My vision stretched across the vastness of the expanse before me – the last few miles of El Paso, Texas, the U.S./ Mexico border, and beyond that, Juarez, Mexico – only to be disrupted by a structure rising over 200 feet tall, dwarfing its surroundings for miles. An X. Not just a letter, but a declaration.

La Equis stood above the border: its symmetry intentional, its wide stance resolute and burning with intent, a deep red against the sky. I’d spent the week working with the Border Servant Corps, a non-profit providing services to migrants after they cross the border. Seeing the bold X reawakened the sadness I’d been feeling over policies that negated the humanity of people simply because they came from the other side of the divide. There was no pamphlet, no plaque, no docent offering interpretations, but it struck me harder than anything I’d ever seen in a museum gallery. 

I later learned that this sculpture was originally meant to acknowledge the merging of Spanish and Indigenous cultures, but for me, the towering X stood as a commentary on today’s clashing cultures at the border. I was struck by the power of art. La Equis transformed the landscape itself, casting shadows on the neighboring houses, making highways swerve around it, forcing people to squint at its brightness rising out of the desert. In a world where attention is currency and algorithms dictate visibility, sculpture refuses to be scrolled past.

La Equis’ unapologetic presence made its statement visceral, saying everything it needed to say without words. See La Equis reshaped how I approached my own art work; as a sculptor, I realized I could use my art to reflect on my family’s immigration journey and spark dialogue about the broader immigrant experiences in America.

In my piece Heritage, for example, I explore aspiration, migration, and identity in a work that speaks to the American Dream in the context of my family’s history: two plaster-cast hands, one painted to resemble my own and the other after the Statue of Liberty, form a pinky promise, accompanied by a paper-mache passport bearing my parents’ images. While La Equis demands passersby to confront the border, Heritage asks viewers to reckon with sacrifice, hope, and legacy, raising the question: What promise does America still owe its people, and how do we hold it accountable?

With La Equis as inspiration, I hope to continue to use art to make people reflect on the immigrant experience – past and future.