Carolina Serrano at the studio

Carolina Serrano (Portugal, 1994) lives and works between Cologne and Lisbon.

Serrano's work and research revolves around the temporal dimension of sculpture. The artist's sculptural thinking collapses, recurrently, with the notions of light and shadow; with the ideas of destruction and appearance; and with the duality between interior and exterior and between full and empty space.

Serrano is interested in the concept of the restricted, inaccessible and therefore unknown “place”, and in the uncertainty of the extent of it. In recent years Carolina Serrano has been working almost exclusively with paraffin wax because of its plastic possibilities, as is the reflection of the light, but above all because of the theoretical and conceptual possibilities that this material can originate in the field of the observer's imagination. Serrano is also interested in the idea of a potential spiritual transmutation and transubstantiation of the sculptural object.

Carolina Serrano

I made a promise in eternity, 2021

Parafina

221 x 61.5cm

What inspires you when you create?

To my work, I’m trying to understand and think about what it is to be a human being, what it is to live in the world inside a body, and also, I’m trying to think about the notions of time and space and opposite ideas.

What are you working on recently?

I recently finished my first solo exhibition in Germany where I live now and in 2022 I’m going to prepare a group exhibition in Germany as well. Also a solo exhibition in Lisbon.

Carolina Serrano

Os amantes, 2020

Parafina

150 x 130cm

Tell us about your creative process

About my creative process, I normally go to my notebooks where I draw and write some ideas about mental images and sculptures that I see on my mind.

When I have an exhibition or project to work with I go to these notebooks and when the sculpture is ready to be alive (let’s say) I materialise it. Sometimes I do variations of the sculptures while in the studio. And my dreams and ideas are always present throughout my creative process.

You are participating for the first time in the fair, what do you expect from Art Madrid?

What I expect from Art Madrid’22 is that my work can be seen and appreciated. People can find the space and the time to look at my works, because in a fair there are a lot of booths and artworks, so I think that every visitor has to find the moment and create the relationship with the work that they like.

In your work you explore the duality between exterior and interior, full and empty space, and even light and shadow. Where does this interest in exploring and confronting opposites come from?

Opposites are completely connected with the notion of time and suffering, because time it's a human concept. Some, like Saint Augustin the medieval philosopher, believe that the evil of the world comes from the division from the real desire into conflicting desires. So the dispersion of the soul it is a division. Opposites are a great part of what it is to be a human being.

Carolina Serrano

Gume, 2021

Parafina

48 x 16cm

The color black in the history of art has always been related to some divine darkness, together with the spirituality that your works give off and the interest in an unknown and inaccessible “place”, are we in front of a search for your own type of religiosity?

I think art can make us come closer and recognize our most deepest places. So for a few seconds, I say seconds because we cannot count them, time is able to become still. And normally this happens with surprise and astonishment or with the unexpected. So yes, maybe we can reach that almost unknown and inaccessible place that we have inside us. Maybe art can have a type of spirituality and religiosity.

The artist Carolina Serrano participates for the first time in the fair with Galerie Alex Serra, together with the artists Katja Davar, Mário Macilau, René Tavares and Rui Sanches.

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.