The work of Ana Pais Oliveira, Iván Baizán and Rubén Fernández Castón starts from a shared interest in geometry and its plastic translation. The proposal of these creators conveys a clear interest in the construction of new physical spaces with which to body their concern for the environment and the role of the individual in the urban environment. On many occasions, it is about proposing alternative buildings, imaginary architectures that defy natural laws; in others, giving way to a geometric abstraction where the volumes are defined by contrasts of colour.

Rubén Fernández Castón

Entrelíneas III, 2016

Acrylic on wood

55 x 42cm

Ana Pais Oliveira

Heavy drawing #26, 2017

Mixed media on cardboard

70 x 50cm

Iván Baizán

XV (de la serie "Usted no está aquí"), 2018

Serigrafía, acrílico, poliestireno y papel montado en caja de madera (obra enmarcada en caja y cristal)

40 x 30cm

If something characterises contemporary geometry, is its ambition to exploit the plastic possibilities of the materials to generate the illusion of volume and depth from the linearity of the flat support. It is, in reality, a hand extended to the viewer, an invitation to transcend the physical limitations of our three-dimensional space to give free rein to alternative realities, to floating constructions, to buildings without support points, to impossible materials.

This is one of the strong points of the work of Iván Baizán. The pieces of the collection "In the limits of the structure" develops one of the most paradigmatic facets of this artist, specialised in engraving and printing. His work offers urban cartography based on the superposition of planes and the communicative power of colour. In the form of exquisite wooden boxes, his last works are like windows open to a new universe, the one where man has taken the reins of his time and space, where it is not necessary to live corseted by inherited forms and unbreakable laws. Its floating architectures pose a paradox in a perfect aesthetic balance that combines materials, design and staging.

Iván Baizán

VI (de la serie "Usted no está aquí"), 2017

Serigrafía, acrílico, poliestireno y papel montado en caja de madera (obra enmarcada en caja y cristal)

100 x 80cm

Iván Baizán

II (de la serie "Usted no está aquí"), 2017

Serigrafía, acrílico, poliestireno y papel montado en caja de madera (obra enmarcada en caja y cristal)

100 x 80cm

The Portuguese Ana Pais Oliveira follows a similar line. Her work is a compendium of structures where architecture is very present. All her work conveys that tricky balance between the colourist abstraction and the game of textures in a display of proposals that go from painting on canvas to collage on cardboard. Constructions of the imagination that make their way around two fundamental ideas: line and colour. The geometry of Ana Pais is solid and wide; it expands in ambitious formats and with friendly tones that transfer to the support the utopia of the impossible architectures.

Ana Pais Oliveira

Heavy drawing #35, 2017

Mixed media on cardboard

70 x 50cm

Ana Pais Oliveira

Heavy drawing #32, 2017

Mixed media on cardboard

70 x 50cm

Ana Pais Oliveira

Heavy drawing #40, 2017

Mixed media on cardboard

70 x 50cm

For his part, Rubén Fernández Castón exceeds the limits of traditional painting to create works that approach sculpture. His most recent work applies geometry to pieces that develop on two sides and participate in the double game of illusion, the "meta-geometry", inside and outside the work itself. With flat and clean colour strokes, the contours are created by opposition, with a dance of contrasts that risks with shocking tones, without overlapping, neat, concise and pure.

Rubén Fernández Castón

Entrelíneas IV, 2016

Acrylic on wood

59 x 40cm

Rubén Fernández Castón

Entrelíneas V, 2016

Acrylic on wood

60 x 40cm

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.