Aurelio San Pedro

CONVERSATIONS WITH MARISOL SALANOVA. INTERVIEW PROGRAM. ART MADRID'25

Aurelio San Pedro (Barcelona, 1983) draws with great delicacy, focusing his attention on natural settings and favoring black and white. Memory plays a crucial role in his creative process, which is based on treating recollection as a means of artistic expression. His background in engineering and topography influences his search for inspiring images, helping him select the ideal landscapes—ones that stem from both real and imagined places.

Each of his pieces follows a slow and meticulous process, requiring deep introspection. Paper is almost a fetish for him; both the areas he chooses to intervene in and those he leaves blank hold equal importance. He navigates between abstraction and figuration while maintaining a distinctive and deeply resonant style.

Return to Oneself. From the series Books and Landscapes. 2024. Mixed media. 100 x 100 cm.

What role does experimentation play in your creative process?

Experimentation is fundamental in my creative process, both conceptually and aesthetically. My work evolves in parallel with unfolding events, gradually shaping what will become the final piece. However, in terms of production, the role of experimentation depends heavily on the series I am working on at the time.

For example, in the Books series, which is created using book fragments, three-dimensionality is essential. While working on it, I encountered trial and error, residue, simplification, and the streamlining of processes.

In contrast, when it comes to drawings, physical experimentation is much less pronounced. However, there are still discoveries, searches for tools, trials, and shifts within the working process. For instance, in Landscapes, I use a pencil with three extenders that measures about fifty to sixty centimeters. In my two latest series, Iceland and Nature, I had to learn how to move and position myself within nature, while also refining my drawing technique significantly.

Always Stumbled Upon the Same Stone.Detail. From the series Books and Landscapes. 2024. Mixed media. 10 x 19 cm.

What are your references?

I cannot pinpoint specific aesthetic influences, but I can mention those who have left a mark on my artistic journey. First and foremost, my father, due to his connection with art and architecture. I also had the privilege of learning for a year in the studio of Antoni Marqués, a renowned Catalan artist.

Historically, the works of Magritte and Joseph Kosuth have had a profound influence on me. Formally, I find a certain connection with Arte Povera, and I identify with minimalism.

Twenty Dark Episodes. 2024. From the series Books and Landscapes. Mixed media. 100 x 100 cm.

How do memory and recollection influence your drawings?

Much of my work, if not all, is rooted in memory. I began with the Diane series, a collection of pencil drawings based on old photographs by Diane Arbus. In these drawings, I removed the main subjects, leaving only the backgrounds. They were complemented by diptychs that included descriptions of the absent characters, the location where the photograph was taken, and the year. This approach created a dialogue between presence and absence, exploring themes of memory and recollection.

Later, I worked on Landscapes, a much more ethereal series in which I sought to represent an idealized and undefined image through personal memory. Currently, I am developing Nature and Iceland, projects that reflect on natural memory in relation to the landscape’s own form.

I am interested in posing questions such as: How did this rock end up here? How was this meandering river formed? A simple landscape holds countless traces and processes. For me, that is the essence of memory in my work.

ST.3. From the series Iceland. 2024. Pencil on paper. 120 x 100 cm.

How long does it take you to complete your works?

The time I dedicate to each piece depends mainly on its complexity and specific characteristics. Generally, I spend between two and four weeks on each piece, with an average of about three weeks. This varies, as some works require more time for reflection, adjustments, or details, while others emerge more fluidly. The diversity of the creative process is what makes the difference, each piece has its own demands and rhythms, making every artistic experience unique.

Return to Oneself. From the series Books and Landscapes. 2024. Mixed media. 100 x 100 cm.

Why do you choose to work in black and white?

I am deeply drawn to black and white for its timelessness. This visual approach not only eliminates distractions but also removes certain details that might diminish the work’s mystery, allowing the viewer to focus on the essential. The absence of color and the diffuse light I use contribute to a sense of distortion and vagueness, which, to me, enhances the enigmatic nature of the image.

By omitting volume and color, I create an atmosphere that invites interpretation, leaving room for the viewer to project their own narrative onto what they see. This quality of uncertainty and suggestion is what I find so powerful about working in black and white.

The work of Cedric Le Corf (Bühl, Germany, 1985) is situated in a territory of friction, where the archaic impulse of the sacred coexists with a critical sensibility characteristic of contemporary times. His practice is grounded in an anthropological understanding of the origin of art as a foundational gesture: the trace, the mark, the need to inscribe life in the face of the awareness of death.

The artist establishes a complex dialogue with the Spanish Baroque tradition, not through stylistic mimicry, but through the emotional and material intensity that permeates that aesthetic. The theatricality of light, the embodiment of tragedy, and the hybridity of the spiritual and the carnal are translated in his work into a formal exploration, where underlying geometry and embedded matter generate perceptual tension.

In Le Corf’s practice, the threshold between abstraction and figuration is not an opposition but a site of displacement. Spatial construction and color function as emotional tools that destabilize the familiar. An open methodology permeates this process, in which planning coexists with a deliberate loss of control. This allows the work to emerge as a space of silence, withdrawal, and return, where the artist confronts his own interiority.

The Fall. 2025. Oil on canvas.195 × 150 cm.

In your work, a tension can be perceived between devotion and dissidence. How do you negotiate the boundary between the sacred and the profane?

In my work, I feel the need to return to rock art, to the images I carry with me. From the moment prehistoric humans became aware of death, they felt the need to leave a trace—marking a red hand on the cave wall using a stencil, a symbol of vital blood. Paleolithic man, a hunter-gatherer, experienced a mystical feeling in the presence of the animal—a form of spiritual magic and rituals linked to creation. In this way, the cave becomes sacred through the abstract representation of death and life, procreation, the Venus figures… Thus, art is born. In my interpretation, art is sacred by essence, because it reveals humankind as a creator.

Between Dog and Wolf II. 2025. Oil on canvas. 97 × 70 cm.

Traces of the Spanish Baroque tradition can be seen in your work. What do you find in it that remains contemporary today?

Yes, elements of the Spanish Baroque tradition are present in my work. In the history of art, for example, I think of Arab-Andalusian mosaics, in which I find a geometry of forms that feels profoundly contemporary. In Spanish Baroque painting and sculpture, one recurring theme is tragedy: death and the sacred are intensely embodied, whether in religious or profane subjects, in artists such as Zurbarán, Ribera, El Greco, and also Velázquez. I am thinking, for example, of the remarkable equestrian painting of Isabel of France, with its geometry and nuanced portrait that illuminates the painting.

When I think about sculpture, the marvelous polychrome sculptures of Alonso Cano, Juan de Juni, or Pedro de Mena come to mind—works in which green eyes are inlaid, along with ivory teeth, horn fingernails, and eyelashes made of hair. All of this has undoubtedly influenced my sculptural practice, both in its morphological and equestrian dimensions. Personally, in my work I inlay porcelain elements into carved or painted wood.

Between Dog and Wolf I. 2025. Oil on canvas. 97 × 70 cm.

What interests you about that threshold between the recognizable and the abstract?

For me, any representation in painting or sculpture is abstract. What imposes itself is the architectural construction of space, its secret geometry, and the emotion produced by color. It is, in a way, a displacement of the real in order to reach that sensation.

The Anatomical Angel. 2013. Ash wood and porcelain. 90 × 15 × 160 cm.

Your work seems to move between silence, abandonment, and return. What draws you toward these intermediate spaces?

I believe it is by renouncing the imitation of external truth, by refusing to copy it, that I reach truth—whether in painting or in sculpture. It is as if I were looking at myself within my own subject in order to better discover my secret, perhaps.

Justa. 2019. Polychrome oak wood. 240 × 190 × 140 cm.

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

It is true that, on occasions, I completely forget the main idea behind my painting and sculpture. Although I begin a work with very clear ideas—preliminary drawings and sketches, preparatory engravings, and a well-defined intention—I realize that, sometimes, that initial idea gets lost. It is not an accident. In some cases, it has to do with technical difficulties, but nowadays I also accept starting from a very specific idea and, when faced with sculpture, wood, or ceramics, having to work in a different way. I accept that.