The CEART of Fuenlabrada opens today the exhibition "Yturralde cosmos chaos (obras 1966-2019)" curated by Alfonso de la Torre, which can be visited until October 27th. Yturralde's long career has allowed him to travel through different artistic movements in a manner consistent with his creative impulses and artistic concerns, although never forgetting eclecticism and the fusion of techniques that have always characterised his work.

In his beginnings, focused on the study of geometric abstraction, Yturralde was part of the group “Before Art”. This collective, founded in Valencia at the end of the 60s proposed an approach to art devoid of any subjectivity or feeling. Their proposals resulted in works of scientific basis, with a claim of objectivity, in which there was little room for the artist's interpretations. What is there before art, as an absolute approach? This group had an unquestionable impact within the development of geometric abstraction in our country, following the trail of this movement initiated worldwide during the interwar period.

Figura imposible. 1972

These first steps left a mark on Yturralde's work. As it happened to Sempere or Sobrino, also members of the group, geometry has been present in one way or another in his work, opening later to kinetic art with his series of "Impossible Figures." His entry into the Calculation Center of the Madrid University in '68 marks the beginning of his first computer work. This experience allows him to continue his exploration of forms with a methodology that is inspired by mathematical formulation and reveals the author's interest in optical games, chromatic distortion, volumes created by contrast and figures generated from pure geometry.

Reflections, tribute to Kepler, 1975-76. Lasers and mix technique

Another significant milestone in his career was his time as a researcher at the Center for Advanced Visual Studies under the MIT (Massachusetts Institute of Technology). In this period he began to experiment with laser light and refraction in faceted bodies, with a project entitled "Four-dimensional structures". The resulting works recover the aura of an abstraction based on recognisable rectilinear forms but add the mystery of the lights and shadows created by chance in unfathomable backgrounds of deep darkness. Yturralde experiments with new methods and techniques to further deepen the study of form.

Flying cube

After returning from the United States, his work opens to happening, installations and performances. This creative line coexists with its constant interest in geometry, now approached from another dimension. The forms leave the plane and become three-dimensional figures that cross the blue skies. Thus the "Flying Structures" are born as guided kites from the ground. Polyhedral designs in white, red, yellow... are both a vital event and the result of a constructive test that defies physical laws. This exhibition will include several of these structures never seen before, which will receive the visitor suspended in the space.

"Dice", 2015. Acrylic on cavas

From the 90s, Yturralde returns to the study of geometry and its relationship with colour. The "Preludes", "Interludes" and "Postludes" are presented as an analysis of chromatic varieties and the ability to generate volumes and contours with slight tone mutations. This painting is of enormous conceptual and formal purity and sometimes plays with that subtle tension between the framing and the unframing, the conscious search for a visual balance that forces the angles to the limit of bearable.

The exhibition is a tribute to this passionate of geometry that has dedicated his production to the study of simple forms and unfolded the high complexity that structures can hold. Besides, it will be the ideal opportunity to know the evolution of his work with a selection of more than 60 pieces, mostly large format, belonging to institutional and private collections that otherwise could not be visited.

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.