About Corina

Corina Capuano was trained in Buenos Aires at a moment when graphic design in Latin America was still arguing about its own seriousness. She graduated from the Universidad of Buenos Aires Design there, went on to teach Typography for several years, and then spent the better part of two decades as one of the most decorated art directors working in global entertainment, earning New York Festivals, Clios, and every significant industry honor in between. None of that is the point. The point is what that training built: a rigorous, practiced eye for scale, weight, figure-ground relationships, and the moment an image tips from composition into meaning.

Capuano now lives and works in Venice Beach, California. Her personal practice moves across watercolor, acrylic, and digital media, and it is often organized around a single, generative constraint: each work begins as a miniature drawing. As the image is scaled up, it is, in her own words, completely resignified. What reads as texture at two inches reads as terrain at two feet. What reads as gesture becomes architecture. Scale, for Capuano, is not a production step; it is the conceptual engine of the work.

Her visual references are eclectic but deliberate: the native flora of coastal California, the flat graphic authority of the Polish Poster movement, the distressed tactility of 1990s grunge art, and the chromatic directness of Pop. The work holds these influences in tension rather than synthesis. This is an independent debut, her first body of work offered publicly, and it arrives fully formed.

The Walk Series.

This work began quietly, on my walks through Venice, California. I started by looking down.

At first, it was the sidewalk, the cracks, the patches of cement, the utility covers, the marks left behind by tools and hands. Things made to hold, to cover, to direct, without the intention of being beautiful. The more I looked, the more I felt they were speaking.

I became drawn to the anonymous gestures, the decision to place a line here and not there, the accident of a stain, the rhythm of a path worn by many feet.

These are humble gestures. But they are human and they remain.

Color, for me, is a way of insisting on life. In this series, color allows me to return to these overlooked surfaces with tenderness, to lift them out of the ordinary without stripping them of their origin. The color does not decorate the street; it reveals the feeling I found there.

These works are traces of traces.