Art in the Moment: Paul Torres

This is the first in an ongoing series exploring how artists are navigating our current political climate. I'm talking to artists about what they're dealing with, how they're processing it, and what they're creating as a result. Because honestly? We need to know we're not alone in this.

High Desert Girl, Oil - Paul Torres

By Kristine Schomaker

Paul Torres makes paintings that pulse with life and unapologetic beauty. In a world that feels like it's spinning faster every day, this feels revolutionary.

Paul sees art as "a form of communication, a bridge, a unifying tool" that can help people see things with new perspective. Born in Chile and trained at Art Center College of Design, he brings a sophisticated understanding of both technique and purpose to his work. His paintings aren't just about surface beauty—they're about creating something powerful enough to cut through all the noise competing for our attention, something that can "bring beauty, hope, joy, faith, healing, happiness, inspiration" to viewers.

Paul found me through social media when I put out a call for artists to participate in this series. He was immediately generous with his time and thoughts. What struck me most about our conversation wasn't just his commitment to joy in his work—it was his clarity about what he can and cannot control.

The current political climate has definitely changed Paul's daily life as an artist, but not in the way you might expect. Instead of retreating, he's reaching out—connecting with more artists to build a larger community. Instead of making less, he's putting more effort into creating meaningful art that reaches more people. This is what resilience looks like in practice.

But here's what's interesting: Paul isn't leaning toward explicitly political work. He's deliberately choosing to create paintings that give people peace of mind, happiness, and hope. And honestly? In a world full of anxiety and division, choosing to create peace feels deeply political.

Paul's approach to staying informed while protecting his mental health is refreshingly honest. He tries not to listen to the news much because he never liked politics to begin with. "I'm trying to be as happy and as strong as I can possibly be, so I can be productive, and helpful to others," he tells me. This hits differently when you really think about it. Paul's not checking out—he's checking in. With himself, with his capacity, with what he needs to show up for his community. There's wisdom in knowing your limits.

When I ask about his role as an artist during these times, Paul offers something grounding: "I think the role for us artists has always been the same, regardless of what's going on with the governments around the world. I think the role of an artist is to try to entertain and make people happy." While everything else shifts and changes, Paul holds steady to what he believes art should do. There's something stabilizing about that perspective, especially right now.

He's thoughtful about the different paths artists can take during political upheaval. "We can try to be social activists, or we can try to bring beauty and happiness to the world. It's such a personal decision. I personally shy away from politics." This is permission-giving at its finest. Paul isn't saying one approach is better than another—he's saying we get to choose. And his choice? Beauty and happiness. In a time when those things feel radical, maybe they are.

What about the practical concerns—arts funding, institutional support, all the external pressures that keep so many of us up at night? Paul's response is a masterclass in boundaries: "I try not to worry about stuff like that. Life is way too short to worry about everything. I focus on what I do have control over which is me and my mind and my artwork, and I try to make it in a way that people like it."

Reading this, I thought about all the energy I've spent worrying about things completely outside my control. Paul's approach feels revolutionary—not because he doesn't care, but because he cares so much about what he can actually influence.

Paul takes the long view when thinking about how this period will be remembered in art history. "This is just another chapter in the books of history. Wherever there's people, there's gonna be changes of some kind. Some of the events are gonna be positive, and some negative. We just need to try to keep strong." There's something both humbling and hopeful about this perspective. Paul places our current moment in the context of all human experience—which somehow makes it feel both more manageable and more meaningful.

His advice to artists twenty years from now looking back at this time is simple and direct: "Focus on what you know, how to do best, the present, and look forward. Don't look back."

Talking with Paul reminded me that there are as many ways to be an artist during difficult times as there are artists. His approach—focusing on joy, connection, and what he can control—isn't the only way, but it's a way. And sometimes that's exactly what we need to hear.

If you're an artist struggling with how to respond to everything happening around us, maybe Paul's perspective offers something useful: You get to choose your lane. You get to decide how you contribute. You get to focus on what you can actually influence.

And sometimes, choosing to make beauty in a broken world is the most powerful thing you can do.

Want to be featured in this series? Follow this link. I'm looking for artists from all disciplines who are willing to share honestly about how they're navigating this moment.

High Desert Girl II, Oil, Paul Torres