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  I grew up in the house of a talented painter, my father. I was always surrounded by paintings, going with my father to the studies of various colleagues, museums, houses of customers’ portraits or doing the same in the Retiro Park and the promenades of Spanish beaches.

My, Six years old

(When I was 6 years old)

  But it was at the age of 6 when I saw something out of the ordinary, those pictures made you squint your eyes, they dazzled!, like a magic trick in which behind the fabric there is a light...

  Besides, the picture, apparently done with abrupt execution, seemed to be perfect and beautiful. I had known the hand prints of J. Sorolla. My father, who always explained me everything and who taught me what I learned about painting, told me about how a dull orange could be more brilliant than the very white (see "The Two Sisters"), that with regard to light all depended on the relationship between the colors rather than on its value itself.

Sorolla painting

(Sorolla painting)

 The truth is that I did not understand everything he said but I did not stop paying attention to him, what defines the shade of a smile?, what is the difference between a real smile and a bitter or sad one? At that age he gave me a set of brushes, watercolors and oils, but my paintings were not going as I would have liked it. That is why I admired him even more, his fast and strange way to make his portraits and how he could transform a rough outline into a face with a clear and true expression.

 But, by luck or misfortune, I have always been a stubborn, I painted and painted, and when I was 9 years old, I took part in a painting school competition, presenting what for me it was a painting of a perfect virgin. We would have to see it now, certainly full of defects, but I was very young and I had finally been able to match the image I had in my mind with what I had painted on the canvas. Well, what it happened was that the teacher would not let me present it in the competition because he said I could not have done it myself... My disillusionment lasted very long, exactly 14 years without touching a pencil.

 When I was 23, I started doing sketches, because I had a job where I had a lot of free time, and that inactivity made me feel sleepy. Drawing was in that moment, just a way to stay awake. The pencil was followed by charcoal, pastels ... until I found the most appropriate route acrylics, clean, odorless and with a strong finish, very strong!, because if there was something I was looking for were strong contrasts of light and color ... those paintings were aggressive, maybe as a consequence of my desire of recovering the lost years.

 That revived passion led me to a new way of painting. Since then, I did not see shapes, houses, cars or people. I just saw colors, as if I suffered from visual agnosia. When I was in the canoe (another passion), I wondered about the water reflections, the light changes at dusks, the complexity of face shadows... it's amazing how many beautiful spots are around us.

Lago en manchas

(Lake of the "Casa de Campo" in Madrid, Spain)

  One day I went to a paint store to buy more acrylics. I had to wait long for he had much business. To entertain myself I took a tube of oil and opened it. I was charmed to meet again with soft, sweet smell of linseed oil. Immediately I grabbed a can of varnish Dutch also smell of turpentine and then another ... the mixture of odors that plague smelled art, studio, passion, history, my childhood.

 It did not take me a long time to start painting with oils again, that! trying to do it as those people I really admired, those who taught me a lot and I appreciate more and more every day.

  "...Perfect art of Velazquez, Michelangelo's mastery of human anatomy, Leonardo da Vinci is the intelligence applied to painting, Vermeer sweetness, softness, Renoir chromatic spontaneity, but especially Sorolla and Singer Sargent, the entertainment, light and emotion."

Thanks Dad.

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