Cara and Diego Romero’s Creative World

WHERE DID YOU START SHOWING TOGETHER?
Cara: Robert Nichols Gallery on Canyon Road. Diego had shown with Robert for 25 years, and though it was a ceramics gallery, he had wall space, right? He took a chance on contemporary Native photography and helped me get my start.
Diego: Robert was good at picking a horse [laughs].

HOW DID THE CARA ROMERO GALLERY COME ABOUT? 
Cara: I bought a commercial property in downtown Santa Fe in 2021 and opened it as my studio and exhibit space. As I got my sea legs with self-representation, I could share the real estate and the money with staff, keep resources local, and have agency over how many shows we have—curating our work and community. 
Diego: She’s my boss. And I like it that way. Then I can do what I do best: create. It’s really rare that an artist can do both—left brain and right brain stuff. And Cara is great at both. 

WHAT DOES SHOWING AT THE ALBUQUERQUE MUSEUM MEAN TO YOU?
Cara: Albuquerque Museum is a big deal. 
Diego: Decades ago, when [professional boxer] Johnny Tapia fought for the world title, he brought the bout to The Pit in Albuquerque. He could’ve fought in Las Vegas or anywhere in the world, but he brought it home. That’s how it feels. 

HOW DO YOU INFLUENCE EACH OTHER?
Diego: We share the same bed, you know? So we’re constantly bouncing ideas off each other. Yin and yang—female/male perspectives, intercultural roots, age differences, yet deep commitment to Native community. 
Cara: You’ll see overlaps: a Native astronaut, a coyote, one foot in pop culture and Indigenous Futurism. Lots of constructive critique and lots of support.
Diego: Like the other day, I was struggling with the breast on a figure drawing. 
Cara: He had it coming out of her side around her back! 
Diego: I asked Cara to show me the line—she picked up the pencil and nailed it.

WHAT DO YOU WANT PEOPLE TO TAKE AWAY FROM THE SHOW?
Diego: Resilience and optimism. The human condition repeats—colonizer/ colonized, environmental crisis—but we persevere. I mean, I dare say, relevant more today than I’ve ever seen in my 61 years on this planet.
Cara: My staged theatrical photographs are intentional but open. Diego and I tackle a lot of tough issues, but if viewers leave thinking about something they hadn’t considered—perhaps seeing a new truth for my community—that’s success.

WHAT’S NEXT? 
Cara: My first monograph with 65 images, Panûpünüwügai (Living Light) with Radius Books and the Hood Museum comes out in September. And later, a film-and-storytelling project with my Chemehuevi community in the Mojave Desert that I hope I can turn into a book as well. I began as a fiber artist so I will be teaching the art as well.  
Diego: A commission for the Tia Collection: a triptych of century vases, a timeline from contact to Los Alamos and into the future.  

IF YOU COULD WAKE UP TOMORROW HAVING GAINED ONE SUPERHERO POWER OR ABILITY, WHAT WOULD YOU CHOOSE?AND HOW MIGHT IT CHANGE YOUR ART?  
Diego: I don’t think I’d want a brand-new quality, but I would like to dial in on things I’m working on—like empathy. I want to be more compassionate. Lately I’ve been struggling with that—really struggling. It feels like that’s slipping away—inch by inch, like a backward slide. Every day I remind myself to be the kind of person my grandmother wanted me to be. I think about her a lot. 
Cara: During the pandemic it felt like everything sped up—we were doing more on computers and digital platforms. When things went back to in-person, I thought it might slow down. But now it feels like we’re moving full speed ahead, both online and in real life. That’s part of why I wanted to do more analog work—to slow down and be more intentional. Having more time would honestly feel like a superpower. I think we all need that: more intentionality, more face-to-face conversations, more kindness. We’re always in a hurry, rushing through to-do lists, working weekends. So, I think my “superpower” would be focus. That would allow me to create more.  

HOW DO YOU DEAL WITH CRITICISM, WHETHER IT’S FROM EACH OTHER OR FROM OUTSIDERS? 
Cara: We’re in separate mediums, and Diego has his MFA. He’s been doing this longer. I value and respect his opinion, because we can have very heartfelt conversations. Sometimes critique is painful. We’re both very sensitive people, but I can tell when Diego’s not feeling something—the silence is deafening when I’m working on a piece.  
Diego: At this point in my life, I’m more interested in negative critique. I get enough positive affirmation. What really interests me is when people say, “I don’t like it.” I’ll ask, “Really? Why?” Sometimes they’ll say it’s the subject matter—“This is very threatening.” Sometimes Pueblo potters tell me, “You’re taking our culture, our tradition, in a contemporary turn, and I don’t like it.” I want to talk about it—or rather, listen. I might say, “I see where you’re coming from, I see why it threatens you—but I’m going to stand firm and do what I do.” 

That kind of pushback is maybe 10 percent. Most of the time—even within my own Native community—the response is positive. Especially from younger potters. The resistance usually comes from older traditional matriarchs who feel it’s threatening. They say I’m taking our sacred pottery paradigm and altering it. But in my heart, I’ve always felt: It’s always been that way. Culture has never been static. It’s always fluid, evolving, constantly changing to reflect shifts in environment and landscape. What I do is part of that natural process. 

I often use this analogy: People think of tradition as a lake or pond, but really, it’s a stream. To survive, the stream must adapt to its landscape—flowing around boulders, rocks, even blockages like colonialism, capitalism, or religion. The stream must alter and evolve, because if it stops, it dries up. But if it keeps moving, the stream goes on through time.