, reminding us that we are part of a larger whole. Rather than surrealism—since I’m not necessarily channeling the unconscious—I see my work as rooted in the tradition of myths and folktales. These narratives are often studied as expressions of the past, replaced over time by technology and science. In that process, we’ve become detached from the natural forces around us. Reclaiming this storytelling tradition is essential for awareness and acts as a vital response to our ecological present.

L: When creating artwork for classic literature, like One Hundred Years of Solitude, how do you translate the depth of the text into a visual language?

LR: Illustrating a book is a collaborative process with the publisher. For One Hundred Years of Solitude, I was lucky that Nora Grosse, the art director I worked with, selected my work for a novel I love. That choice comes from an overall stylistic fit, but once I’m involved, there’s a process of fine-tuning—deciding on a color palette to capture the novel’s atmosphere and selecting scenes that bring it to life. Reading as an illustrator is different from reading as a reader; it’s a more analytical process, focused on details that shape the visual narrative. It also extends beyond the book itself. For example, I studied García Márquez—what he was trying to convey, where he was in his life at the time, and what inspired him. That deeper understanding was key in defining the book’s visual imagery.

L: Do you have a particular process for choosing color palettes, especially since they play such a vital role in setting the tone for your work?

LR: Defining a palette is key to creating both an atmosphere and an identity for a project. But there’s also a practical reason—limiting colors makes the workflow more manageable. It’s easy to lose focus when there are too many options. My process varies; sometimes I choose colors that appeal to me for their pigments, other times I draw inspiration from films or paintings that I like. With watercolors, a limited palette comes naturally since a single hue can produce many tones.

L: Sketchbooks seem to be a vital part of your practice. Could you share how this intimate space impacts your larger projects or commercial work?

LR: Sketchbooks are a space where I feel completely free, without the need to label my work. Labels can be valuable—they help define your identity, like recurring themes or techniques you become known for—but they can also feel restrictive. Especially today, social media seems to push artists toward repeating a formula, influenced by their commercial models and algorithms. In my sketchbooks, all of that disappears. It’s a space for experimentation, study and sometimes even a place to process emotions, almost like a journal. This ultimately impacts larger projects because it allows me to grow as an artist.

L: As an artist who teaches workshops, what is the most rewarding aspect of sharing your skills and perspectives with others?

LR: Teaching is a beautiful experience, and it constantly nurtures my creativity. I want everyone in a workshop with me to feel challenged, so I challenge myself too, which is why I prepare extensively. This process keeps me grounded in my practice.

I also find it inspiring to see how others approach creative tasks. I teach adults, university students, and primary and secondary students at a museum in London. I’ve especially enjoyed working with kids—they have a raw, uninhibited artistic expression that often fades with age, clouded by self-criticism or pretentiousness, so I encourage them to hold on to it. As an artist, I want to reconnect with that intuitive energy too, so a workshop isn’t just about me teaching—it’s a symbiosis.

L: What advice would you give to emerging illustrators who want to integrate activism or social themes into their work while maintaining a personal style?

LR: I think you can cultivate both simultaneously as long as you have cohesiveness rooted in what you do. I hope that viewers see my personal style in the work I develop across my practice, whether it’s an illustration for a book of literature, a painting for an exhibition, or an editorial piece for an environmental cause. For me, the key is to be consistent in the visual vocabulary but also in how you present yourself to the world, for example, on social media. That alignment not only strengthens your artistic identity but also builds trust and credibility, allowing your message to resonate more deeply with your audience.

L: What upcoming projects should be on the lookout for?

LR: This month, I’m publishing Patagonia, a book I illustrated with Amanuta, a Chilean publishing house focused on younger generations. This project is special to me because it connects me to a place I love for its landscapes and wildlife, but also because it carries an important message: to promote an ecological perspective for the future and to acknowledge the history of indigenous communities that used to live in that territory, for example the Selk’nam, who tragically saw their people exterminated in a genocide. I believe no topic is beyond young readers if communicated well, and I hope this book sparks that dialogue.

Luisa Rivera’s work is a testament to the power of art as both personal expression and cultural reflection. Through her illustrations, she bridges the past and present, the mythical and the real, creating images that linger in the mind long after viewing. As she continues to explore new projects—from book illustrations to ecological narratives—one thing remains clear: her art is not just about depicting the world but about deepening our understanding of it.