Fight of Giants relies on figurative art and the character of the Pink Panther to reclaim the democratic genetics of Pop Art and its proximity to the audience, characteristics of an artistic movement inspired by the aesthetics of everyday life and consumer goods of the time. As a "happening" in the heart of the city of Madrid, Fight of Giants advocates for artistic creation in a context where the aesthetic experience is more exciting and better understood by all audiences.

Sixty years ago, Blake Edwards released in Technicolor one of the most unique feature films of the time, which would not only become part of American culture but also the international comedy universe: "The Pink Panther", whose original title was translated into Spanish as "La Pantera Rosa."

Jaime Sancorlo. Desert Patrol, 2023

In 1963, this comedy-thriller entered the bloodstream of the emerging Pop movement in a New York City experiencing the birth of the "Factory" and the rise of Truman Capote. Just like previous editions of this informal field called Battle of Giants (a "non-gallery," a "non-museum," something more than an exhibition, as defined by its creators Gabriel Suarez and Aleix Gordo), The Pink Panther reappears this time as a timeless character capable of questioning and reclaiming the present through its staging.

Sandra Rojo Picón. No9. Blue Pink, 2023

After obtaining the copyright for its reproduction directly from MGM, the commemoration of the character's sixtieth anniversary brings together thirty giant artists who, struggling together, will visually reflect on their socio-cultural present, their artistic and visual context, and their work, around the figure of the iconic pink character. At the same time, the proposal promotes the revision of the context of art itself, wanting to establish new places for the shared experience between the work of art and the observer, going beyond the apathy of the white cubes or those artistic spaces of restricted access belonging to the past.

Illan Argüello. Más chula que el 8, 2023

In this way and demonstrating the bitter heritage typical of British comedy or "pop art", the film was connected to the impulses of the new artistic exploration that was emerging in the streets of the Big Apple, far from the chromatic and gestural abstraction that had occupied the art scene during the previous decade, with figures such as Mark Rothko, Barnet Newman, Willem de Kooning or Jackson Pollock, and which had also moved away from the gaze of the general public. The New York cultural scene was now moving forward in the hands of the film director towards other paths closer to mass culture and its daily life through humor. In his first solo appearance in the Pink Phink chapter, the Pink Panther establishes a colorful battle against the traditional hegemony of the color blue, using all kinds of tricks and strategies to dye the world with his favorite color. In only six minutes in which we could see pictorial inheritances coming from the chromatic universe of Rothko and other abstract creators, the character is introduced in the culture of the politically incorrect.

Iker Serrano. Space Action Panther,2023

The Pink Panther represents irony, discontent or cynicism, clichés of what we know as "British sense of humor" and will always act, throughout all the short films, as a timeless critic, as an inter-generational and individual being capable of conversing with the general public, regardless of their origin, culture or age.

Mario Soria. Pink Biker,2023

Under the apparent atmosphere of humor and comedy of the new interpretations made by the thirty selected giants, there is a world of diverse readings and messages to be discovered, which will be unveiled by the other fundamental agent of any artistic process: the audience.

Fight of Giants gathers this time thirty individual visions for a collective and close reconstruction of its present, where the general public has been invited to participate with total freedom in this exciting process.

From May 25th to 28th. From 11h to 20h.

📍Hotel ONLY You Barquillo.

C/ del Barquillo, 21. Madrid.

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.