When the Ghost Enters the Wood: In Conversation with Raul De Lara
Portrait of Raul de Lara. Courtesy of Hannah Edelman.
At a time when immigration policies in the U.S. remain precarious and the future of DACA hangs in uncertainty, Raul De Lara’s Raíces/Roots arrives as both a personal milestone and a powerful artistic statement. The New York-based Mexican-American artist, known for his uncanny and deeply symbolic wooden sculptures, presents his debut solo museum exhibition at the SCAD Museum of Art—a moment that is all the more profound given his status as a DACA recipient. Blending traditional woodworking with surrealism, furniture design, and references to labor and migration, his sculptures embody the tensions of belonging, resilience, and survival. In this conversation, De Lara reflects on the stakes of this exhibition, the role of storytelling in his work, and how sculpture becomes a vessel for both memory and resistance.
Francisco Donoso: Your work is deeply personal and rooted in your lived experience as an immigrant. Can you talk about how your journey from Sinaloa to the U.S. has shaped your artistic practice?
Raul De Lara: Devoting my life to my artistic practice is an act of self-empowerment; woodworking cannot be taken away from me even if I am deported. I was born in Culiacán, Sinaloa, in 1991. My father was working as an architect there during that year, but when I was one, we moved to Torreon, Coahuila, where I grew up. My childhood in Mexico was filled with moments surrounded by materials, tools, and wonder. I remember the first time I discovered glue—where two become one. I remember how my mother would always point out things for me to notice: the space where two materials meet, the texture of things, and seemingly distressed moments in materials, such as cracks or discoloration. Both my maternal and paternal families are creatives—architects, casino decorators, engineers, and language professors. Mexico also has this ineffable quality of being able to perceive the hands that make a place and the pride of being able to keep things standing. Being born and raised in this type of setting gave me a deep appreciation for material dexterity, deep curiosity, and a weird sense of humor. We left our lives in México behind in August of 2004. We left because of family tragedies, a growing sense of insecurity in the city, and for hopes of a better, longer life elsewhere. My journey from México to the USA shaped my practice in ways that I am still slowly discovering today.
FD: How does the legal and political condition of being a DACA recipient shape or inform your practice?
RDL: After 20 years of being here undocumented and later with DACA, I have come to realize that my political condition has given me a resourceful way of seeing and interacting with the world. I have been in the USA since 2004, undocumented for the first 8 years, and with DACA since 2012. During those first 8 years, I was too young to really understand what my status meant in Texas. I just knew that I couldn’t get in trouble like the other kids did. This condition sort of made me grow up faster than I would have wanted. I developed a tic for always looking at the rearview mirror while driving, and a tic for taking my life seriously, hoping to never see cops.
As I got older, learning English as a creative person was a very interesting position to be in. Not only was I learning how to objectively speak my thoughts and feelings, but I also had to learn the linguistic gymnastics to express my ideas more effectively. In addition to all of this, I spent almost a decade of my life as a sponsored freestyle BMX rider learning the language of concrete and wood shapes to be able to speak with my bike through them. I think these conditions combined created my current interest in sculpture. I use spoken and written language, the coded language of shapes, and the tools and materials for human connection.
Not being able to travel and see the world has also been a painful reality that has shaped my practice since coming here. As an artist, I have a burning desire to go see every corner of every damn place in this world. But I wouldn’t be able to come back in if I left. It feels a bit sad, but making my work and being able to share it worldwide has been the temporary band-aid covering this deep cut over the years. Like many immigrants, we have to find meaningful ways to feel part of the larger world while being in our golden cages. In recent years, I have made a conscious decision not to let this narrative dictate my artwork ideas as much. It used to feel so important to say, but now I find peace also expressing other aspects of what makes up my identity.
Portrait of Raul De Lara. Photo courtesy of the artist.
FD: What drew you to wood as your primary medium?
RDL: I come from a family that believes in luck, ghosts, and bingo. From a young age, they taught me that materials, objects, and spaces hold energy, and how this energy can be utilized to create beautiful things if one is patient enough. Growing up in my parent’s woodshop in Mexico introduced me to the world of woodworking. A world where each tool has its own language, each piece of wood shows the passing of time on its skin, and where one is able to communicate through their hands. Mexico is a country where people believe. I grew up seeing people whittle tree branches into saints. The idea that at some point during the carving process, a saint would come live inside the stick overawed me. I am still asking myself how that happens. At what point does the ghost enter the wood?
FD: When I look at your work, I often think about the labor involved in woodworking and creating uncanny, hyperrealist objects. What’s your relationship to labor, and is there pleasure involved?
RDL: My relationship to labor is simple: I find work important. My work ethic is aligned with my values more than my feelings. I do love the extreme exhaustion that comes after making something. I think it ties back to my extreme sports days. I find pleasure in heightened stages of focus. I will also say that I’ve been on a personal quest to find more pleasurable ways to sand wood. That is the one thing I dislike in my practice, but I am a finish-fetish guy at the end of the day.
FD: Your work explores the intersections of migration, labor, and cultural memory, but queerness is also an integral part of your identity. How does your queer perspective shape your approach to sculpture and storytelling, especially in Raíces/Roots?
RDL: Scott Burton and his work really opened my eyes to ways of thinking about queerness in sculpture. I see queerness in my work as that malleable, ever-changing feeling of belonging. There are times when being an outsider means being beautiful, serious, and put together; there are other times when belonging is rough, misshaped, and indescribable. I often think about how we can create new traditions or aesthetics within a narrative full of stereotypes or expectations.
Installation view of Raul De Lara: Raíces/Roots at SCAD Museum of Art.
FD: Raíces/Roots marks your first solo museum exhibition. What was the most challenging or surprising part of preparing for this show? This exhibition was inspired by your return to Mexico after nearly 20 years. How did that trip influence the making of this exhibition?
RDL: During the initial months of preparation for the show, I had a clear idea about what the show was going to look like. It was all going smoothly. Then, a few months into preparation, something unexpected happened. I was faced with the possibility of maybe going back to Mexico after almost 20 years. Due to the drastic decline of my grandmother’s health and her critical state, I was able to apply for what is called an Emergency Advance Parole. This permit would allow me to go see her before her passing. The process of acquiring all the documents was very emotional, and then my interview was really a hard moment because they would tell me yes or no on the spot. During my interview, they asked me why I needed to be there with her if I already had so many family members by her side. I told them that I didn’t know when she was going to die again, so I needed to see her now. I was granted the permit at 2 pm, and by 6 pm, I was already on my flight back to Mexico! I immediately told the museum curator that we needed to pause the entire exhibition because I was going back home, and I knew this trip would affect what I would ultimately do for the show.
I stayed there for three weeks, and it totally changed me. I felt a deep sense of closure to a part of my life that helped me see my art practice and time in the US from a different position. The title for this show and my newest most enormous sculpture in it came directly from this trip. The large monstera leaf shapes directly reference leaves I saw while walking in my uncle’s neighborhood in CDMX. Something changed in me during that trip. Over the years, I have followed Reddit and Facebook groups of fellow DACA folks who have gone back to their respective homelands. Everyone leaves so scared yet full of wonder, but comes back with what feels like a new life. I think something deeply meaningful happens when one gets to see a parallel life in a place so familiar yet so foreign, where a different version of yourself could have existed but never did. I couldn’t help but wonder what my life and art would have looked like if we never left.
Installation view of Raul De Lara: Raíces/Roots at SCAD Museum of Art.
FD: What is it like to reach this milestone in your career during the current political and cultural time we’re living through?
RDL: It honestly feels wonderful and scary at the same time. Being formerly undocumented and currently with DACA, and then being an artist who talks about these aspects of my life publicly in my work inherently puts a target on my back. When I was younger, I felt conflicted about wanting to be a public figure (artist) while at the same time keeping these details out of my work out of fear. As I get older and become reminded daily of the total horror we live under, I find it even more important than ever to show face and stand proud with my communities. You gotta show your face to have one. Knowing that I was going to have the opportunity to be in a college setting, I knew I wanted to connect with the younger generations there. I gave them an artist talk that I wish I had received when I was in their shoes and as an undocumented student. It felt special to be able to meet other undocumented, DACA, or international students and hear from them that my talk gave them a sense of hope for their own lives.
Installation view of Raul De Lara: Raíces/Roots at SCAD Museum of Art.
FD: The materials you use—like Zompantle wood and Tz’ite beans—carry cultural and symbolic meaning. What role does materiality play in how you craft and tell your stories?
RDL: The first time I ever had a show in México, since I couldn’t go, I got one of my teeth pulled out and used it in the sculpture I sent there. I wanted to send a piece of me back home and cross the border without being penalized. I grew up hearing my mom tell me a story about how she tied a red ribbon around her stomach while she was pregnant with me during an eclipse. This story eventually led me to mask makers and to a type of wood called Zompantle. To be able to work with Zompantle, I have to go through an elaborate series of events to get the wood from Mexico to my studio in New York. I had to get a family friend to go find a Zompantle tree in the geographical location where they grow, harvest the wood, and dry it. He then cuts me into rectangular blocks, and writes on them “LIVE LOVE LAUGH” and ships them to me as art. Then I carve my masks from the blocks.
Installation view of Raul De Lara: Raíces/Roots at SCAD Museum of Art.
FD: I’m interested in the elements of magical realism that emerge while experiencing your works. At times they’re subtle, and at times they’re more pronounced—how do folklore, myth, or even paranormal encounters find their way into your practice?
RDL: Going back to the question of at what point does the ghost enter the piece of wood. With my practice, I take every opportunity to play with this idea. In many ways, I try to imbue a spark of life into my work, a personality, a spine. I see furniture and plants as the silent roommates we all have, which is why I often use plants or chairs in my work. I try to make works that feel like they are looking back at you—silent but perceivable in the room. I should also mention that I once was haunted by a carpenter ghost in Chicago. During my first week at a woodshop, I had freak accidents every day for a week straight until I communicated with him, and things got better. One of the sculptures in my SCAD show, “Inflatable tombstone/Ghost of Pepe” is a portal for him to communicate through, kind of like a hotel for ghosts. No one lives there but they can stay anytime they are passing by.
Raul De Lara in his Ridgewood Queens studio. Photo courtesy of the artist.
FD: Are there rituals you practice in the studio, or habits you’ve formed that you would consider sacred to you?
RDL: I clean my studio every day after working. That makes the day feel like it ended, disconnects me from my ever-present artist brain, and lets me have a new beginning the next day. I also use candles to set timers for things I don’t want to do so I don’t burn myself out. Seeing the flame keeps me going. Once it’s gone, I can change the moment. Another special ritual that I’ve been performing for well over a decade is that every time I move into a new studio, I pour a shot of tequila onto the empty floor from a special tequila bottle I won back in 2013. I also have my dad’s ashes in my studio. He never had a chance to come see my life in New York, so this is my way of having him here. The last ritual I will share is that I also have been working hard to create systems that streamline anxiety-inducing tasks in my studio, like taxes, emails, or anything on the computer. I set myself dedicated moments to do these tasks, and this ritual keeps the anxiety compartmentalized in its own folder.
This interview has been edited for clarity and length.
