I don’t remember a world where I wasn’t creating— or make believing or doing anything I could to make stories come alive.

Most artists can trace back their “aha” moment—when something clicked and they knew, with certainty, this is what they were meant to do. I’ve always struggled to identify mine. Not because I never felt that spark—I did, again and again. Whether it was my town’s community theatre production of Little Women or watching Singin’ in the Rain with my mother for the first time—it all left me breathless, cracked something open inside of me, and made me feel profoundly connected to something larger than myself. Those moments never felt like beginnings. They felt like a recognition. There was never a time when art wasn’t central to how I moved through life.

Like many other kids, I lived inside stories. I turned backyards into kingdoms, couches into pirate ships, or convinced my classmates into building astronaut suits for the next faraway planet we had to explore. Storytelling wasn’t something I discovered later in life, it was how I understood the world from the very beginning.

The defining moment I do remember though, was reaching the age when make believe wasn’t instinct anymore, when there was no longer permission to play, and all of a sudden your imagination was expected to shrink. You’re told to be realistic, to sit still, to outgrow fantasy.

I wasn’t ready to let that part of myself go.

Theatre became the place where childlike instinct was encouraged, where telling and creating stories or “playing pretend” wasn’t something to abandon, it’s something that helps us understand what’s real. A place where we ask difficult questions, sit inside contradiction, and move closer to truths that can’t always be spoken directly.

That is what continues to draw me to this work.

I believe art can disrupt, heal, provoke, and make people feel seen or even better— be called to action. Theatre reminds us of our shared humanity—the beautiful, messy, contradictory reality of being alive.

My work is rooted in curiosity: a desire to keep asking questions, to keep exploring what it means to be human, and to remain open to discovery. I am drawn to collaboration and to the magic that happens when artists come together to build something that is greater than any one person could create alone.

Hi, I’m Paloma—a New York–based actor, songwriter, mover, storyteller, and theatre-maker.

I graduated from NYU Tisch School of the Arts with a BFA in Drama, where I trained at The Lee Strasberg Institute, The Atlantic Acting School, The Meisner Studio, and the International Theatre Workshop in Amsterdam. During my time at NYU, I also completed the two-year core acting program at The William Esper Studio under the guidance of Karen Chamberlain. Before moving to New York, I trained in the UK at both the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art (RADA) and the London Academy of Music & Dramatic Art (LAMDA), experiences that deeply shaped my artistic practice.

Since living in New York, I’ve had the joy of performing in a range of productions, including Viola in Twelfth Night, Lorraine in The Office Plays, Tosh in Scenes with Girls, Cindy in Fefu and Her Friends, and Jude in the U.S. premiere of Jordan Tannahill’s Is My Microphone On? at The Center at West Park, working alongside Mark Ruffalo and Nick Browne.