Meet Luisana Rivas

We’re excited to introduce you to the always interesting and insightful Luisana Rivas. We hope you’ll enjoy our conversation with Luisana below.

Luisana , thanks so much for taking the time to share your insights and lessons with us today. We’re particularly interested in hearing about how you became such a resilient person. Where do you get your resilience from?

It hasn’t always been an easy journey from a child with artistic dreams in socialist Venezuela to an opera singer and advocate in the U.S. I’d start by saying that resilience, whatever form it takes for each person, is an essential skill for any artist. Given the lack of consistent work, an ever-shrinking pool of opportunities, and the fierce competition in the performing arts world, sometimes the only thing that keeps you going is sheer grit—alongside a deep love for your art form and an undeniable need to express yourself creatively.

The roots of my resilience lie in my childhood. I come from a middle-class family full of loud jokesters in traditional professions (about 50% are engineers), and I always felt and acted differently. Venezuela is a culture that tends to prize extroversion, so being shy and soft-spoken can be looked down upon. Kids get bullied, adults get mocked—that sort of thing. I was always the quiet, reserved type, but from an early age, I showed an interest in music and the arts. At eight, I picked up the cuatro, a traditional Venezuelan instrument, and would often play folk songs for family and friends. That might not sound like much, but for a kid who was terrified of speaking up in class, it was huge. Through performing with my state’s youth choir, Cantoría Juvenil del Estado Mérida, I slowly began to emerge from my shell. I found confidence, embraced friendships, and began to imagine a future deeply rooted in the arts.

My life, and the lives of millions of Venezuelans, changed with the election of Hugo Chávez in late 1998. As the regime devolved into a dictatorship, my family was hit hard by the economic crisis: my father’s business collapsed after the 2002–2003 oil strike, and we were among the many targeted for political retaliation via the infamous Lista de Tascón, a public blacklist of opposition voices. I’m often thankful my parents recognized the warning signs of a collapsing democracy and ultimately made the difficult decision to emigrate to Panama.

That’s how I became an immigrant in 2008 at 18 years old. Even now, sixteen years later, I have complicated feelings about that label. While I’m grateful for the opportunities I’ve been able to access, opportunities I never would have had if I’d stayed in Venezuela, the pain of distance from loved ones and the constant sense of being “other” is a grief that never fully goes away. I’ve lost my country to dictatorship. I’ve lost family members without the chance to say goodbye or grieve alongside those who knew them best. I wasn’t able to attend the funerals of any of my grandparents, for example. And like many displaced people know too well, I’ve had to leave behind not just places and people, but memories, often in the form of cherished objects. Immigrants don’t have family heirlooms. We rarely inherit property or benefit from generational wealth. We leave with what we can carry. It’s a clean start, for better or worse.

Being an immigrant has been, and continues to be, the greatest challenge of my life—and also the source of my strength. Today, my resilience comes from the life I’ve built with my husband, and from a deep, abiding gratitude that allows me to experience life with a kind of childlike wonder. That’s how I approach every artistic opportunity: with the awareness that it’s a privilege to tell human stories and to offer an audience, even for just a moment, a chance to step outside their own reality.

Appreciate the insights and wisdom. Before we dig deeper and ask you about the skills that matter and more, maybe you can tell our readers about yourself?

I am a professional mezzo-soprano currently based in Houston. I regularly perform as an emerging artist with companies such as Houston Grand Opera, Opera San Antonio, Opera Steamboat, Indianapolis Opera, and others. While I hold a deep love for the European classical repertoire, my mission and personal passion lie in championing the canon of Latin American classical composers. I pursue this through active research, advocacy for composers and artists, program curation, and audience education. For me, highlighting this repertoire is not only artistically compelling, it is a matter of cultural equity and justice.

Given that Spanish is the second most spoken language in the United States, and that Hispanics represent the largest minority group in the country, the classical music field has a vast, untapped opportunity to connect with these communities. I believe that engaging Latin American repertoire is essential to the growth, evolution, and long-term survival of opera and classical music in this country.

My musical training began in Venezuela, my home country, and has since taken me to Panama and the United States. In addition to performing, I work as a community arts educator and arts administrator. I currently serve as Vocal Programming Director at the Ponce Project Music Foundation, a Houston-based organization dedicated to advancing the Latin American classical music canon.

Upcoming engagements include the roles of Consuelo and Anita swing in West Side Story with Indianapolis Opera, Lola in Cavalleria Rusticana with Modern Vintage Opera in Connecticut, and a recital of Latin American composers with the Texas New Music Festival and the Ponce Project on July 10 at Houston’s MATCH.

If you had to pick three qualities that are most important to develop, which three would you say matter most?

This is a tough question to answer as an artist, because I truly believe that the entirety of the human experience informs what we do as performers. The obvious answer for classical singers would be to cultivate a healthy, efficient vocal technique, refine your acting skills, and learn how to hustle. By “hustle,” I mean developing the ability to seek out opportunities, build meaningful connections, prepare strong audition and marketing materials, and learn how to present yourself effectively. These are vital, of course, but I also want to speak to the deeper layers of the work.

My biggest advice to young classical singers is this: become lifelong students of humanity. Be curious about how people live, how they move, how they react to the world. Notice small details, like how someone gestures with their hands or shifts their weight when speaking. These subtle observations can become tools for your artistry on stage. Immerse yourself in art in every form: read literature, watch films, visit museums, listen to music of all genres. Study Beethoven’s symphonies with the score in hand, yes, but also engage with pop, jazz, Tejano, reggaetón, musical theater. The more human experiences and artistic expressions you absorb, the richer and more expansive your own artistry will become.

Another quality that has been invaluable in my journey is embracing and leaning into my identity. While I love a good Mozart aria, there is something uniquely powerful about singing music from my own culture and witnessing how deeply audiences connect to it, especially in the context of opera. Hearing Bésame mucho performed by a trained opera singer hits differently, both emotionally and culturally. As immigrants, we often feel pressure to assimilate, to fit into the mold. But I’ve found that anchoring myself in my identity has helped me find clarity, direction, and resilience in this field. It’s not just a personal truth, it’s a compass.

So yes, build the skills. Learn to sing, act, and navigate the business. But just as importantly, nurture your sense of wonder about the world and honor where you come from. These are the qualities that will not only shape you as a performer, but sustain you as an artist.

How would you spend the next decade if you somehow knew that it was your last?

That’s easy. I would double down on a life immersed in art, self-expression, and meaningful connection with my community.

I’d sing every opera aria and art song I love. I’d dedicate myself to educating audiences about classical music beyond the European canon, finding ways to make it relevant and accessible for them.

I’d learn to sketch, watercolor, and juggle just for the joy of it. I’d seek out every opportunity to work with at-risk youth, using theater, music, and the visual arts to promote healing, joy, and self-discovery.

I’d learn Portuguese just so I could sing bossa nova, accompanied on guitar by my husband.

That would be a beautiful final decade.

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Image Credits

Headshots by Jordan Licon Photography.

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