Trained in Fine Arts at the University of the Basque Country, the Bradford Art College in England and the University of Barcelona, ​​Kepa Garraza (Berango, Vizcaya, 1979) began his exhibition career in 2004. From that time, he received various scholarships and awards.

Kepa Garraza's work reflects on the nature of the images we consume daily. For this reason, his work questions official discourses and calls into question the processes of institutional legitimation. The proposed reflection drinks from his interest in the construction processes of the historical narrative. In this way, Kepa invites the viewer to question the information obtained from the official media. His reinterpretation of reality is always ambiguous and confusing, full of subtleties and grey areas that invite the viewer to rethink the historical account and the chronicle of reality.

Kepa Garraza

Interview:

What inspires you when creating?

Mainly I am inspired by current events of the reality in which we live. Basically, our daily life. The detailed observation of the facts and circumstances that most influence us in our daily lives. Above all, I am interested in reflecting on them and elaborating a rereading of reality.

What are you working on recently?

I am now working on a series of quite different works because the creation process has an essential digital component—something new in my creative process. Being concise and concrete, it is about creating elements of public sculpture (monuments) that do not exist from scratch and making a kind of assemblage in which I substitute monuments of diligent politicians, monarchs and revolutionaries from all over the world for these pieces of fiction, for these drills.

Kepa Garraza

Charlemagne, 2017

Pastel sobre papel

140 x 100cm

Tell us about your creative process.

My creative process is quite orderly, and I think it's a true reflection of myself. I imagine, like everyone else, it is always based on (or begins) with the concretion of an idea that is generated and matures little by little inside the head. Gradually it takes shape until it becomes something definite. Until I have that reasonably clear idea in my head, even with a very concrete image of the final works, I don't start the creation process per se. It is a very detailed process where the following phases are very established, and I rarely skip them. I have been working like this for many years, and I imagine it is a matter of economy of effort and comfort.

Are you participating for the first time in the fair? What do you expect from Art Madrid?

I have participated in the fair before. The truth is that it has always had a very positive result for me. With which, I hope that this year the result will be repeated and it will be a great fair if the health situation allows it.

Kepa Garraza

Calígula, 2021

Carbón comprimido sobre papel

100 x 75cm

Tell us about Kepa Garraza, the imaginary artist, your alter ego born in 1957.

Kepa Garraza of fiction is an alter ego born very close to my father's dates. He is a Kepa who becomes an excellent star in the art world, being quite young, in the early '80s, and ends up having a meteoric career that makes him a superstar. The life of this Kepa Garraza is narrated in a series of paintings that function as a kind of fictional biography where he is seen accompanied by illustrious personalities of the last 40 years, but none of his works are ever seen.

Is art for you a tool to criticize the art system itself?

Yes, in a way, but not only the art system but the entire sociopolitical reality. Bearing in mind that art is still a very faithful reflection of the world we live in, all my work has a component of social criticism. Or well, you want to invite thinking about certain concepts related to the economy, politics, history and social reorganization. Art, of course, falls within that objective.

It is true that perhaps a few years ago, my language and my works spoke more of the world of art, and now I deal with more general topics. But in the background, all the series and those interests are interrelated. They all arise from my obsessions and things that interest me.

Kepa Garraza

Isabel II, 2021

Carbón comprimido sobre papel

100 x 75cm

Kepa Garraza participa en Art Madrid con la galería de Barcelona Víctor Lope Arte Contemporáneo, junto a los artistas: Carsten Beck, Dirk Salz, Jacinto Moros, Jo Hummuel, Mario Dilitz, Max Gärtner y Patrick Grijalvo.

The painting of Daniel Bum (Villena, Alicante, 1994) takes shape as a space for subjective elaboration, where the figure emerges not so much as a representational motif but as a vital necessity. The repetition of this frontal, silent character responds to an intimate process: painting becomes a strategy for navigating difficult emotional experiences—an insistent gesture that accompanies and alleviates feelings of loneliness. In this sense, the figure acts as a mediator between the artist and a complex emotional state, linking the practice of painting to a reconnection with childhood and to a vulnerable dimension of the self.

The strong autobiographical dimension of his work coexists with a formal distance that is not the result of conscious planning, but rather functions as a protective mechanism. Visual restraint, an apparent compositional coolness, and an economy of means do not neutralize emotion; instead, they contain it, avoiding the direct exposure of the traumatic. In this way, the tension between affect and restraint becomes a structural feature of his artistic language. Likewise, the naïve and the disturbing coexist in his painting as inseparable poles, reflecting a subjectivity permeated by mystery and unconscious processes. Many images emerge without a clearly defined prior meaning and only reveal themselves over time, when temporal distance allows for the recognition of the emotional states from which they arose.

The Long Night. Oil, acrylic, and charcoal on canvas. 160 × 200 cm. 2024.

The human figure appears frequently in your work: frontal, silent, suspended. What interests you about this presence that seems both affirmative and absent?

I wouldn’t say that anything in particular interests me. I began painting this figure because there were emotions I couldn’t understand and a feeling that was very difficult for me to process. This character emerged during a very complicated moment in my life, and the act of making it—and remaking it, repeating it again and again—meant that, during the process, I didn’t feel quite so alone. At the same time, it kept me fresh and connected me to an inner child who was broken at that moment, helping me get through the experience in a slightly less bitter way.

Santito. Acrylic and oil on canvas. 81 × 65 cm. 2025.

There is a strong affective dimension in your work, but also a calculated distance, a kind of formal coldness. What role does this tension between emotion and restraint play?

I couldn’t say exactly what role that tension plays. My painting is rooted in the autobiographical, in memory, and in situations I have lived through that were quite traumatic for me. Perhaps, as a protective mechanism—to prevent direct access to that vulnerability, or to keep it from becoming harmful—that distance appears unconsciously. It is not something planned or controlled; it simply emerges and remains there.

Night Painter. Acrylic on canvas. 35 × 27 cm. 2025.

Your visual language oscillates between the naïve and the unsettling, the familiar and the strange. How do these tensions coexist for you, and what function do they serve in your visual exploration?

I think it reflects who I am. One could not exist without the other. The naïve could not exist without the unsettling; for me, they necessarily go hand in hand. I am deeply drawn to mystery and to the act of painting things that even I do not fully understand. Many of the expressions or portraits I create emerge from the unconscious; they are not planned. It is only afterwards that I begin to understand them—and almost never immediately. A considerable amount of time always passes before I can recognize how I was feeling at the moment I made them.

Qi. Acrylic on canvas. 81 × 65 cm. 2025.

The formal simplicity of your images does not seem to be a matter of economy, but of concentration. What kind of aesthetic truth do you believe painting can reach when it strips itself of everything superfluous?

I couldn’t say what aesthetic truth lies behind that simplicity. What I do know is that it is something I need in order to feel calm. I feel overwhelmed when there are too many elements in a painting, and I have always been drawn to the minimal—to moments when there is little, when there is almost nothing. I believe that this stripping away allows me to approach painting from a different state: more focused, more silent. I can’t fully explain it, but it is there that I feel able to work with greater clarity.

Crucifixion. Acrylic on canvas. 41 × 33 cm. 2025.

To what extent do you plan your work, and how much space do you leave for the unexpected—or even for mistakes?

I usually feel more comfortable leaving space for the unexpected. I am interested in uncertainty; having everything under control strikes me as rather boring. I have tried it on some occasions, especially when I set out to work on a highly planned series, with fixed sketches that I then wanted to translate into painting, but it was not something I identified with. I felt that a fundamental part of the process disappeared: play—that space in which painting can surprise even myself. For that reason, I do not tend to plan too much, and when I do, it is in a very simple way: a few lines, a plane of color. I prefer everything to happen within the painting itself.