When Evolution Gets Bored: Beto Val’s Hybrid Kingdom

If Darwin ever microdosed and wandered into a 19th-century natural history archive with a pair of scissors and a god complex, you’d get something close to Beto Val. His creatures don’t just defy taxonomy: they laugh in its face, shred the rulebook, and repurpose it into papier-mâché for a goose with serpentine wings and a cabbage crown. Val doesn’t just tweak nature. He kicks it off the syllabus, rewrites the curriculum in invisible ink, and submits it with a pineapple-headed owl as his lab partner.

Based in the Ecuadorian Andes but clearly tuned to a more surreal frequency, Beto has become a digital naturalist of the delightfully unclassifiable: splicing Victorian engravings into life forms that thrum with both whimsy and precision. This isn’t collage in the moodboard sense. It’s scientific fantasy with teeth. Botanical hauntings. Ornithological fever dreams. Paleobotany, if it studied vibes. Think: if Mother Nature let Dada run the lab for a season, then hired Escher as a backup technician.

Beto’s practice fuses the obsessive craftsmanship of 1800s illustration with a glitchy, what-if sensibility that feels both reverent and rebellious. His creatures - stitched from public domain archives and arranged with the poise of a couture patternmaker - whisper of alternate evolutions where taxonomy got drunk on meaning. You’re not just looking at a heron with trumpet legs. You’re peering into a quietly feral dimension where Darwin got distracted, added glitter, and accidentally made joy instead.

I first saw Beto’s work mid-scroll, expecting the usual algorithmic filler, and instead found a philosophical bestiary dressed as an Instagram post. It hit like a hallucinogenic field guide: tender, absurd, exquisitely composed. You don’t just glance. You fall in. You linger. You start asking what these creatures might think of you, and whether they’d let you stay. And then it hits you: you’ve already crossed over. This is their world now. You’re just a beautifully confused mammal passing through.

I. LOCKDOWN, DISCOVERY & COLLAGE AS CATHARSIS

You discovered collage during the pandemic. How did this period influence your creative process? And what attracted you to public domain vintage illustrations?

The pandemic was, in many ways, a catalyst for my work. During that time, I had started a voluntary sabbatical and was looking for something that could help me connect emotionally with the difficult moment we were living through, something that would allow me to create while dealing with anxiety and confinement. Although I’ve always liked drawing, I never considered myself a good illustrator, so many of the character ideas I had in my mind never came to life the way I imagined them. One day, almost by chance, I found an online library of public domain vintage images of animals and plants. I was immediately drawn to their quality and painting style, and I thought that if I could manipulate these images enough, I could create the characters I had always imagined, with a professional finish and the vintage air I love so much. Within days, surreal collage became a form of therapy, but also an obsession. Once I discovered I could bring the creatures that lived in my head to life using these ancient illustrations, I couldn’t stop. I create a new creature almost daily, although not all of them are shared on social media.

II. SCIENCE PRINTS, GUT INSTINCT & REINVENTING THE NATURAL ORDER

Your first works are largely based on scientific engravings and botanical prints from the 19th century. What attracts you to these images and how do you find the right pieces to build them?

I love how these ancient illustrations capture a meticulous and respectful view of nature, but at the same time, they have a sense of distance and mystery. There’s something very evocative about the way early scientists attempted to classify the world, and I’m interested in how these images have such immense potential for reinterpretation. The process of finding the right pieces is very organic. I search digital public domain libraries and historical archives. The pieces must have a visual texture, something that allows me to create new connections. Often, I’m drawn to images that don’t follow exact rules. Those that have something strange or unexpected about them.

Critics have said that you "alchemize ancient illustrations to create extravagant compositions." How does that transformation work for you: is it more instinct, intention, or improvisation?

It’s a combination of all three. There’s an initial instinct when I see an image, something that immediately attracts me. But then it becomes a process of recontextualization and exploration. Improvisation plays an important role because each new piece is a surprise, even for me. Sometimes, the combinations emerge almost magically. Other times, the process is more deliberate, seeking a contrast or irony that transforms a scientific image into something playful or surreal.

III. ABSURD LOGIC, EMOTIONAL WORLDS & EVOLUTION GONE ROGUE

In your work, there’s a constant balance between fantasy, absurdity, and serene beauty. Do you approach your collages as narratives, or do they focus more on emotion and visual surprise?

For me, collage is more of a vehicle for emotion and visual surprise than a linear narrative. Each piece is a small universe that can tell a story in its own logic, but not necessarily in a traditional way. I aim to create a space where the viewer can project their own interpretations, and perhaps the surprise or absurdity of the image will trigger an emotion. The balance comes from combining contradictory elements: the fantastic with the real, the absurd with the normalized. That’s where surrealism happens.

You’ve said that "you work as if nature had followed a different evolutionary path." Could you explain that idea? How do you decide what wings, fins, or fruits go together?

This idea comes from the notion that if nature had made different choices, the living beings we know today could be completely different, as well as their societies. My work is an exercise in what I call scientific fantasy. In my collages, I make biological elements mix as if they were evolving in a parallel universe. The choice of wings, fins, or fruits is based more on a visual and aesthetic logic than a biological one. The relationship between the elements must be harmonious within the piece, even if it defies natural laws. I follow texture, contrast, and the surprise that each combination offers.

IV. THEMATIC WORLDS & ANDEAN MYTHOLOGIES

You’ve created entire series like Wild Saints and The Botanist’s Bestiary that seem like mythologies from a parallel planet. What inspired these thematic collections and how do you decide what world to create next?

Each series I create responds to an emotional state, a creative concern, or a simple question. Wild Saints arose from a fascination with wild nature and religion, and how those concepts could meet in a surrealist space. I come from the Ecuadorian Andes, where it’s common to see indigenous communities worship animals as gods. One day I wondered: what if these animals had also been worshipped in Renaissance Europe? How would they have appeared in paintings? That was the seed. Deciding what world to create next is always intuitive. Something inspires me - a visual discovery, a feeling, or an abstract idea. And it leads me somewhere new. It’s like pulling a thread into a universe that feels both personal and universal.

V. AUDIENCES, INSTAGRAM & STRANGE FAN MAIL

With over 300,000 followers, you’ve built a global audience through Instagram. Has this changed the way you work or what you share? What’s the strangest or most wonderful message you’ve received?

Social media has allowed me to connect with a global and diverse audience, which is very motivating. Although my creative process remains intimate, the feedback I receive makes me more aware of the impact my work can have. The messages vary. Some are pure admiration, others offer deep personal interpretations of the pieces. A few people have even tattooed my creatures on their bodies. Some write entire stories inspired by my images. That’s incredible to me.

VI. COLLABORATIONS, MEDIA & CROSSING DIMENSIONS

Your art has appeared on clothing, books, wine bottles, vinyl covers, and even in the children’s edition of The New York Times. Do you have a favorite collaboration? Do they influence your studio work?

Each collaboration brings something unique, but one of my favorites was for the children’s edition of The New York Times. It let me reach a completely different audience and see how my visual language could adapt to a new context. These projects influence my studio work in subtle ways. They challenge me to adapt my ideas to different media while still keeping the core of my aesthetic intact.

How do you think digital collage fits into traditional art spaces?

Digital collage sits at an interesting intersection between the digital and the traditional. In galleries, my work becomes physical, it gains texture, scale, and presence. On screen, it’s more fluid, more intimate. It’s always an exercise in adaptation, but the underlying essence remains the same.

VII. THE BOOK AS PORTAL

Your book The Great Book of the Imaginary Animal Kingdom feels like a natural extension of your visual universe. What drove you to create it, and how does your experience in children’s publishing influence your art?

The book was a way to bring order to the collages I had been developing. It gave them a home, a universe that could contain them all. I wanted to create something tactile, something that could be enjoyed across ages. My experience in children’s publishing helped a lot. It taught me how kids perceive images, how stories can unfold visually, and how wonder can be sparked without a single word. The book took my work beyond the screen and turned it into something people could hold, flip through, and get lost in.