In its seventeen previous editions, the Art Madrid fair has been a stage where Portuguese galleries have met, turning our event into an unmissable appointment to discover and appreciate the news of an essential representation of the Portuguese visual arts production. And lay on the table the interest in these established spaces and their market internationalization inside and outside Portugal. From February 22 to 26 galleries, already familiar with the fair's context, return: Art Lounge Gallery, (Lisbon), Nuno Sacramento Arte Contemporânea, (Ílhavo), Galeria São Mamede, (Lisbon) and Trema Arte Contemporânea, (Lisbon) joins the roast. Twenty artists will land in our capital thanks to these spaces to show their most recent works. Painting, photography, sculpture and drawing prevail in this edition.

Lúcia Davis, “Rubbish”. Trema Arte Contemporáneo ©

The galleries' exhibition proposals stand out for the support and materials experimentation. From poetic-plastic rereadings of everyday objects (Trema Arte Contemporânea); the disruption of photography (Nuno Sacramento Arte Contemporânea); painting and drawing as experiential tools (São Mamede Gallery), and the interrelation between pictorial exercise and the space that contains it (Art Lounge Gallery). These brushstrokes shed light on the interest of each exponent to travel on the right foot in the paths of contemporary visual production in Portugal and its representation at the behest of the market.

Sofia Areal, “Coração e Noite” 2010. Galería São Mamede ©

Special attention deserves Trema Arte Contemporânea, which began its activity with a group of emerging Portuguese artists and nowadays is recognized in the Portuguese gallery circuit as one of the highest-level galleries. It has marked the eclecticism of the most current Portuguese art and other foreign artists with innovative projects for over twenty years. From its list, we want to highlight Carlos Barão, a spontaneous artist who focuses his research on the search for sensations that border on dreaminess within the painting. And the works of Lúcia David, who immerses herself in drawing to raise the roots of an imperfect and daring staging. Galeria São Mamede opened its doors in the sixties, and its interest has always been framed within the Portuguese modernism and contemporary movement. From its list, we highlight the participation of Sofía Areal one of the most important painters of her generation, and Nélio Saltão a self-taught artist with a meaningful career in painting and color experimentation.

João Noutel, “Future”, 2022. Art Lounge Gallery ©

While the series of portraits of Nuno Horta (Mirandela, Bragança, Portugal, 1977) repeats in ArtMadrid with Nuno Sacramento Arte Contemporânea. The great beauty is frozen in the approximations that this artist conjures up of the human figure, totally fanatical about the perfection and deification of the faces. Human physiognomy becomes an updated account of experimentation with fluorescent light and color in an intrinsic search for golden proportions. The treatment of postmodern icons in João Noutel work (Porto, Portugal, 1971) is another of the approaches that Art Lounge Gallery proposes to the painting. The artist works on an interesting pictorial proposal. He recounts the complex mechanisms of the image and its deconstruction or reconversion into an object of desire in the times that welcome us.

The Portuguese visual arts show, with these representations in our fair, the solid contemporary movement breathed into the gallery circuit to which they belong.

nuno Horta, “Dominion”, 2021. Nuno Sacramento Arte Contemporânea ©

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.