Your work invites viewers to engage in an interplay between chosen objects, feeling the tension between selective memory and ubiquitous symbolism. Can you elaborate on how you navigate this balance and the challenges of portraying memory within the context of symbolic representation?

It seems to me that symbolic references pose the biggest challenge for me, or perhaps not just symbolism itself but rather the general interpretation of objects. Maybe what a particular object brings to mind for me isn’t actually a memory but a meaning imposed by a pattern. Sometimes, I worry that by presenting references to memories, I might fall into the trap of generalizing how a certain object was depicted in mass culture, which could then be the subject of an entirely different series of works.

On the other hand, I'm fascinated by things that were once popular, the ones everyone had. When the symbolism is clear, I try to create scenes where the object appears in an unfamiliar composition, out of its context.

In summary, the starting point is deciding whether the main theme of the painting will be to showcase the symbolism of a particular object or to hide it, which sometimes becomes the greatest challenge in handling mentioned balance and tension that comes with it.

Your main inspiration comes from family photos and objects found on the streets of Valencia, with their history rewritten by you. How does the reinterpretation of these objects contribute to the overall narrative and meaning of your paintings?

As I mentioned earlier, found objects prompt me to wonder about their previous owners, whether they were intentionally discarded or lost. They inherently contrast with the environment they're found in. Similar to myself, rebuilding life in new places and trying to reconcile my past experiences with a new reality. This sentiment certainly permeates into my paintings and the themes they depict. It's a continual search for fitting in or highlighting the lack thereof, embodying what we feel when we think about our journey and the things that accompany us along the way.

The way you apply paint on canvas is described as luring the viewer into thinking about time. Could you elaborate on your technique and how it serves to capture the fluidity of time and reveal its consequences within your paintings?

Every day, I observe how time interacts with my paintings, especially the time they spend with me. When working on a piece, it's clear that various, often extreme emotions accompany the process, evident in the changes and subsequent layers—this is how time operates. Presenting an object that is old, sometimes damaged, bearing the marks of its journey, I strive to represent the same process in the way I depict it in the painting. In this case, the object itself embodies the painting process, the experience to which the artist subjects it. It's like an expression of the time that has passed for the object, continuously changing and evolving under the influence of my painting process.

The repetition of layers and motifs in your paintings allows experimentation within the history of figurative painting. How do you use repetition as a tool for experimentation, and how does it contribute to questioning the boundaries of theoretical descriptions of your artistic practice?

I think this is the quintessence of my painting—these repetitions, painting one layer and motif on top of another and blurring them with the same consistency. I used to wonder if the traces left behind by the painting that was initially on the canvas but consistently reduced constituted painting at all and in what category I could place it. At one point, within the context of painting, I worried about everything and asked an endless number of questions. Today, I see it somewhat differently; everything is part of the process, even the disappearance of the painting, like people fading from our lives, our belongings, our memories.  The repetitiveness in applying paint and reproducing motifs, as well as smudging and covering, define the description and meaning of my painting for myself. As for descriptions in theory, maybe everything we “call painting” is and should be just that? Is that too arrogant an approach to history and tradition? Are they even necessary for us now? Because I think that if you ask me to answer this question in a few years, I'll know and categorize even less—and I'll be extremely happy about it. My way of painting is a beautiful bracket encapsulating what I'm currently working on.

Describe a real-life situation that inspired you.

Over a year ago, my partner and I moved into our home. One of the many reasons why we specifically chose this house was its basement, which seemed like the perfect space for my studio. Indeed, it has been that ideal place for me every day. When the previous owners took their belongings, and I started bringing in my painting equipment, I discovered one thing left behind. It was a school project made and left by their son: a drawing of Frida Kahlo's face on a cardboard cut in the shape of a painter's palette. I took it as a sign, a good omen, and that Frida’s portrait still hangs on the wall of my studio to this day. It was the most beautiful coincidence to start my work there.

Everything, absolutely everything inspires me, and sometimes it can be very tiring that painting never gives me a day off, or a moment when I can. In every song, movie, book, on every dog walk and in meeting people, there's always something that stays with me, something that inspires me and takes me where another piece of work is born. Additionally, I believe in signs, and I see them everywhere too