Traf_Algar’s work pulses with immediacy, memory, and unapologetic emotion. Born in Guatemala and raised in France, the artist's practice navigates questions of identity, belonging, and the invisible threads of heritage that linger in the body and resurface in the gesture. With drawing as a first language—raw, fast, and intimate— the work captures life’s quiet intensities and inner shifts with urgency and tenderness. It is a diary, a confrontation, a celebration. Through bold line, vivid colour, and lived experience, Traf_Algar invites viewers into a world where instinct speaks louder than explanation and honesty becomes its own aesthetic.

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How has your upbringing or cultural heritage shaped the themes and techniques you explore in your art today?  

I have Latino roots. I was born in Guatemala and adopted as a baby. I grew up in France, so culturally I’m French, but deep down I’ve always felt something else running through me. I didn’t grow up with Latino references, books, or a specific cultural heritage passed down, but I’ve always felt that my roots were in my blood, in my DNA. It’s not something you can really explain.  Even as a child, I felt drawn to certain textures, colours, and faces in my art. It wasn’t conscious,  but something familiar was always there. Last year, I went back to Guatemala for the first time after 25 years, and suddenly, everything made sense. The colours, the details, the layered stories,  they all reflected the kind of art I had been making for years.  

As a friend once told me: “My heritage is raining in my veins.” That’s exactly how I feel.Techniques are something you build over time with work and practice, but the foundation, the instinct, the soul of it, was always already inside me.

Art is often chosen as a medium for its freedom. Why do you personally turn to  art, rather than another form of expression?  

I turn to Art, especially drawing, because of its immediacy. You don’t need a lot of tools or materials to express something urgent. For me, drawing is like writing a personal diary. My lines are my words. It’s how I release emotion, frustration, or memory. Art helps me process things and move forward. When something deeply important happens in my life, something I don’t want to forget, I turn it into Art. That way, I know it’s fixed somewhere “forever.” I don’t want to forget, I  want to cherish.  

What do you think is the most meaningful role an artist plays in society today?

Artists offer new ways of seeing and feeling. Whether it’s to provoke, to comfort, or to soften, we give people a different perspective. We open a door to another dimension, even just for a moment. Art lets people escape, through a painting, a drawing, a melody, a story. Singers take us away with their voice; visual art sets the scene and lets the imagination do the rest. It’s a break from everyday life, sometimes gentle, sometimes intense, but always a shift in perception.

How important is it for viewers to understand the intended message of your work? Does ambiguity add value, or do you seek clarity in your expression?

I always try to be honest in my work. Even if I mix reality with imagination, my goal is to express how I truly feel and how I experience the world. That said, my reality can be interpreted in completely different ways by others, and that’s beautiful. I think of my drawings like songs. I write the lyrics, but when you hear them, you make them your own. If my work resonates with someone, and they can relate it to their own life, then it’s even more powerful. My hope is that  my art says: “I’ve felt this, have you?” And if they have, then it becomes a shared story, told in different voices.

Do you feel that a personal connection to your subject matter is essential? How has this connection shaped your work?

Absolutely. A personal connection is everything. If I can relate to what I’m creating, I can speak the truth, my truth, because I’ve lived it. That way, I’m not taking something that isn’t mine. This connection gives my work a raw, bold energy. It comes straight from my gut and heart. Whether it’s sadness, melancholy, desire, or joy, there’s no filter. It’s me, unapologetically. And I think that honesty is what people connect with.

How do you approach criticism, whether from peers, critics, or audiences?

I see criticism as a tool to grow, to improve both technically and creatively. I appreciate honest feedback, especially when it challenges me to try new things or see my work differently. But I’m selective about who I listen to. We all have our “masters” in life, those voices we trust deeply.  Still, at the end of the day, I believe in “you do you.” Listen, take what resonates, and make it your own.

Is art created for the artist, the audience, or somewhere in between?

For me, art is created for myself first. I need to express something, release something that’s living inside me. The first person it has to speak to is me. It needs to look and feel right in my own eyes. Then, if others connect with it, if they see themselves in it, that means I’ve been honest,  and they’ve picked up on that truth. If I tried to make art for them, it would probably lose that authenticity. You can’t please everyone. But if you’re honest with yourself, people will find you. That’s how I see it: personal first, then shared.

If you had only 24 hours left to create, how would you spend them?

I’d create the biggest drawing I’ve ever made. I’d cover my entire studio in canvas and just draw non-stop for 24 hours. Ideally, the studio would have a balcony and a beautiful view of nature. I usually like to create alone, in silence, but for my last 24 hours, I’d invite people I love to join me.  We’d drink, dance, and celebrate while I create this massive, colourful piece full of life. I’d want to reach that euphoric state of creation and joy, feeling fully alive. The studio would be a happy mess, with paint and colour everywhere.

Can you imagine ever choosing to stop creating art? What might lead you to such a decision?

Honestly, no. Art can be a tough path, especially as an emerging artist. It’s not easy. If you don’t have support around you, it’s tempting to give up. A couple of years ago, I was in the shower  and thought about what my dad used to say: “You need a Plan A and a Plan B.” That day, I realised art was both my A and B. I had no backup plan, and I didn’t want one. Art isn’t a job for me, it’s a way of living. It’s about dedication, sacrifice, pain, joy, doubt, and passion. If I lost that,  I’d feel like I had nothing. At least, that’s how it is for me.

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For Traf_Algar, art is a way to hold joy, grief, desire, and doubt all at once. The practice resists easy categories and instead embraces the complexity of being. In a world that often demands clarity, Traf_Algar’s work holds space for feeling without filter—unresolved, unpolished, and profoundly real. Whether working in solitude or surrounded by celebration, what emerges is always the same: art as survival, art as memory, and above all, art as life.