Visual Artist
Carolina Echeverría is an acclaimed artist known for her thought-provoking work that delves into the complexities of the human experience and the transcendent nature of art.
With a background in Fine Arts from Concordia University and UQAM, she has been a prominent figure in the art world since 1987, earning recognition both nationally and internationally. She played a pioneering role in establishing Art Depot, Montreal's first gallery for immigrant artists.
Journey
I see myself as "a writer whose strongest language was art." At 21, as a new immigrant navigating two languages just to function, I turned to painting—it was the fastest way to express emotion and experience when words failed me. Chileans speak the fastest Spanish, and I’ve always felt the need to exchange ideas quickly, faster than the norm.
My first series was a way to cope with the trauma of immigration—that painful break from whom I might have been. Under the Table depicted the unseen, the double narrative of a table, above and below. It reflected my childhood memories of escaping the stiffness of family meals, hiding underneath and observing the adults—not through their words, but through their bodies, unaware of my gaze. It was also about my little brother, the hardest person to have left behind. On the table, Abandonment; under the table, Survival.
Under the Table
My sudden success at selling all of my Under The Table series during my first exhibition as a student at Concordia University, appeared to me as an ethical issue, what was art about? In Chile, art was a tool for change and resistance, here it was art for art’s sake. I started my dresses as installations in order to create art that could not be sold. This transition was seen in those early works where I processed my immigration as a real-time metamorphosis. I began representing this transformation through the figure of Jesus as the Lamb of God—not as a symbol of sacrifice, as in Christianity, but as an embodiment of the adoration of pain and suffering I had experienced growing up Catholic in Chile. The horror of the dictatorship was not just political; it was tolerated, accepted, and ingrained in daily life. We deserved and embraced pain because there was that other world waiting. I painted the reverse of that process, the lamb of god becoming human. It was during this time that I incorporated wire into my paintings, the same wire I used in my dresses. It reminded me of the thorns in Jesus' crown—a visceral link between suffering and resilience. My first piece in this exploration was a large fresco-like painting honoring those assassinated and disappeared under the dictatorship.For me, the only way forward was to transform the brutality I had witnessed into a newfound freedom—the freedom to simply be, to exist without constraint, to become anything I chose. In 1991, five years after my departure, the Rettig Report was released, documenting the names and fates of over 3,000 victims. That painting paid tribute to some of them and during the exhibition where I showed this piece, I watched as a man stood before the piece, crying. When I approached, he told me he had been the last person to see Levy Arraño, one of the men I had painted—alive. This piece was also my own processing of the dictatorship that took place three days shy of my ninth birthday.
I had once hoped to paint all the disappeared, but I never did—until now. As a member of La Colectiva Crear Poder Popular, I have joined in the creation of a colossal arpillera, ensuring that every one of them is finally honored. The last painting of this series was painted in Chile as a gift to my youngest brother for his wedding, in hopes that he would find the same salvation from existencial pain that I found in immigration.
A short-lived series followed, reflecting my experience of motherhood—dark backgrounds conveying the unspoken struggles of raising children in a new land, the isolation, the absence of a supportive community.
Maternidad
And, then came my Blue Ladies, a series that lasted for years, actually has never ended. The Blue Lady became an archetype, allowing me to speak about all women, regardless of origin or difference.
Judaica was another short-lived series, an expression of my Judaism from a deeply spiritual, Kabbalistic perspective. I created 18 large, square paintings with blue backgrounds—originally meant as tablecloths for my son’s bar mitzvah. After the event, I framed the pieces and exhibited them. As a convert, I cherished this time, when I was able to engage with the Jewish community as an artist. All the paintings were inspired by the concept of חֶסֶד - kindness.
Next came The Tattoo Series, featuring rich red backgrounds and Blue Ladies using their bodies as canvases for self-expression. This became my most commercially successful series—over 90% of the works were sold. Yet, despite its financial success, the gallery experience proved uninspiring. What I love about that series was the opportunity to share my work with so many who connected to the meditative experience of self expression through tatouage. I abandoned it to begin a new decade-long exploration: Native-Immigrant.
El nido de mis brazos
After studying Norval Morrisseau’s art—so similar to the Chilean muralist movement Brigada Ramona Parra—I sought to find common ground between immigrants and First Nations. At the same time, I was deeply troubled by Canada’s inaction on climate change. That’s when I learned about Idle No More, an Indigenous-led movement that transcended differences for a greater cause. First Nations have always been ahead of the rest.
Over three years, I created a series of 30 paintings, beginning with my most iconic piece: Hope. A Blue Lady steers a canoe carrying two children and an elderly woman—symbolizing the heart of immigration. The children represent the future; the elder represents roots. This painting was exhibited worldwide and used by various organizations, churches, and academics for conferences, posters, and publications. The original is now in a private collection in the U.S., while limited edition prints have appeared on book covers.
Eventually, I donated several pieces to a family in Kahnawake and retired the collection when discussions of cultural appropriation began to circulate. At the time, Elisa Pie called me an example of cultural collaboration in her interview with Jeanette Kelly (CBC). Yet, for those unfamiliar with Brigada Ramona Parra, the significance of drawing parallels between cultures might be lost. Back in the 1960s, Pablo Neruda urged students to explore their Indigenous roots—this was the birth of the Brigada Ramona Parra movement, named after a student killed in a protest. That same call to connect with our origins has echoed throughout my artistic practice.
Bilingualism, 2013
My latest series, Stardust, began with a commission: a tribute painting for a young man who tragically died in a kayak accident. He loved space, and—since my instinct is always to transform pain into beauty—I found inspiration in his eulogy, which quoted Saint-Exupéry: "You will find me in the stars." This led me to explore the idea that we, as humans, share DNA with the stars—we are, quite literally, stardust. This concept became the foundation for the arpillera No Me Olviden, a piece commemorating the 3,200 assassinated and disappeared during the Chilean dictatorship. www.nomeolviden.com
Stardust, 2023
Dresses
Garments for survival
I created my Garments for Survival, transparent, yet metal made armors to induce a feeling of protection against my personal experience with immigration. My grandmother taught me to crochet, I chose galvanized wire to sculpt these garments which provided protection for so many aspects of my life as a newcomer. These sculptural dresses were exhibited throughout Canada, they represented Quebec in Paris 2000, they were showcased at the Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes in Chile and they were sold at several art shows in Europe, USA and Canada.
Little Dresses for the Heart
To make my dresses more affordable to the clients I developed a series of dresses for the heart. If your heart could wear a dress, what would it look like? These delightful sculptures allowed me to go deeper into my creative process.
Native Immigrant Dresses
Immigration has been at the core of my artistic practice. My artistic process brought me back to revising my roots when I realized I had come to Canada, but it was Quebec, and Quebec was actually native land. As an immigrant I saw more commonality with First nations than with white settlers due to our displacement, loss of culture and languages. To me, Canada is a developing relationship between Immigrants and First Nations. “We are all immigrants with different arrival dates.” The first Native-Immigrant event took place in the winter of 2013 when I reworked this colonial notion of forcing immigrants and First Nations to adhere to European norms into that of the re-rooted immigrant, the one who is mindful of this land, who wants to connect to it. The main activity in this event was the making of the NativeImmigrant dress, created with participants who brought an object and told their stories. I realized that regardless of all the good intentions, the current immigration process lacks the humanity to care for the wellbeing of immigrants as they age, their right to a fully integrated life and the right to die with peace in their hearts. During my ten years with Native Immigrant, nine dresses were created.
