After a five year degree in art history followed by three more years at the Art University in Madrid, graduating with First-Class Honours in all third-year subjects, I felt like the university studies were only limiting my growth.

At that moment I started my development as an artist painting in absolute solitude.

Sick and recovering myself from successive death sentences, I am working with all of my courage,

like Baron Munchausen, the fictional German nobleman, that pulling his own ponytail comes out of the lake, in which he is drowning.

I have lived in England, Holland, USA, France, Madrid and Switzerland, with countless hours of investigation, books, travels and above all, self-inquiry, I find myself watering my soul and growing apart from a society in which I don’t recognize myself.

While traveling I discovered new colors for my canvases.

Feeling lost,  some Masters gave me the inspiration that guided me to find my own language.

Toulouse-Lautrec and Degas for instance at the very beginning. Gaugin pointing out to that wild part we all hide, essential in any creative process. Of course, Van Gogh was fundamental for me. His work palpitates the most, resounding and heartrending. In my infinite search Munch invited me to raise my voice by drawing the lines that the suffering has left. With a familiar handwriting in his tones and rhythm, Freud gave me security. Francis Bacon transforming the lines of our limited senses and showing how the lying mind traps us in his labyrinth. Edward Hopper filled me with loneliness and silence. And Kokoschka and specially Egon Schiele, inviting me to go beyond the suggestive.

And now I am alone in my Atelier.

After years sharing successfully my work, I am now exhibiting in Switzerland, however
I continue with my art from the silence, never loudly as the market would dictate. Being faithful to my spirit.

I started translating into my canvas the discoveries looking from the naked self, collecting the lost and hidden pieces. The solitude opens even more the senses and puts me further away from the known world.


The routine however numbs the senses, as Proust would say.

I look at the blank fabric and there is only panic, vertigo of a dry silence. I try to insinuate some lines to keep me standing. My painting shows me even more of the imperfections delicately exposed.

Mozart accompanies me on the way, perfect math, Verdi on the other hand, invites those emotions stored in the warehouses of my subconscious, Va Penciero (Nabucco) hypnotizes my paint strokes.

The series of canvases that I am working on give me a pain that I must look at, and at the same time, I am letting go of everything that does not caress me. I am cleaning my garden but it feels like a salmon swimming against the current.

Lightened the weight, more awake than ever, I am trying to figure it all without fear.

In a reunion with the passion that I felt during my geography studies, I begun to look at the landscape in a way I was not ready before. Switzerland is all nature, we all are.

In my paper Kraft I treat the mountain like the figure of a woman, and I have the same feelings. Every little line is meaningful, it makes sense like a huge puzzle, or an ancient Egyptian papyrus that I manage to decipher, but with the sense of the mystery of the whole nature.

And I got it, I am starting to feel the Whole.

Sharing is my Gift.