by Keesean Moore

In honor of Hispanic Heritage Month, Arts Committee member Keesean Moore talks with interdisciplinary artist and filmmaker, Hagudeza Rullán-Fantauzzi, whose work draws from her experiences as an Afro-Boricua Trans woman.

Image: **Hagudeza Rullán-Fantauzzi**, *Mi Isla y Yo*, installation shot from solo exhibition at The Sculpture Center (Cleveland, OH), 2025

KM: Can you describe your artistic process and your guiding intention when it comes to making and sharing art?

HRF: My artistic process stems from a deep reflection on identity, history, and my lived experience as an Afro-Boricua trans woman. It unfolds and presents itself through experimentation across film, sculpture, installation, and movement. When I'm creating work, it usually begins with a memory of a moment, visual, sound, or scent from my upbringing that brings a flood of thoughts and self-reflection. From there, I start to visualize how these things can take shape and how I can bring them to life to communicate or take someone with me to that initial memory.

At the same time, a big part of my work has been figuring out and sharing how I’m unlearning the years of constraint I’ve been held to because of the societal expectations I grew up with; something I’m sure many people can relate to. My guiding intention in making and sharing art is to stay true to myself and to those who paved the way for people like me. At the same time, there’s a loud ancestral voice that pushes me to share because otherwise, I’d hide, which is much easier and comfortable. I don’t want to lose sight of that, which is why most, if not all, of my work has been created on my own time and my own terms.

KM: When we first met years ago, we talked about your career as a professional dancer. I have been on this meditative journey whereby I understand movement as a direct line of access to the divine (yoga, ecstatic dance, clubbing) — how does dance/movement factor into your self-making and your creative practice?

HRF: Dance and movement have always been central to how I understand myself and my creative practice. From the movement I witnessed daily in Puerto Rico, in the Pentecostal church, through the rituals my uncle performed, and later in dancing professionally. It all taught me to cultivate sensibility over my body, mind, and spirit, while also connecting with my ancestors and allowing them to speak through me. For me, movement is both grounding and liberating; it’s a way to release what I’ve carried and to embody transformation. Even when I’m not explicitly making ‘dance pieces,’ that sensibility is present in my work, showing up through the awareness of the body in space, the rhythm of ritual, and the physicality of unlearning constraint. Movement is a form of self-making because it reminds me that my body is not just a site of struggle, but also of resilience, expression, and divine connection.

KM: I often think of human experience as a cumulative project, meaning at any point in our lives, we are the sum of our experiences — can you talk a bit more about the ways (positive or negative) that professional dance has impacted your life?

HRF: My career as a professional dancer, specifically in ballet, was tough, but I wouldn’t be who I am or where I am today without that part of my life because, as you said, we are the sum of our experiences. There’s a double-edged sword to many of the lessons I carry from that time. One that stands out is over-criticizing myself. I spent five to six days a week in front of a mirror, scrutinizing every little detail, working incredibly hard for very little reward beyond a sparse compliment from a teacher or the applause after a performance. That habit of self-judgment carried over into my everyday life and at times could be crippling. But I’m trying to learn to channel that energy into pushing myself toward goals that might otherwise feel out of reach for someone like me.

Image: **Hagudeza Rullán-Fantauzzi,** *A Machete From Our Altar Kept Me Safe*, detail from video installation, 2023

KM: Many artists spend their entire lives concentrating on one particular medium or mode of expression. What I love most about your work is how expansive it is. Can you speak more about why you embrace an interdisciplinary approach to art making?

HRF: I’ve always been drawn to focus on the core of an idea first, often that memory, thought, or experience that feels most urgent or intense. These experiences are naturally diverse and expansive, which calls for an approach to art-making that doesn’t limit me to a single way of creating. Much of this comes from being self-taught in everything I do in my practice, except for the technique behind my movement.

Embracing an interdisciplinary approach allows me to follow the energy of a project wherever it leads and to engage viewers on multiple levels, physically, emotionally, and conceptually. For me, the boundaries between mediums are fluid, and that fluidity mirrors how I see myself and the world: interconnected, layered, and always in motion.

KM: Who are the artists (past and present) that inspire you? Would you say there are artists your work is in conversation with?

HRF: I’m deeply inspired by Puerto Rican artists; they just hit a spot in my brain and heart! The first person who always comes to mind is Marta Moreno Vega. When I read her book The Altar to My Soul, parts of it made me feel so seen, both culturally and spiritually. I’m also inspired by Daniel Lind Ramos; his work is so deeply moving. The manifestation of cultural and communal experiences in his work is so evident that I can see, hear, and feel so much. I hope my work can even incite a fraction of the impact that these artists and so many others have had on me. When it comes to being in conversation with other artists, I see my work in dialogue with anyone who explores identity, ancestry, and the body, especially those who push boundaries between mediums or challenge societal expectations. It’s less about direct influence and more about resonating with a shared pursuit of visibility, expression, and cultural memory.

KM: With so many forces trying to silence/censor queer expression, how have you maintained a rigor/focus in your practice

HRF: Our community is used to constant silencing and censorship; most of us have experienced it to some degree in our lives. I think that’s why there are forces intimidated by our pushback, and that pushback will continue, because once we’ve set ourselves free, there’s no going back without a fight. For me, that fight means not backing down from the subjects and truths I want to explore in my work out of fear of what those forces might do. It’s about taking risks and allowing myself to be brave, which is something I’ve done throughout my life. At the same time, I’ve had to step back and recognize that I need to live and experience life. In recent years, while being in transition and creating work, I was neglecting parts of life that could become the very inspiration for future work. For me, part of fighting back is living authentically and not letting anyone steal the song and dance out of me.

KM: You were born in Ponce, Puerto Rico, and raised in Philadelphia. How have these two places influenced you as a person and as an artist?

HRF: I always say I’m Ponce-born and Philly-made. I moved here at such a young age (10) that most of the experiences where I truly had autonomy over my decisions happened in Philadelphia. But I still remember my upbringing in Ponce vividly; it’s wild how I can close my eyes and instantly see and hear moments from that time. Things like watching my abuela clear the living room to mop the tile floors in our caserío (government housing), waiting in line at the panadería

across the street when the power went out during storms so we could get free bread at midnight, or hearing my mom’s jewelry and heels as she got ready to go dancing. Those memories and so many others stand out to me, and a big part of my work is rooted in yearning for that feeling of more because I never got to experience life as a teen or adult the way my family did before me.

Still, I wouldn’t change anything, because Philly has my heart. When we first moved into my uncle’s house in North Philly, I was so intrigued. I remember it cinematically (probably my artist brain at work), but I can still see the girls on the block playing double dutch while Ciara’s ‘1, 2 Step’ blasted from a speaker. I became ingrained in Philly life through my cousins and through my own experiences growing up here over time. It’s a combination that just makes sense, especially since Philadelphia has one of the largest Puerto Rican populations in the country. It feels like it was meant to be, a natural blend that shaped me seamlessly.

Even in the way I talk about these places, you can hear how the memories live in me as vivid images. My work pulls directly from that, from what I’ve lived and witnessed, and how those moments wired me as both a person and an artist.

KM: I saw that you recently returned to Puerto Rico for some rest/restoration — what was the experience like returning to your homeland after undergoing such a beautiful metamorphosis? Did the water and air feel different on your skin?

HRF: Honestly, I can’t even explain the feeling I carried with me every day of that weekend. My visits back to Puerto Rico have been so limited since we moved, so being able to return after so much physical, mental, and emotional change was deeply healing. My transition has taken years of slow, patient shifts into this fullest version of myself, and it’s easy to forget how much time and energy that journey really takes. The water and air did feel different, but only because I’m different. I think it will always feel that way, since I’m always evolving, but this time felt especially powerful because I’m finally at a place where my body and self are perfectly aligned. Being back home in that moment felt like the final seal of approval that I'm here, I've arrived.

KM: How vital was this vacation for your spirit and are you be making work inspired by this trip?

HRF: So vital! The trip reignited something in me, especially the pure joy I felt throughout it, and of course at the Bad Bunny concert. So much of my work is rooted in my culture, in the imagery, movement, and sound, so this specific album and residency felt deeply connected to both me and my practice. I wouldn’t say I’m only inspired by the trip, but by my journey as a whole. A lot of my past work has come from a place of fighting to break free, and while I’m still fighting, I feel like I’m entering a new chapter. One that’s more about release and finding peace with myself. The imagery is still rooted in the same world, but now I get to see how it translates through this new lens I’m carrying. That’s exciting and also a little scary, because it’s such a different perspective. I’ve been giving myself time to pause and process this transformation instead of rushing into creating, but I’ve also been sketching ideas and planning my next film. The next step is getting to writing and securing funding so I can really bring it to life.

KM: Much of your work incorporates a fascinating blending of Afro-Boricua/Afro-Latino/ Afro-Caribbean spiritualities. How have you found power in reclaiming your own personal spiritual practice and can you tell us a bit more about how you think about spirituality today?

HRF: Spirituality for me has always been about a connection to my ancestors, to community, to the land, and to myself. Growing up, I saw it practiced in different but deeply connected ways from the Pentecostal church to the sacred practices of Santería in my uncle’s basement, and those images and feelings have stayed with me. My journey as an artist, whether during my time as a dancer or now as an interdisciplinary artist, has been my way of channeling that energy and honoring the ancestors who brought me here, because I truly do feel a higher power gently guiding every step I take. Today, I think about spirituality as something fluid and alive within me. It shows up in my movement, in my creative work, and in the ways I honor memory and ancestry through my practice. It’s not about recreating tradition exactly as it was, but about allowing it to live through me, to move with me, and to remain a source of strength and guidance.

Image: **Hagudeza Rullán-Fantauzzi,** *Chrysalis,* Projection Mapping Installation, 2024

KM: What advice do you have for other Trans Afro-Boricua/Afro-Latino artists finding their voice today?

HRF: My advice is to create because you want to, not for acclaim, because as I’m sure you know, folks like us often have to work so much harder to get recognition. Make the work you feel inside, not what you think will get attention. I only create what I do because it’s what I need to express, not because of outside pressure, and I think that’s important for other artists to hold onto. Your existence already carries your truth, and your work will ultimately show that naturally.

On a practical level: create with what you have and document it. Clear a corner in your living space, set up your work, and photograph it. Reach out to a friend who writes and practice putting your vision into words. And then, keep creating. That's exactly what I did before I got my first grant! There will be way more no’s than yes’s. I get the former way more every day, but what matters is that flame inside you.

KM: What exciting projects do you have on the horizon?

HRF: I’m really excited that my show Mi Isla y Yo, which debuted at The Sculpture Center earlier this year, will be showing in Philly at Taller Puertorriqueño in 2026. I went to middle school just around the corner from their original building when my family first moved to Philly, so this feels especially meaningful given both the context of the show and my own history as an artist.

KM: Where can folk find out more about your upcoming exhibitions?

HRF: People can stay updated on my upcoming exhibitions through my website at hagudeza.com and by subscribing to my email updates.

Featured in the Issue 15: October, 2025 edition of WayOut, your Philly Queer Arts Publication brought to you by the Arts Committee at the William Way LGBT Community Center. To get our monthly newsletter in your inbox, subscribe here.

Hispanic Heritage Month Feature: Hagudeza Rullán-Fantauzzi

by Keesean Moore