With the current need to innovate and be up to date, it seems that certain materials, once traditional, are condemned to oblivion. Gone are the natural pigments made by the artist himself and linen cloths on which the painter applies his primer mixture are increasingly scarce.

However, some creators are reluctant to leave aside elements that have always been present in the art world and in which they find their source of inspiration, as it is the case with patterned fabrics. As a kind of revival of remnants taken from the memory chest, the floral motifs and textures offered by these elements represent a return to an earlier, more traditional era, in which everything demanded time and things went at a lower speed.

Pierre Louis Geldenhuys

Mágica I, 2017

Tessellation and wild silk in light box

95 x 95cm

Pierre Louis Geldenhuys

Nenúfares, 2017

Wild silk and light box

111.5 x 111.5cm

This is the case of Pierre Louis Geldenhuys, who defines himself as a textile artist, as well as being an haute couture designer. His work is an elegant combination of transparencies, textures, volumes and light boxes to create incredible contrast effects that make drawings with the fabric. It is easy to abstract oneself and think that we are before pieces painted on wood board or methacrylate, however, each stroke and shape is a fold of cloth meticulously folded and designed to compose a structure of silk, linen or cotton.

Another artist clearly influenced by the fashion world and who incorporates those references to her works is Paz Barreiro. Her pieces convey that ideal atmosphere of the summertime in which afternoons passed by on the shore of a beach or reading on the grass. But the positivity and joy of her compositions are due to a large extent to the choice of backgrounds, which resemble collages of cutouts superimposed of floral and dotted patterns, something that recalls the aesthetics of the 50s.

By using printed fabrics on the wall and the body of her models, Cecilia Paredes builds an infinite discourse to reflect on the relationship of the human being with nature. Some of her most representative photographs are the result of a previous creation calculated, measured and staged, from which the image remains. With this game of positions between the different planes, Cecilia manages to mimic the figures with their surroundings, as if they were one more element of that colourful and exuberant nature of the fabrics she uses.

The work of Ana Teresa Barboza develops among threads and embroidery frames, with needle and thimble. This artist has explored different themes with a powerful visual impact, despite using such modest materials in her work. The concern for the natural environment, domestic violence, urban growth, are some of the projects of this Peruvian artist who extends the possibilities of these materials and gives them a new meaning.

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.