Estefanía Martín Sáenz's work has made its way through artistic paths that run outside the mainstream of contemporary production. The use of techniques with higher manual weight and the resource to materials as common as atypical in the current scene made her work a reference in the dialogue between the present and the past. Until October 10th we can visit her exhibition "Máscaras" at the Alcobendas Art Centre.

Estefanía Martín Sáez, Dibujos literarios, "Marcela I", 2016

After her exhibition “Mourning and luxury” at the ABC Museum of illustration, within the 15th edition of the Connections program that relates works of the Banco Santander collection with the funds of the illustration museum, it could be seen that Estefanía's work displays enormous sensitivity and shows a way of creating based on dedication and personal devotion. With this methodology, her pieces convey all together that same generosity and delicacy that are needed to conclude them.

Estefanía Martín Sáez, “Las flores son para el cementerio I”, 2018

At the same time, the artist takes advantage of this detailed quality of her work to reflect on issues that question the traditional role of women in society. It is not therefore strange to see cuts of fabrics, embroidered cloths, interwoven threads and other materials that, in a constant way throughout history, have always been linked to female work within the domestic sphere. As a peaceful proclamation, Estefanía takes up these elements to give them new uses and build a subversive discourse that claims the real importance of women in an environment determined to relegate them to the background.

Estefanía Martín Sáez, "Máscara 5", 2018

Based on this global protest that refers to all the women in the world and, particularly, those that the artist has been encountering throughout her life, the “Máscaras” project offers a visual story where female figures appear faceless, because, what is important to highlight is the universal character of an endemic situation of social imbalance that only in the western world is shyly reversed. That is why the specific features of a face do not matter, but the representation in absolute terms of a shared reality.

Estefanía Martín Sáez, “Sígueme”, 2019

The exhibition brings together two lines of work of the artist: “Fiestas Paganas” and “Aquelarre”. Although with a different foundation, in both cases, Estefanía underlines the state of social exile that the female gender has historically lived in different contexts, times and places. With reference to pagan holidays, the presence of women in these celebrations appears as a mere object; while in "Aquelarre" she recovers part of the events that took place during the performance of the Inquisition, where many of them were sentenced to death accused of witchcraft and heresy for the sole fact of being women.

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.