PEOPLE ASK what’s inside my piñatas, but I never say. I prefer letting them imagine what they want. It remains a mystery unless the piñata is broken.

When I began making these artworks at 36, my first thought was What kind of piñata would I want for my birthday? I pictured a Hieronymus Bosch–inspired one because the painter’s creatures are so crazy and fun. His odd birds had seeped into my imagination when I was a kid leafing through encyclopedias. I came across The Garden of Earthly Delights, and the medieval aesthetic appealed to me, being raised Catholic.

After my Bosch birds went semiviral on Facebook, people began reaching out, wanting me to make them birds from nature. I resisted at first, but creating piñata birds was more fulfilling than a corporate job, which I’d done for 14 years. So I made cardinals, robins and kingfishers.

I was drawn to the medium because it’s affordable. When I started this work, I pulled all my materials from the pantry and recycling bin: cereal boxes, newspaper, flour. Other benefits of papier-mâché are that it’s not toxic and it’s not wasteful. In fact, you’re upcycling. You’re taking trash and turning it into something people can appreciate.

I see my art expanding the notions of what piñatas can be and where they belong. In the U.S., we expect Mexican food and crafts to be inexpensive. There’s a place for cheap tacos and disposable piñatas. But there’s room for fine art piñatas too.

The Mexican piñata arose from a blending of two similar traditions: a Chinese one brought to Europe by Marco Polo in the 13th century and a Mesoamerican one co-opted by European missionaries centuries later. Since my own heritage is a mix of Mexican and European, the multicultural background of the piñata suits me.

I follow my own path, and I’ve learned not to worry about fitting in. You don’t have to be A or B. You can be A and B. —As told to Gregg Segal