Art Madrid, which will be held from February 23 to 27 at the Galería de Cristal del Palacio de Cibeles, has selected 5 works that will be donated to the Museo de Arte Contemporáneo (MMAC), which depends on the Madrid City Council. The selected pieces are: 'Isabel II' by Kepa Garraza; 'Humo VI' by Isabel Alonso Vega; 'Palacio de Cristal' and 'Madrid, Gran Vía, 2018' by Leticia Felgueroso; and 'Flexia 9' by Toño Barreiro. The four Spanish artists have an already consolidated career within the contemporary art scene in our country and with an important international projection. The works are currently on display at the fair and once it is over, this Sunday, February 27, they will be moved to the museum so that they can be admired by all visitors.

Kepa Garraza

Isabel II, 2021

Carbón comprimido sobre papel

100 x 75cm

Las piezas elegidas son:

"Isabel II' by Kepa Garraza made in compressed charcoal on paper in 2021. The works of Kepa Garraza (Berango, Vizcaya, 1979) reflect on the nature of the images we consume every day. Through fictitious scenarios where a parallel reality is recreated, he invites the viewer to question issues related to identity and the manipulation of information. His work questions official discourses, and questions the processes of institutional legitimization. His ironic and acid look offers alternatives to the reality we know and proposes a healthy exercise: to always doubt the official version. This piece can be seen at Victor Lope Contemporary Art Gallery.

Isabel Alonso Vega

Humo VI, 2018

Fumes and methacrylate

50 x 50cm

'Humo VI', exhibited at Hispánica Contemporánea gallery, is Isabel Alonso Vega's sculpture created with smoke and methacrylate in 2018. The works of Isabel Alonso (Madrid, 1968) speak of the intangible, of that which is there but can hardly be seen, it is almost impossible to touch, let alone catch. The intangible becomes present and presents itself enclosed, but not immobile, since the forms have their own life and change according to the lighting and the perspective from where you look at them.

Leticia Felgueroso

Madrid, Gran Vía 2018, 2018

Fotografía y gelatina de plata sobre papel RC

150 x 205cm

The photographs 'Palacio de Cristal' and 'Madrid, Gran Vía 2018', exhibited at the BAT Alberto Cornejo gallery, are two of the pieces that will be donated belonging to Leticia Felgueroso. The works of Felgueroso (Madrid, 1963) are based on urban scenes of an attractive chromatism that make us imagine a different city. Her photographs can be found in numerous Spanish embassies around the world and she has been commissioned by entities such as Ifema or the Thyssen-Bornemisza National Museum.

Toño Barreiro

Flexia 9, 2018

Esmalte sobre aluminio

65 x 65cm

'Flexia 9' by Toño Barreiro, made in enamel on aluminum in 2018, is another of the pieces that will be incorporated into the collection of the Museum of Contemporary Art and can be seen at Shiras Galería. Toño Barreiro (Zamora, 1965) has been developing, since the mid-1980s, a multidisciplinary work that alternates photography, painting, sculpture and digital processes. In his work we can observe a whole series of new methodologies and creative processes that give rise to sinuous and synaesthetic paintings, playing with the concept of deconstruction, the symbiotic or the most elementary biological processes.

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.