Q&A with Alejandra Bunster

April 7, 2026

At The Kampong, Playful Explorations in Nature features Alejandra Bunster’s vivid, layered paper collages, which transform Miami’s landscapes and layered histories into whimsical, imaginative narratives. In this Q&A, the artist shares how her process reflects the way she sees and understands the world—from broad landscapes to fleeting details. Influenced by her background in theater and her connection to Florida, her work invites viewers to slow down, look closely, and discover curiosity and wonder in the natural world.

You create beautifully intricate, handmade paper collages. How does the tactile process of layering paper mirror the way you observe and interpret the world around you?

For me, the tactile process of layering paper is inseparable from the way I observe and interpret the world. Paper is fragile, patient, and honest. It records every fold, every cut, every hesitation. In that sense, it behaves very much like memory.

There is also resistance in the material. Paper resists glue at times, buckles with moisture, casts unexpected shadows. I have learned not to dominate it, but to collaborate with it. That mirrors how I try to move through the world—with attention rather than imposition. Observation becomes dialogue.

Your series Fairytales from Historic Florida blends whimsical storytelling with botanical and historical facts. What draws you to the intersection of fantasy and reality when illustrating the Florida landscape?

The landscape here in Miami is unique. The humidity softens edges, banyan roots descend like curtains, orchids appear to bloom midair, and histories—Indigenous, colonial, Caribbean, pioneer—layer themselves like sediment. When I walk through places such as The Kampong or along the Everglades, I don’t feel as though I’m choosing between fact and fantasy. I feel as though I am witnessing both simultaneously, in ode with its beauty.

At the same time, grounding the work in real historical research keeps the whimsy honest. Florida’s past is layered and complex. Rather than escaping into fantasy, I use it as a lens—softening the entry point into stories that might otherwise feel distant or academic. A fairytale becomes a gentle threshold into ecology, migration, colonization, adaptation.

How does your background as a theater director shape the way you ‘stage’ a scene within a paper collage?

Perhaps most importantly, theater trained me to think in narrative time. Even in a still image, I’m aware of what happened just before and what might happen next. A curtain of leaves feels like it could part. A horizon line suggests arrival or departure. The collage is static, yet it holds implied movement—like a frozen moment within a larger act.

As an educator who champions creative expression, what do you hope visitors—especially younger ones—take away from viewing your art at The Kampong? Is there a specific detail in your work you’d challenge them to find or think about?

As an educator, I hope visitors—especially younger ones—leave with a heightened sense of curiosity and inspiration..

Creative expression begins with attention. If a child lingers over the texture of a leaf, the curve of a shoreline, or the layering of paper in a sky, then something important has already happened—they’ve slowed down enough to truly see.

The Kampong itself is such a living classroom. It carries botanical history, global migration of plants, stories of adaptation and stewardship. I hope young visitors realize that art and science are not separate languages. Observation and creativity fuels both. A collage built from careful study of plant structure is not fantasy detached from fact—it is imagination rooted in knowledge.