There are artists who explore the world, and there are artists who allow the world to remake them. Ilsse Peredo belongs firmly to the latter. Born in Xalapa, Mexico and now based in Miami, Peredo is a multidisciplinary visual artist whose work moves between photography, video, performance, and immersive installation — each medium becoming a portal into the emotional and spiritual core of human experience.
Her practice is shaped as much by inner transformation as by the places she travels to, from the mountains of Bhutan to the deserts of the Navajo Nation and the ancestral landscapes of Mexico. These journeys have taught her about beauty, balance, gratitude, and the fragility of the world we share. They’ve also shown her how cultural traditions, belief systems, and everyday rituals can become bridges — reminding us of our interconnectedness across borders and histories.
What follows is a conversation about art, pilgrimage, memory, cultural sensitivity, and the practical realities of making work in remote and sacred places. It is also the story of an artist learning to trust her instincts, remove her ego, and find flight beyond familiar ground.
How and why did you became an artist?
I was born in Xalapa, Veracruz — a small mountainous city in the south of Mexico, full of artists, mysticism, and folklore. Art was everywhere in my home, not just for decoration but as a way of life.
I studied Advertising Management at the University of Miami and completed a minor in Art, which is when I first encountered photography — I had a great teacher there who taught me how to create stories through my photos. After completing my MFA in Fine Arts at the Miami International University of Art and Design, my practice evolved naturally into installation and performance as I became interested in creating environments and embodied experiences that expand beyond the photographic frame.
Can you describe your work?
My practice moves across photography, video, performance, and immersive installation. I’m interested in creating work that engages the body, the senses, and the spirit — work that asks questions about memory, belonging, ancestry, and the ways in which we are shaped by the worlds we inhabit.
You’ve talked about your practice as a raw and unfiltered journey through a fragmented world. Can you give me an example of how that translates into your work?
One example is Sangre Mi Sangre, (Blood from my Blood ) a performance I created during quarantine in 2020, in anticipation of March 8th, the annual feminist march in Mexico, where women take to the streets to protest against gender violence.
The first version was recorded in my old studio with three GoPro cameras. I am inside a white room with cleaning supplies, attempting to clean the space with red paint symbolizing blood. The more I clean, the messier everything becomes — a visual and emotional metaphor for the frustration and exhaustion of confronting systemic gender violence, and the feeling that despite constant efforts, our voices are still not fully heard.
A second version, with a video screening, altar installation and photography was later presented in the exhibition Mujeres, at Homework. The work had a profound impact, especially among people who were not familiar with the reality of femicide in Mexico, but who recognized its resonance with women everywhere.
Can you talk me through how your current solo show at Homework ‘ojos que no ven’ came to mind and how you planned it?
I knew I wanted to create an immersive experience and I was thinking about perception — how we see, what we avoid seeing, and how empathy begins.
The title ‘ojos que no ven’ comes from the Mexican saying “ojos que no ven, corazón que no siente” (out of sight, out of mind). I leave the phrase unfinished as a question: What happens when we choose to look away? What changes when we dare to look with presence, curiosity, and responsibility?
What happens when we choose to look away? What changes when we dare to look with presence, curiosity, and responsibility?
I travelled to Bhutan because I was drawn to its philosophical and spiritual values. The project expanded into a narrative that connects Bhutan, Mexico, and the Navajo Nation. I began recognizing echoes of belief systems I had grown up with in Mexico — ritual, ancestral memory, interdependence, and reverence for the land.
In the Navajo Nation, I encountered the principle of Hózhó — beauty, balance, harmony, and right relation with the world. It resonated with Mexican and Mesoamerican concepts of death, reciprocity, and the cyclical nature of life.
Did you have an idea about what you wanted to photograph?
Before traveling, I knew I didn’t want to just ‘collect images’, but to enter into real conversations with the people and their way of life so I set about asking questions: How do different cultures articulate well-being? How is memory held in the body? What does reverence look like in daily life?
Photography became a way of approaching those questions slowly, ethically, and with reciprocity.
Can you tell me about the Bhutanese philosophy of Gross National Happiness?
It’s literally the happiest country in the world! Gross National Happiness is a social philosophy developed in Bhutan as an alternative to measuring progress through economic growth. Rather than prioritizing GDP, the country evaluates well-being through environmental stewardship, cultural preservation, community health, and spiritual fulfilment.
What moved me was not ‘happiness’ as emotion, but happiness as ethics — a belief that individual well-being cannot be separated from the well-being of others, or from the land that sustains us and these ideas echoed the themes in my work.
As an artist working often in these remote, sacred, or unfamiliar landscapes, what are the practical challenges you face?
It requires both planning and sensitivity. I research protocols and histories and I work with local guides, and move slowly — not only for safety, but to ensure I am entering spaces responsibly.
The logistical challenges are real and image-making involves trust, but some places are not meant to be photographed — part of my work is accepting that boundary.
How do you approach photographing in a way that preserves respect for the cultural traditions you draw from?
You’ve got to be culturally sensitive, I take my time and I earn trust. Respect begins long before the camera does, with learning, so I always discuss the what the project is about and make sure I am completely respectful of culture and traditions. I don’t want to consume culture; I want to participate in its preservation. Once the images are made, another responsibility begins — a vessel for memory, handled with care — the camera becomes a tool for stewardship.
In ojos que no ven, your photographic sculptures move beyond the flat image into physical space. What were you hoping to achieve?
I was interested in moving beyond the photograph as a fixed surface toward an experience that required the body to participate.
The sculptures are built with translucent fabric, so when viewers walk around them, they inevitably see themselves within the work — becoming part of the moment, part of the blessing.
Large-scale photographs became portals, inviting people into other worlds and other ways of seeing. You don’t need a plane ticket to travel; you can travel through art!
Looking back on these journeys, what has been the most unexpectedly difficult aspect of your practice? And what has been the most unexpectedly beautiful?
One of the most difficult aspects has been learning how to hold the emotional and ethical weight of the stories I encounter — to witness without appropriating, and to translate without reducing.
‘The beauty is in realizing that I am not just making work — I am being remade by it.’
The most beautiful aspect has been the way the divine speaks to me through people and places — shaping me with lessons and blessings I could never script. I often say that I am a museum of every human and every land that has touched me. The beauty is in realizing that I am not just making work — I am being remade by it.
How do you market yourself? Do you have any tips for up-and-coming artists?
Marketing as an artist is really about clarity and connection. Document your work, write about it, and build relationships with people who resonate with what you do. Social media can help, but integrity matters more than metrics. Opportunities come when you take your practice seriously and share it with intention.
So, what’s next for you?
I’ll continue expanding my practice through travel and research. Right now, my focus is exploring within the United States as a way of honoring the land that has been home to me for the past eleven years. I just returned from New Mexico — a magical place with a strong energy — and I’ll be working with those photographs next.
Alongside my artistic practice, I run S.Lab, a studio specializing in event and experience design that works globally. We have exciting projects coming up next year including a celebration for the Super Bowl, and I’m grateful for the opportunity to keep creating spaces that bring people together.
Where can people buy your work?
People can inquire directly through me or through Homework, which represents the work from the current exhibition. I work in limited editions and unique pieces, and prices vary depending on scale, medium, and edition size.
CONTACT:
Website: ilsseperedo.com
Instagram: ilsse_p
Gallery: Homework
Email: i@ilsseperedo.com
S.Lab Design Studio enquiries: ilsse@slaboratorio.com
An insightful and expansive conversation, Clare. I appreciated how this moved beyond reviewing the exhibition to follow the artist’s journey, the choices, encounters, and transformations that clarify where the work comes from and where it might be headed.