Pressed Into Time: Ecos de la Memoria
For thirty years, I have used printmaking to mark my place in the world and to honor the stories that shaped me. Through this process, I reflect on the journey of migration—its losses, resilience, and quiet acts of rebuilding. Each print holds layers of memory—personal and collective—shaped by displacement, struggle, survival, and the experience of crossing borders both visible and invisible. These are not only histories of the past, but realities that still echo today.
My cultural roots live in the textures of my materials, the symbols I return to, and the voices I lift through each image. Printmaking—with its repetition and pressure—mirrors the forces that shape identity and history.
Pressed Into Time: Ecos de la Memoria is not nostalgia—it is persistence. These prints are echoes that remind us of what we carry, what continues, and what we still hope can change.
For thirty years, I have used printmaking to mark my place in the world and to honor the stories that shaped me. Through this process, I reflect on the journey of migration—its losses, resilience, and quiet acts of rebuilding. Each print holds layers of memory—personal and collective—shaped by displacement, struggle, survival, and the experience of crossing borders both visible and invisible. These are not only histories of the past, but realities that still echo today.
My cultural roots live in the textures of my materials, the symbols I return to, and the voices I lift through each image. Printmaking—with its repetition and pressure—mirrors the forces that shape identity and history.
Pressed Into Time: Ecos de la Memoria is not nostalgia—it is persistence. These prints are echoes that remind us of what we carry, what continues, and what we still hope can change.
Sandra C. Fernandez
Website: www.sandrafernandez.art Instagram: @sfernandezart E-mail: [email protected] |
About Sandra C. Fernandez
Sandra C. Fernandez is an Ecuadorian American artist whose work embodies her multicultural heritage and personal journey, weaving together stories of identity, migration, and resilience. Her multidisciplinary practice spans printmaking, photography, artist’s books, soft sculpture, fiber art, assemblages, and installations. By skillfully combining a wide range of materials—paper, thread, metal, wood, organic elements, and small found objects—she creates pieces that explore themes of displacement, belonging, and hope. Born in New York, raised in Ecuador, and now based in Texas, Sandra channels her rich experiences into evocative works that reflect both the universal and deeply personal aspects of navigating cultural intersections. Her work is in collections such as the Smithsonian American Art Museum, the National Museum of Woman in the Arts, and The Library of Congress, in Washington DC; The Metropolitan Museum of Art (MET) in NYC; The Museum of Latin American Art (MOLAA) in Long Beach California; The Blanton Museum of Art and the Mexic-Arte Museum in Austin Texas; The San Antonio Museum of Art (SAMA) in TX; The Amon Carter Museum of American Art in Fort Worth, TX; The Bainbridge Island Museum of Art, Cynthia Sears Collection in WA, the Martin Museum of Art at Baylor University, The Art Museum of South Texas, the Kohler Art Library, and the Bibliotheque Nationale in France, to name a few. Her work has been exhibited widely, nationally, and internationally, with over 25 solo and 250 group exhibitions. |
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Building Identity Away from Home
1991 Woodblock, letter stamps, and monotypes 24 x 34 in. When I migrated back to the U.S. after growing up in Ecuador, the culture shock was overwhelming. I craved a sense of belonging — a community that could echo the warmth and familiarity of home. But in the place where I first landed, that connection felt out of reach. So I turned inward, to my art. This piece became my way of carving out space for myself — of saying I’m here. By declaring “Miembro de la Comunidad Latina,” I wasn’t just naming an identity — I was claiming presence, insisting on belonging in a place that didn’t offer it freely. |
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Muerte por tortura
1991 Lithography and pastels 12.5 x 15.75 in. I left Ecuador during a time of political repression. Under President León Febres Cordero, people I worked alongside were persecuted, jailed, tortured, and killed for defending their communities. The space I called home became unstable, gripped by fear — no longer a place where I could stay. So I crossed borders, carrying memory, language, and the weight of leaving. Years later, a newspaper clipping arrived, listing names I knew. The memories came rushing back — sharp, uninvited, and heavy. This piece was born from that moment. From grief, from rage, and from the ache of remembering. |
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On Columbus Quincentennial (500 años de Resistencia)
1992
Screenprint
25.5 x 20 in.
I made this work in 1992 to mark the quincentennial of the conquest—not in celebration, but in mourning. Back then, I carried the weight of 500 years, answering a legacy of invasion, erasure, and resistance.
Now, decades later, I return to it with older eyes. The past hasn’t faded—it’s only deepened. History must be named, not whitewashed.
This piece still speaks. And I’m still listening.
1992
Screenprint
25.5 x 20 in.
I made this work in 1992 to mark the quincentennial of the conquest—not in celebration, but in mourning. Back then, I carried the weight of 500 years, answering a legacy of invasion, erasure, and resistance.
Now, decades later, I return to it with older eyes. The past hasn’t faded—it’s only deepened. History must be named, not whitewashed.
This piece still speaks. And I’m still listening.
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Enjaulada
2005 Screenprint, chine collé, and thread drawings 22 x 30 in. Enjaulada — meaning caged or confined — speaks to a life held captive. A young girl peers through the bones of a skirt, its frame a fragile cage. Built from collaged and hand-stitched scraps of paper, then photographed and screen printed, the structure evokes the maquiladoras across the border — where childhood is traded for labor, and innocence is stitched into every seam. This skirt is not just a garment, but a burden: a symbol of the work that binds her, the childhood denied, the silence pressed into print. |
Coming of Age (Transformations)
2008
Screenprint
30 x 22 in.
This print is a tribute to the 15th anniversary of the Serie Project — a Latino printmaking initiative in Austin, Texas, that hosted over 300 artists-in-residence to create editioned prints. It honors both the triumphs and the ongoing struggles of the Latino community. At the center stands a quinceañera, captured in the moment of her quince años, in front of Austin’s skyline — the birthplace of Serie. She wears the full regalia: dress, shoes, crown — symbols of tradition, transformation, and pride. Etched into the trunk of the tree behind her are words in both English and Spanish, echoing the layered experience of being Latino in America.
2008
Screenprint
30 x 22 in.
This print is a tribute to the 15th anniversary of the Serie Project — a Latino printmaking initiative in Austin, Texas, that hosted over 300 artists-in-residence to create editioned prints. It honors both the triumphs and the ongoing struggles of the Latino community. At the center stands a quinceañera, captured in the moment of her quince años, in front of Austin’s skyline — the birthplace of Serie. She wears the full regalia: dress, shoes, crown — symbols of tradition, transformation, and pride. Etched into the trunk of the tree behind her are words in both English and Spanish, echoing the layered experience of being Latino in America.
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Support the Dream Act, 2011
Etching, color pencil 8 x 11 in. I was invited to take part in an exhibition honoring the work of Edgar Allan Poe. As I moved through his poetry, The Raven stayed with me — its rhythm, its weight, its haunting questions. One line in particular echoed deeply: “Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before.” It brought my thoughts to migration, to the uncertain futures faced by children brought to this country by their parents — the Dreamers. Like Poe’s narrator, they too stand at the edge of the unknown, daring to dream where others hesitate. This print is a reflection on that space between fear and hope, between darkness and the possibility of flight. |
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Colores de la Esperanza
2012 Screenprint 11 x 15 in. This print speaks to resilience. I made it as a response to hardship—a reminder to never give up. Each element carries weight. The codex speaks to how others once tried to write our story for us. The barbed wire cuts through, marking the pain and struggle of migration. The young girl stands for the future—still growing, still here. The dove holds space for the ideal, even if it feels distant. Green is hope. Brown is us. |
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CAUTION: Dreamers in/on sight
2013
Screenprint
22 x 30 in.
This print reflects on migration from the Global South and the uncertain futures of the Dreamers — young people brought to the U.S. as children. Named after the Dream Act, which aimed to provide them with a path to residency, their status remains uncertain under DACA. Caught between protection and exclusion, they live in limbo. This work honors their resilience and the quiet tension of dreaming in a country that has yet to fully accept them.
2013
Screenprint
22 x 30 in.
This print reflects on migration from the Global South and the uncertain futures of the Dreamers — young people brought to the U.S. as children. Named after the Dream Act, which aimed to provide them with a path to residency, their status remains uncertain under DACA. Caught between protection and exclusion, they live in limbo. This work honors their resilience and the quiet tension of dreaming in a country that has yet to fully accept them.
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Mojándose (Cruzando)
2013 Etching, woodcut, blind embossing, chine collé and thread drawings 15 x 22 in. This print reflects on the border between Mexico and the U.S. — a place shaped by movement, memory, and silence. It quietly traces the journey of migration from south to north, where every mark carries longing. Fragments of 17th- and 18th-century books in Spanish and English are sewn and chine colléd into the surface — stitched histories layered with weight and meaning. A relief-printed figure moves through the center, caught in the act of crossing, suspended in the current of the Rio Grande. Over it all, a blind embossment of the Codex Mendoza lingers like a ghost — the quiet presence of histories that refuse to disappear. |
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We... the Gente
2014 Digital print, Screenprint, and thread drawing 15 x 22 in. There are an estimated 12 million undocumented immigrants living in the U.S., many of them families with children. This work speaks to the heartbreak of separation — a reality that’s only worsened in 2025, as new immigration laws expand deportations and strip away due process. Fathers are taken from streets, workplaces, even homes. Mothers and children are left behind to grieve, to survive. Families are being torn apart daily. This print is a witness to that rupture — and a call not to look away. |
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Flores para la tumba de un inmigrante
2014 Etching on copper and plexiglass, chine collé and thread drawings 11 x 15 in. This print is a reflection on those who perish crossing the border — lives lost in silence, their bodies never recovered, their names never spoken again. The faded flower evokes fragility and disappearance, a life once vibrant now barely visible. At the center of each bloom, a red mark pulses like a wound — or a memory that refuses to fade. These flowers are not just symbols of mourning, but quiet testaments. They ask us to remember what the desert tries to erase. |
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Porque Sam fue todo corazón 2014
Etching on copper and acrylic, chine collé, and blind embossment 11 x 15 in. This heart is for Sam Coronado—my friend, my mentor, my compañero in art and life. I made this piece in the ache of his passing. It carries my grief, my gratitude, and the echo of his steady presence. Sam was more than one thing—he was many: a visionary, a builder, a constant hand reaching back to lift others forward. Through the Serie Project, he opened doors for Latino artists, not just once, but again and again—for over 20 years. He carved out space where there was none, and called it ours. That was his labor of love. We carry what he built. We remember him in the work, in the struggle, in the joy of creating. Rest in power, querido Sam. |
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Mojándose (Crossing) II
2015 Etching, woodcut, blind embossing, chine collé and thread drawings. 21 x 27 in. This print reflects on the border between Mexico and the U.S. — a place shaped by movement, memory, and silence. It quietly traces the journey of migration from south to north, where every mark carries longing. Fragments of 17th- and 18th-century books in Spanish and English are sewn and chine colléd into the surface — stitched histories layered with weight and meaning. A relief-printed figure drifts across the page, swimming through the Rio Grande. Over it all, a blind embossment of the Codex Mendoza lingers like a ghost — the quiet presence of histories that refuse to disappear. |
Cruzado (Settled in)
2015 Etching on copper, polymer gravure, chine collé, thread drawings, and blind embossment. 21 x 27 in. Settled In speaks to what comes after the crossing — the quiet, complicated act of staying. The river is behind. The figure is gone. What remains are traces: language, memory, the weight of survival. Sewn fragments of 17th- and 18th-century texts in Spanish and English form the foundation — voices from colonial pasts stitched into the present. Chine collé binds them to the paper like layers of soil, history, and identity. A blind embossment of the Codex Mendoza floats across the surface, faint but insistent — a reminder that no settlement is ever without history. There is no body here, only presence. A life woven into a new landscape. Not fully seen, but undeniably there. |
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Maldición de Malinche
2016 Etching, engraving, chine collé, blind embossment, & thread drawings 11 x 15 in. La Malinche, born to nobility in the Aztec Empire, was given away by her mother and sold into slavery. She learned to survive through language, becoming the voice between Cortés and the indigenous world during the Spanish conquest of the Americas. Her legacy is still debated — traitor, victim, mother of a new identity. The Curse of Malinche lingers: a preference for the foreign, a forgetting of our own, and a gaze that looks down on those who still carry native roots. |
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Sam Z. Coronado: maestro, líder, promotor y querido amigo
2017 Screenprint, blind embossment, and thread drawings 30 x 22 in. This work honors Sam Z. Coronado—master printmaker, visionary leader, tireless promoter of others, and a dear friend. As founder of The SERIE Project in Austin, Sam created space for over 300 artists across more than 20 years, uplifting Latino voices in printmaking and beyond. His impact shaped generations of artists, curators, and cultural workers throughout the U.S. and abroad. He left us in 2013, far too soon—but his legacy endures in the community he built and the lives he changed. |
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The Northern Triangle
2018
Screenprint
22 x 30 in.
Thousands of children, mostly from El Salvador, Honduras, and Guatemala, arrive in the U.S. alone, fleeing violence. This work highlights the heartbreak of parents forced to send them away, unaware of the lasting trauma of abandonment, mistreatment, and the cruel irony of a scarred "American Dream."
2018
Screenprint
22 x 30 in.
Thousands of children, mostly from El Salvador, Honduras, and Guatemala, arrive in the U.S. alone, fleeing violence. This work highlights the heartbreak of parents forced to send them away, unaware of the lasting trauma of abandonment, mistreatment, and the cruel irony of a scarred "American Dream."
Separated Minor #2,739 (Detenido), 2019
Photopolymer gravure and Screenprint 22 x 30 in. Children have been separated from their parents at the southern border as part of the USA’s Federal government zero tolerance policy. Parents have been prosecuted for entering the country illegally and their children have been taken away from them and placed into separate custody. More than 3,000 children have been detained in the last few months (December 2018 to February 2019). Very few have been able to reunite with their parents and the others continue to be in captivity being treated like animals. This inhumane policy will scar these innocent children forever. |
We are all in the same boat
2019 Screenprint collage, and thread drawings 11 x 15 in. Regardless of background and upbringing, as mothers, wives, daughters, sisters, or aunts, on some level, we all face the various hurdles of sexism, discrimination, and prejudice. The only way to overcome these hurdles is to be in the same boat, supporting and uplifting each other as a united front. |
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Confía (Believe)
2020 Screenprint, digital print, and blind embossment 11 x 15 in. To this day, we witness humanity’s darkest sides – cruelty, destruction, and disregard for our world. Yet, throughout history, there have always been those who counterbalance this with kindness, compassion, and love. Despite daily hardships, hope endures. The goodness in people keeps this planet alive and will help it thrive. I believe in the younger generations—their fight for a better world and their commitment to humanity will shape a future rooted in love and justice. |
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BLM, Alto a la violencia injustificada!
2020 Screenprint, chine collé and blind embossment 12 x 18 in. In 2020, the world went silent—and at the same time, it rose up. This piece is my response to that moment, shaped by the collective cry of the Black Lives Matter movement and a personal meditation on the weight of injustice. It reflects on how deeply racism is rooted, and how wrong it is to measure a person’s worth by the color of their skin. All colors make black. And black, the fullest and richest of them all, carries the strength of every shade within it. |
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Paz y Amor en esta tierra
2022 Screenprint 15 x 22 in. In a world that often feels broken, this piece is a reminder of what we still long for: peace and love on earth. A heart, open and strong. Doves in flight. Roses in bloom. These symbols speak a simple truth—we are meant to care for one another. This print is a quiet call to hold onto that truth, and to believe that even now, something beautiful can grow. |
Tira y Afloja
(Tug of War)
2022
Screenprint
22 x 30 in.
Being an immigrant is like living in a quiet tug of war. Like the rope pulled tight between two sides, you’re stretched between the place you came from and the place you’re trying to belong. The dominant culture pulls you to assimilate, to let go. But your heart remembers — you already had a culture, a language, a way of being that shaped you.
In that tension, something else is born. You don’t lose one side to keep the other — you carry both. And in that pull, you’re not torn — you’re made whole. Enriched by the weight of both worlds.
(Tug of War)
2022
Screenprint
22 x 30 in.
Being an immigrant is like living in a quiet tug of war. Like the rope pulled tight between two sides, you’re stretched between the place you came from and the place you’re trying to belong. The dominant culture pulls you to assimilate, to let go. But your heart remembers — you already had a culture, a language, a way of being that shaped you.
In that tension, something else is born. You don’t lose one side to keep the other — you carry both. And in that pull, you’re not torn — you’re made whole. Enriched by the weight of both worlds.
Felipe Gómez Alonso
(Víctima desapercibida)
2024
Screenprint and thread drawing
13 x 19 in.
Felipe was eight years old — a child from Guatemala, the second to die in U.S. migrant custody under the 2018 “zero tolerance” policy. Detained alongside his father, he fell ill, and what should have been a treatable illness — influenza B — became fatal.
He came seeking safety, a better life, and instead met a system that saw him as less than a child. Felipe became one of many — lives lost quietly, without justice, without pause. His name, now part of a silence that stretches across the border, reminds us of the human cost behind every policy.
(Víctima desapercibida)
2024
Screenprint and thread drawing
13 x 19 in.
Felipe was eight years old — a child from Guatemala, the second to die in U.S. migrant custody under the 2018 “zero tolerance” policy. Detained alongside his father, he fell ill, and what should have been a treatable illness — influenza B — became fatal.
He came seeking safety, a better life, and instead met a system that saw him as less than a child. Felipe became one of many — lives lost quietly, without justice, without pause. His name, now part of a silence that stretches across the border, reminds us of the human cost behind every policy.
Sandra C. Fernandez presentation
