Living in Miami is a lot like the end stages of hypothermia.

The final stages of the condition, where the body tricks itself into feeling warmth and comfort, only to then quietly kill you, is the best way I can describe the contemporary living conditions in Miami. Due to economic inequality, housing shortages, and environmental destruction, Miami– Florida’s second most populated city– has transformed from a place where families like mine could float along, lazy river style, into one where everyone but the ultra rich and wealthy tread water to keep their head above, desperate to avoid eventual drowning. From Swampland to projected Atlantis, I’ve watched my hometown shift into something unrecognizable. A city I love, the city that raised me, might soon be too expensive for me to imagine building roots similar to the mangroves that illustrated my childhood. In Hyperthermia, I document the absurd, ridiculous, and real experiences of growing up in Dade County, celebrate the 305 proudly, and preserve the memories of a Miami that existed before transplants, Northern Snowbirds, and the flood of the concrete jungle. Despite the stereotypes– t

he shady city for even shadier people, vacation central, vice city, a playground for bottles,beaches, bikinis, and BBLs– this is my home, and it always will be. 

In this body of work, I am translating the anxiety I feel about the current state and future of the City of Miami. Through imaging the familiar and constructing scenes of absurdity, the work in this series, at the end of the day, is about the love I have for my “hometown”—dispelling the stereotypes of what the city and a Miamian are like. Through photographs, cyanotypes, installation, stop motion animation, and artist books, I share the full story: one that embraces contradiction, acknowledges the weight of crisis, and still finds space for care, memory, and tenderness. Hyper-thermia is both a warning and a love letter.

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