I have always lived in two worlds at once.
The one everyone sees, and the one I carry inside.
I am an artist based in Malaga, and I have been drawing for as long as I can remember — on notebooks, napkins, the back of receipts, in the margins of everything. Watercolour and lino printing are my main mediums, but really it all starts with a sketchbook and something worth noticing.
A world of small rituals
I grew up paying attention to things most people walk past. As a child, my friend and I held little funeral ceremonies for the birds we found in the gardens near her building — flowers, a small mound of earth, the whole thing. I still do not entirely know why, but it felt important. I still feel that way about small, quiet things.
My home reflects this. There is a simple altar with figures of Buddha and Shiva, a tarot deck gifted by a wise woman I still write to, shells from every beach I have visited since my thirties, and a painted glass bottle someone once gave me to hold sighs. It now also holds pieces of sea glass I collect on walks. Not a collection, more like an ongoing conversation with things that have meaning.
Diaries, sketchbooks, and everything in between
The sketchbooks follow the same logic but looser. Realistic drawings, surrealist ones, things that started as one thing and became another. Drawing kept me sane during one hundred days of lockdown in Madrid. I suspect it always will.
I have carried a diary since I was eleven or twelve. In it I explain the world to myself, draw my feelings when words do not quite work, record dreams with little illustrations, and note down coffee cup shapes and building facades. Travels, comics, recipes, letters. A life kept in parallel, in ink.
I have been quietly making things my whole life. The decision to do it openly came during a period of leave for anxiety and depression — not a dramatic turning point, more like a slow return to the things that actually feel like me. I figured if these things had carried me this far in private, it was time to share them.
If something here resonates: the noticing, the collecting, the sense that the world has more layers than it usually lets on, I think you will feel at home with what I create.