"Shell / Cascarón" Print

Barcelona, 1979 He has had a studio in Madrid for fifteen years. Bachelor of Fine Arts from UCLM, in Cuenca, Castilla la Mancha. After many years of exhibitions, fairs, reviews and so forth, and coinciding with the birth of my first child, and with the beginning of the economic crisis, our relationship cooled down. At that time the gallery with which I also collaborated, practically as a guest star, and which career path had begun with an exhibition of mine, was closed in Barcelona. Since then my exhibition activity in the official circuits stopped, despite which I continued working in my own way, dealing directly with my clients, which included institutions such as the Centro Médico Asturiano and the IMOMA, both in Oviedo, where my paintings can be seen. I have also made exhibitions in picturesque places but better than the best gallery or art center, such as Can Manresa, Can Timoner both in Santanyi, Mallorca, by the hand of Catalina Obrador, as well as in my workshop. In addition, I’ve been involved in a couple of publishing projects that have taken me a huge amount of time, and are waiting to see the light soon. They are “The end does not exist”, a traveling book, written and illustrated by myself (a trip to Antarctica aboard a sailboat) and “Close your eyes”, an illustrated story, written by Nonita Fdz. Estrada (a book about the importance of dreams and the freedom to have them). In addition, during this period, I have worked, and do I do occasionally work, as an assembler of exhibitions in the main museums and art centers of the city; to be an exhibitions assembler (also known as “Art handler) has given me the opportunity to paw on art works (the good ones and the other ones) and archaeological objects of the most diverse; from the fossil remains of the first dinosaur with feathers, to the votive crowns of Recesvinto and other Visigoth kings, passing through all kinds of pictures, photos, installations of all sort, which often we produce, etc., to the point that for me, these things have become prosaic, losing their mystical aura of an object enclosed in a showcase, or placed behind a security cord, so you do not get too close. With the naturalness with which a forensic expert or a gravedigger deals with the death of others, this is how I deal with art objects, with their placards and their showcases, in their most mundane truth, even with latex gloves. I also deal with their lies, but I reserve them for writing elsewhere.