Today we’d like to introduce you to Josafath Reynoso
Hi Josafath, we’d love for you to start by introducing yourself.
I wasn’t born into theatre. Far from it. I grew up in Mexico, thinking my life would take a straightforward path—something practical, something safe. Then, somewhere in preparatory school, I stumbled into theatre. Or maybe theatre stumbled into me. Either way, it was like suddenly seeing a new color, one I hadn’t known existed. The idea that space could tell a story, that light and texture could shape emotion—it felt like someone had flipped a switch in my brain. I was hooked.
I was lucky. A number of mentors appeared, the kind of people who don’t just teach but ignites. They showed me scenography, and it made sense in a way that nothing else had. I had a knack for breaking stories apart and rebuilding them in space, turning words into something physical, something alive. But knowing that and doing something about it were two very different things. I was scared. Theatre wasn’t safe. So, I did the sensible thing: I went into computer science.
That should have been the end of it. Except it wasn’t.
By the last year of my degree, I was spending more time in the theatre shop than in class. I’d sit in lectures, but my mind was back at the theatre, thinking about angles, materials, sightlines. My grades plummeted. The numbers told me what I already knew—I was in the wrong place. There was no way around it. I left my degree behind and applied to Escuela Nacional de Arte Teatral in Mexico City, the only school in Latin America offering a degree in scenography.
I had no formal training, no portfolio of carefully crafted sketches, nothing but hunger and the sheer need to be there. Somehow, I got in. From that moment on, everything was about learning. I worked for teachers, assisted designers, helped build sets, took whatever job came my way. One of my shows got selected for a festival in Venezuela. A year later, I won the competition to design Mexico’s pavilion for the Prague Quadrennial, – the Olympics of theatre design.
That was the moment everything shifted.
Getting to Prague wasn’t easy. I had to scrape together whatever I could to afford the trip. But I made it. And when I arrived, I saw something that shook me to my core: work from Europe, Asia, the U.S.—so expansive, so different from anything I had seen back home. It wasn’t just about making theatre. It was about rethinking space, rethinking how people experience performance. Right then, I knew I didn’t just want to work in Mexico. I wanted to design for the world.
So, I did.
For the next decade, I worked wherever I could, across Mexico and beyond, taking every opportunity that stretched my understanding of theatre. Then grad school came into view. The U.S. was another long shot, but I applied, not expecting much. I got in. Again, I retrained—this time, in the American way of making theatre. But I never let go of my global perspective. I never saw theatre as something that belonged to just one place, one method.
Teaching found me along the way. First in Mexico. Later, in the States. And after another ten years, I landed in Austin, at The University of Texas, helping grad students find their own voices in design.
Ever since grad school, I’ve balanced life as a freelance designer and educator, always moving between projects and classrooms. Design and teaching have never been separate for me—they feed each other, pushing me to question, to experiment, to expand. Now, that passion has led me to a new chapter: SKENE.pub (https://skene.pub), a space to explore theatre, design, and performance on a global scale, bringing together ideas, voices, and visions that go beyond borders.
Looking back, the path makes sense, but at the time, none of it felt like a plan. It was just moving forward, one step at a time. Taking risks when they came. Jumping when there was no other choice. And somehow, all those leaps led here. The journey keeps unfolding. It always does.
I’m sure it wasn’t obstacle-free, but would you say the journey has been fairly smooth so far?
The first leap of faith was stepping into theatre. I fought it for years, convincing myself that stability mattered more than passion, that computer science was the safer path. But when I finally let go—when I walked away from one degree to chase another—something incredible happened. The weight that had been crushing me disappeared. Just like that. It wasn’t easy, but I knew, with absolute clarity, that I was exactly where I needed to be.
Then came the second leap. Bigger, scarier. Leaving Mexico after a decade of building a career, carving out a name, working with people who trusted me. I was making things happen. And yet, I packed my bags, walked away from everything I knew, and landed in a country where no one knew my work. No references. No reputation. A different language, a different system, a different way of making theatre. I had to start over. Prove myself. Again.
There were days when I doubted everything. When the loneliness of being an outsider, of being unknown, felt too heavy. But theatre had already taught me something: how to stand in the dark, how to move through uncertainty, how to build a world from nothing. I learned to navigate this new space. To listen. To adapt. To work twice as hard until people started seeing me. Believing in me. And little by little, I made a place for myself.
Can you tell our readers more about what you do and what you think sets you apart from others?
Theatre is a living thing. It breathes, it moves, it shifts under our feet. I’ve never believed in a single way of doing things, a single perspective, or a single home for the work. Theatre, for me, has always been about connectivity—how stories bridge cultures, how design shapes understanding, how a single moment on stage can ripple outward and change the way we see the world.
I don’t settle. I never have. From the moment I first stepped into scenography, I knew I wasn’t interested in simply mastering one way of working—I wanted to explore everything. The global stage, different traditions, different schools of thought. I wanted to absorb, adapt, and create from a place that was constantly shifting. That’s what sets me apart. I am not just a designer; I am a translator of experiences, a connector of ideas, a builder of spaces that invite people to step into something larger than themselves.
But none of it means anything if it’s not shared. That’s why I teach. Not just to pass on techniques, but to inspire others to look beyond their immediate world, to question, to innovate, to push past the limits they think exist. Teaching, like theatre, is an act of storytelling. It’s about engaging a community, creating spaces where ideas collide, where something new is born.
At the core of everything I do—designing, teaching, writing—is one simple belief: storytelling is the heartbeat of human connection. It’s how we remember, how we dream, how we move forward. And if I can create work that ignites that spark in others, then I know I’m exactly where I need to be.
So, before we go, how can our readers or others connect or collaborate with you? How can they support you?
If you’re as passionate about storytelling, theatre, and global collaboration as I am, I’d love to connect. Follow SKENE at https://skene.pub/ to explore the work of international artists pushing boundaries in theatre, dance, opera, and beyond. And if you’re interested in collaborating—whether on stage, in multidisciplinary explorations, or through new creative media—visit my portfolio at https://liveartdesign.com/. We can create something cool together.
Contact Info:
- Website: https://skene.pub
- Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/skene.pub/
- Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/skene.pub
- Twitter: https://x.com/SKENEpub
- Other: https://liveartdesign.com
Image Credits
1. The Glass Menagerie, photo by DON IPOCK
2. Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, photo by JOSAFATH REYNOSO
3. Much Ado About Nothing, photo by LIZ LAUREN
4. The Ripple, the Wave that Carried Me Home, photo by JOSAFATH REYNOSO
5. American Mariachi, photo by JENNIFER ZORNOW
6. Manon, photo by JOSAFATH REYNOSO
7. Fences, photo by JOSAFATH REYNOSO
8. Hair, photo by BREANNE CLOWDUS
