MediaLab Prado faces like every December a difficult challenge: to summarise in a day the work of a whole year and share it with the citizens. With this premise, the essential date on the agenda is approaching. The 14th you can not miss “One day in a year. Annual MediaLab Prado Festival ”. With an intense and varied program of activities, the centre opens its doors to families, curious and neighbours with the purpose of turning this pre-Christmas event into an encounter of exchange, knowledge and entertainment designed for everyone: from 0 to 99 years.

For the little ones, MediaLab Prado has created a special program to stimulate all the senses. Starting with music storytellers, followed by Japanese percussion classes, going through performances that recover the poems of García Lorca, Alberti or Gloria Strong. And that's not all, because there will also be room for fantasy and imagination in activities that involve body and mind. Some of these workshops are run by Blanca Helga, a children's illustrator specialising in play-books for children that she edits in the publishing house "Hopitihop" founded by herself. With Blanca, kids can create fantastic characters from cut-outs and collages, as well as start their first artist book with digital tools. And paying attention to body expression, there will also be an experimentation workshop on the body and the way we understand it, by the hand of Giz&Gif.

The connection between art and technology will be available to visitors with an immersive virtual reality experience throughout most of the day. This proposal is in charge of the Synthetic Realities Laboratory (LabRS), one of the centre’s workgroups that investigates the development of these virtual environments. On the other hand, there will be a presentation of all the projects carried out throughout the year, among which we highlight "Dark Light", the result of collaboration with Debajo del Sombrero, BIVO and "Autofabricantes". The first one will show the result of the residences carried out in the centre by autistic artists selected by the association Debajo del Sombrero throughout 2019, with projects arising from naturalness and spontaneity without conditioning. For its part, BIVO is an initiative that seeks to raise awareness about the need for responsible energy consumption, while investigating the manufacture of prototypes that allow the generation of energy through human movement. “Autofabricantes” is a space to investigate the technological advances applied to the elaboration of prostheses through open source, in addition to maintaining a community of exchange and support between participants and families, under the guidance and contribution of the “Exando una mano” group.

Works by Andrés Fernández, "Dark Light"

And you could not miss the use of the square. In addition to breakfast with some ‘roscon’ and hot chocolate as the first thing to open the day, from 6 p.m. the LED facade will be available to visitors, first with an interactive game of ping pong, and then a sample of the projects created for this device throughout the year by institutes, universities and academies.

This is just a preview of everything to enjoy the following Saturday in a meeting designed for everyone to participate. We invite you to consult the rest of the programming HERE and make a place on the agenda for this essential appointment.

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.