Where's the Magic?
✨artists, it's our time to SHINE✨
When I was little, I used to have this recurring daydream that I was standing in front of a massive crowd. In the daydream, I was in my body and saw everything through my eyes, so when I looked down, I could see my feet. I could see my hands presenting something animatedly, as I usually talk. I could see the crowd go on for miles— it was never-ending. I never could see what I was presenting… I just remember seeing the crowd. Excited, enthralled, emotional. For me.
I remember the feeling of confidence. I remember dreaming this dream often. I would zone in and out of class and take myself to this place— where I didn’t know why, but everyone wanted to see what I had to show.
My friend Savana and I have this theory that there are two types of people: those who practiced signing autographs obsessively in their diaries and journals and those who never even had the thought cross their minds. You know who you are. And if you hadn’t guessed, I was the former— signing autographs and caring about perfecting my signature, more than taking notes in Math class. I knew my strengths early on.
When discussing this theory, Savana and I conclude that those who practiced signing autographs as kids are a specific brand of “eclectic adult”. We often are bold, brave artist types—the kind whose houses you could imagine on Architecture Digest or Hoarders (depending on your point of view) and the kind of person who wants to make themselves known. These are my people.
When I got the call that I was being commissioned to photograph Taylor’s album, I was 24 years old. Though on the surface, I reeked of imposter syndrome, deep down I had a quiet confidence that I could do it. Lover would go on to be, not just, my first commercial job EVER, but the highest-selling album of 2019, slingshotting my images around the entire world. It dawned on me that my childhood daydreams had been more of a prophecy— and there I was, at 24 years old, standing on my social media stage, everyone looking at what I had to show.
The magic was there before Lover. I knew I wanted to be an artist since my parents left my home in Colombia with me when I was 5. We moved to Connecticut, the darkest, dingiest, greyest place in America— as seen through the eyes of a hyper-nostalgic 5-year-old flower, who was uprooted before she was ever given a chance to bloom.
Tropical flowers were not meant to bloom in sub-freezing temperatures. They aren’t meant to thrive in dusty apartments with blue-matted carpet that reeks of someone else’s cigarettes. Tropical flowers need sunshine and warmth and that was impossible when my mother couldn’t let us play outside, let alone look out the window, because there were drug deals happening below. Against all odds, the magic that was planted in me back home had miraculously taken root. When I was painting butterflies with my grandfather, or watching my grandmother mix her oils and pastels, my magic was rooting. And so no matter how hard my new home tried to suffocate me— my magic persevered.
It showed up in the paintings that I made to decorate our apartment walls; in the books I illustrated to learn English; in the games of pretend that I spearheaded with my brother. And though I didn’t realize it, the magic oozed out of me everywhere I went.
I found myself in extra art classes, performing on the stage, leading the creative part of every group project, and having all my school projects put up on display. The universe affirmed me every step of the way: “You are meant to be an artist”.
It’s no surprise I didn’t get the chance to develop many skills outside of the arts. It was my whole life from the moment I was brought from the hospital to my grandparent’s home, which was covered in paintings and art supplies and a million little jars of taxidermy bugs for referencing.
There was never a moment I wasn’t asked to be an artist, as if God, himself, had hardwired everyone to know what I was as clearly as they know their own name.
My art has changed a lot throughout the years, but it has never strayed far from the magic that was planted in Colombia. My love for music, flowers, sunshine, color, and CAMP has only intensified and gotten more undeniably me.
So, in hindsight, it wasn’t that shocking that Taylor had wanted me for the Lover aesthetic— magic and love had been my entire brand for years. In the years since that project made its way around the world, I’ve had several heartbreaking traumas that pushed me into therapy, which I now know I should have started when my parents uprooted me from my home at the age of 5.
In every way, I am grateful for that decision. No doubt, my life would not be what it is without it. But such is the dichotomy of life. We must know dark if we want to know about light. We must know grief if we want to know about love. And so I hold galaxies of feelings inside of me, all swirling together like the evening sun and moon creating those iconic blue and purple-pink skies.
The magic found in my art is the product of the grief and desolation that tried to drown me when I was little. It is the hope and the resilience that pulled me out of those massive waves.
In recent years, I’ve learned that contrary to [my] popular belief, there’s actually nothing wrong with me. A myriad of mentors and people who have been sprinkled in my path as guiding lights remind me that my art is what it is because I feel things so deeply— without that personality quirk, the magic doesn’t look the same. I didn’t set out to heal my inner child, it just happened while I was using color and art to survive my circumstances.
Every decision I have ever made regarding my art has been a bold act of rebellion and a demonstration of my resilience—one step closer to making my dreams my reality. When I looked around and hated my new home, I painted rainbows and built forts to transport myself somewhere magical. When I realized that I loved the theater almost more than anything but not enough to go all in for a career, I turned to photography. I learned I could have all the things I loved about theater while letting go of acting. So, I created characters and settings for my photos, and my camera became my favorite tool to build my dreams.
The dreams only get bigger as I get older. The more I allow myself to play like a small child, the bigger the jobs get, the more people they reach, and the brighter they shine. That’s magic. Or living authentically. Which is something we’re all capable of. Believe me, I haven’t discovered some lost, unfound treasure. This is an opportunity available to us all. It’s not easy; I won’t downplay it. I make the choice to live my life authentically every day. I have to. I’m here to put color and light in dark places.
It’s a double-edged sword to know your purpose so clearly. On one hand, you don’t have to spend time figuring out what you’re meant to do, on the other hand, you have the moral responsibility to show up and serve your purpose; which on the days or weeks the world has taken its toll on you, can be especially difficult to do.
I turned 30 on November 7. It was a rough week and I struggled to find the motivation to celebrate. There's a heavy energy of despair and hopelessness that hangs, dense, in the air of my city. It’s even palpable across my social media. It felt weird to want people to care about my birthday when, objectively, there are way bigger priorities… but personally, it is a miracle to me that I am alive and so colorful despite all the things that have happened in my life. Especially given the past two years— I didn’t survive having cancer just to take another year of life for granted. All these feelings can exist at the same time. So I bought a cinnamon roll cake and made dinner for my family with my partner to celebrate and I pulled back from social media and turned off the notifications on my phone.
“Where is the magic?”
In times like these, all we can do is show up for each other authentically. The magic is not gone, even when it feels like someone snuffed out the flame that lit you up.
So, artists, it’s time to shine.
Now, more than ever, how we express ourselves, what we choose to say and put out into the world, is vital. Our art is our rebellion. Choosing light and color and love, in a world where there is so much hate and darkness, IS the rebellion. It is the way we fight. And it matters. It all matters.
Art doesn’t have to be inherently political or “deep” or raw to make a difference or to be valuable. I would actually argue that silly art— the stuff that feels meaningless to share but feels fulfilling and fun to make— is what’s invaluable. Yes, the world needs the art that documents the hard things that are happening; after all, history should be recorded in all its honesty and rawness. But we don’t have to search very hard these days for things that give us anxiety or sadness; just open up any social media or news app, it’s there: front and center. Finding hope and light seemingly becomes harder every day.
“Where’s the magic?”
It’s where it’s always been, look within.
When we let our creativity shine, when we let ourselves play and have fun and do the things that bring us joy, we are showing up authentically— the way we were meant to be. And when that’s the energy we put out, that is the glimmer of light in the darkness.
I’m so grateful that when I had the opportunity to impact millions of people it was with art that was about love and light. Even though that was 5 years ago, I’m reminded that God is never done with me. God is never done with me because if I show up with gratitude and faith to every room that I’m called into, God will always be able to work through me.
I thought being 30 meant I’d be an entirely different person. And if I compare myself to who I was at 19, in many ways, I am. But also, I’m not very different than who I was a week ago when I was 29. Time is relative. And we make milestones that we decide matter or don’t. Anxiety won’t disappear entirely, but I will continue becoming more equipped to work with her.
Desperate times call for desperate measures: PLAY. LAUGH. CRY. SING (even badly still counts!!). HOPE. WRITE. MAKE THE ART THAT BRINGS YOU JOY, AND THEN SHARE IT. This is all I have to offer right now. I love my silly, colorful, beautiful little art. I love how it makes me feel, and I am grateful to know how it brings people joy, whether it’s being shared in front of millions or whether I only show it to my mom. This is how I change the world. This is how I give people hope. This is my magic.
If you’re new, these are three pieces that show a range of what you’ll find here:
Thank you for being here. Paid subscriptions allow me to keep writing these pieces, amongst all the other creative endeavors I’m navigating. Your support gifts me the opportunity to continue exploring myself as an artist. I’m a photographer, a director, a writer, a speaker, a painter, a collage artist,— a world-maker. I can’t stay in just one medium… somehow, they must all overlap, intertwine, and co-exist. The results are the creative worlds I keep on making. I find purpose and value in sharing the process, the highs, the lows— the magic, and the mayhem.
If you’re not a paid subscriber already, I’d love it if you’d consider upgrading. (And if you are, thank you, I appreciate you greatly.)
It is not lost on me, that when you choose to support “Of Magic and Mayhem” you are acknowledging that you value the work I’m making. Art must be liberated from inside our heads and welcomed by others to complete the circle. In this way, we are in a creative dance, collaborating on filling the world with more good than bad. I’m grateful for this magic.
My goal with “Of Magic and Mayhem” is to show you how to find the magic in your own lives. Through vulnerability, creative practices, and choosing to shift your energy to focus on the magic, you will inevitably find it. This work is important to me and I want to make it as accessible as possible!
I know firsthand how life can take us from what felt like the top of the world, to the depths of all hardships. If this is you, and you’d still like to have access to the magic in this space, just send me an email to v@valheriarocha.com and I’ll gift you a paid subscription for a year. All I ask is that you share the magic by interacting with my posts, or sharing your favorite ones on social media and tagging me @valheria123.
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As always, I hope you keep finding your magic!
with love,
Beautiful piece. And Happy 30! BTW, I think you are different at 30, but then again, I think we're different every day. Each morning we open our eyes and we're given the opportunity to rewrite our stories- sometimes dramatically and sometimes subtly and sometimes in such tiny ways we're barely able to feel them. But that change is what we live for and what we bring to our work and the people around us.
I hope you're doing well. I wish you all good things, F
Also happy belated birthday! 🎈