From Art Madrid, we pose a key reflection: Is it enough to talk about emerging art, work with emerging artists, and be a platform for their promotion? Reality shows us that many of these creators, at the beginning of their professional journey, face structural barriers such as a lack of public support, the absence of galleries willing to invest in them, or the disinterest of cultural institutions.

This situation, persistent both in the Spanish landscape and in other international contexts, leads us to ask: Where is emerging art truly heading? What defines emerging artists? And why do we tend to associate the emerging solely with age, as if emergence were inexorably tied to youth?

The V' Day in Coiled Dragon Garden. Acrylic on canvas. 2022. Sun Pei Mao. Represented at Art Madrid'25 by Yiri Arts.

Emerging art should not be merely a category confined to novelty or a specific life stage. It should be a dynamic concept encompassing the freshness of ideas, the courage in proposals, and the capacity to challenge the status quo, regardless of when or how an artist emerges. It is time to broaden the conversation and rethink the space we grant to those who, from any corner or circumstance, choose to make art their way of breaking into the art scene.

The term "emerging art" has been, from its inception, a nebulous concept deeply dependent on the structures that define and promote it. Initially conceived as a category to describe artists in the early stages of their careers, the concept has transformed into a contested terrain for galleries, institutions, and art critics, often becoming more of a market mechanism than a designation of genuine creative promise. But in the 21st century, does it still make sense to talk about "emerging art"?

Untitled. Sculpture. Wood, wax, oil, and tannins. 2022. Hirosuke Yabe. Represented at Art Madrid'25 by 3 Punts Galería.

In an increasingly hyperconnected world, where the barriers between the "emerging" and the "established" are blurred by the rapid circulation of artistic images and narratives, the term may begin to lose its weight. Social media has democratized, at least in theory, access to the visibility of artworks, allowing artists from all latitudes to project their work to a global audience without traditional intermediaries. This phenomenon raises a key question: What is truly "emerging" when a creator can go from anonymity to viral notoriety in a matter of hours?

The paradox deepens when we consider how the art market has absorbed this concept. "Emerging art" has shifted from being a temporary category to becoming a label that fuels speculative desire. However, this often results in the instrumentalization of the artist, whose work is reduced to a mere vehicle for economic transactions. In this context, the concept of "emergence" refers less to the potential for exploration or innovation and more to a speculative promise of financial return.

Chromatic Dream Space. Acrylic, oil, resins, and spray paint on canvas. 2024. Gemma Alpuente. Represented at Art Madrid'25 by Canal Gallery.

Emergent: relative to what?

Another fundamental issue lies in the relationship between "emergence" and the systems of power that legitimize it. Traditionally, the idea of an emerging artist suggests a narrative of ascent, a transition from the margins to the center of institutional recognition. However, this narrative presupposes a fixed cultural hierarchy, where centers of power (New York, London, Berlin, among others) dictate what is emerging and what is not.

In recent decades, movements like postcolonialism and decolonial theories have challenged these hierarchies, pointing out how they perpetuate historical and geographical inequalities. From this perspective, labeling an artist from a "peripheral" region as "emerging" can be problematic, as it reinforces the idea that their value lies in their ability to adapt to the standards imposed by hegemonic cultural centers.

The Virginity Machine. Acrylic on canvas. 2024. Brenda Cabrera. Represented at Art Madrid'25 by Collage Habana.

The impact of technology and new forms of emergence

In today's world, the artistic landscape is shaped by digital technology, which redefines how art is produced, distributed, and consumed. Platforms like Instagram, TikTok, and NFT marketplaces have created new avenues of visibility and parallel economies that escape, at least partially, the control of traditional institutions. In this context, emerging art is no longer necessarily tied to galleries or museums but to a creator’s ability to navigate digital environments and build virtual communities around their work.

This generates new dynamics that challenge the usefulness of the term "emerging." On the one hand, it broadens the definition of what can be considered art and who can participate in its production. On the other, there is a risk that the focus on the "new" and "disruptive" is reduced to a mere algorithmic strategy, where the quality of the work is subordinate to its capacity to generate interactions.

Apple and Blue bear. Apple and larva. Ceramic. 2024. Yasuhito Kawasaki. Represented at Art Madrid'25 by Ting Ting Art Space.

Should we abandon the term?

In light of these complexities, we must ask whether the concept of "emerging art" remains useful or should be replaced by other categories that better reflect contemporary realities. Perhaps a more fruitful approach would be to focus on terms like "independent art," "decentralized art," or simply "contemporary art," which avoid the hierarchical and market-driven connotations inherent to "emerging." Ultimately, questioning the concept of emerging art is not just a terminological issue but a critical exercise to rethink the structures that determine how we value artistic creation. In a world where the boundaries between the emerging and the established are increasingly blurred, perhaps the real emergence lies in reimagining the very foundations of how we conceive art and its role in society.

Untitled. Acrylic on canvas. 2024. R.S. Babu. Represented at Art Madrid'25 by Gallery 1000A.

Contemporary art is a territory without fixed maps, a fluctuating space where the only rule is that nothing is set in stone. In this context, the word "emerging" takes on multiple meanings, because contemporary art is not only a product that emerges from thought or technique but is also linked to a constant process of emergence. We invite you to rethink and question its definition beyond prejudices and reductionist conceptualizations, and instead, from the spirit and commitment to open new paths toward understanding the art of our time.

The practice of the collective DIMASLA (Diana + Álvaro) is situated at a fertile intersection between contemporary art, ecological thinking, and a philosophy of experience that shifts the emphasis from production to attention. Faced with the visual and material acceleration of the present, their work does not propose a head-on opposition, but rather a sensitive reconciliation with time, understood as lived duration rather than as a measure. The work thus emerges as an exercise in slowing down, a pedagogy of perception where contemplating and listening become modes of knowledge.

In the work of DIMASLA (Diana + Álvaro), the territory does not function as a framework but rather as an agent. The landscape actively participates in the process, establishing a dialogical relationship reminiscent of certain eco-critical currents, in which subjectivity is decentralized and recognized as part of a broader framework. This openness implies an ethic of exposure, which is defined as the act of exposing oneself to the climate, the elements, and the unpredictable, and this means accepting vulnerability as an epistemological condition.

The materials—fabrics, pigments, and footprints—serve as surfaces for temporary inscriptions and memories, bearing the marks of time. The initial planning is conceived as an open hypothesis, allowing chance and error to act as productive forces. In this way, the artistic practice of DIMASLA (Diana + Álvaro) articulates a poetics of care and being-with, where creating is, above all, a profound way of feeling and understanding nature.

In a historical moment marked by speed and the overproduction of images, your work seems to champion slowness and listening as forms of resistance. Could it be said that your practice proposes a way of relearning time through aesthetic experience?

Diana: Yes, but more than resistance or vindication, I would speak of reconciliation—of love. It may appear slow, but it is deliberation; it is reflection. Filling time with contemplation or listening is a way of feeling. Aesthetic experience leads us along a path of reflection on what lies outside us and what lies within.

The territory does not appear in your work as a backdrop or a setting, but as an interlocutor. How do you negotiate that conversation between the artist’s will and the voice of the place, when the landscape itself participates in the creative process?

Álvaro: For us, the landscape is like a life partner or a close friend, and naturally this intimate relationship extends into our practice. We go to visit it, to be with it, to co-create together. We engage in a dialogue that goes beyond aesthetics—conversations filled with action, contemplation, understanding, and respect.

Ultimately, in a way, the landscape expresses itself through the material. We respect all the questions it poses, while at the same time valuing what unsettles us, what shapes us, and what stimulates us within this relationship.

The Conquest of the Rabbits I & II. 2021. Process.

In your approach, one senses an ethic of exposure: exposing oneself to the environment, to the weather, to others, to the unpredictable. To what extent is this vulnerability also a form of knowledge?

Diana: For us, this vulnerability teaches us a great deal—above all, humility. When we are out there and feel the cold, the rain, or the sun, we become aware of how small and insignificant we are in comparison to the grandeur and power of nature.

So yes, we understand vulnerability as a profound source of knowledge—one that helps us, among many other things, to let go of our ego and to understand that we are only a small part of a far more complex web.

Sometimes mountains cry too. 2021. Limestone rockfall, sun, rain, wind, pine resin on acrylic on natural cotton canvas, exposed on a blanket of esparto grass and limestone for two months.. 195 cm x 130 cm x 3 cm.

Your works often emerge from prolonged processes of exposure to the environment. Could it be said that the material—the fabrics, the pigments, the traces of the environment—acts as a memory that time writes on you as much as you write on it?

Álvaro: This is a topic for a long conversation, sitting on a rock—it would be very stimulating. But if experiences shape people’s inner lives and define who we are in the present moment, then I would say yes, especially in that sense.

Leaving our comfort zone has led us to learn from the perseverance of plants and the geological calm of mountains. Through this process, we have reconciled ourselves with time, with the environment, with nature, with ourselves, and even with our own practice. Just as fabrics hold the memory of a place, we have relearned how to pay attention and how to understand. Ultimately, it is a way of deepening our capacity to feel.

The fox and his tricks. 2022. Detail.

To what extent do you plan your work, and how much space do you leave for the unexpected—or even for mistakes?

Diana: Our planning is limited to an initial hypothesis. We choose the materials, colours, places, and sometimes even the specific location, but we leave as much room as possible for the unexpected to occur. In the end, that is what it is really about: allowing nature to speak and life to unfold. For us, both the unexpected and mistakes are part of the world’s complexity, and within that complexity we find a form of natural beauty.