From the age of five I have felt an urge to create. Inspired by the beautiful yellow paper in my father's special edition of Encyclopaedia Britannica, I felt compelled to meticulously fill the pages with my drawings. Eventually I was discovered and punished. It was my first lesson regarding vocabulary in art: urge, pleasure and pain.

Much later I received my M.A. from the ‘College of Fine Art’, Madrid, specialising in painting. Since my graduation I was always following the career of the professional artist, aspiring to make a living from my art. To begin with it was very hard and complicated. I moved first to Geneva then to Los Angeles teaming up with different galleries, and occasionally painting backdrops and props for Theatre. Eventually I collaborated with so many people on such a wide variety of projects, travelling frequently between Europe and USA, that my wife mockingly named me the ‘Soldier of Fortune’.
In October of 1988 I started collaborating with Nicholas Treadwell Gallery and moved from Madrid to London. In 1991 we parted company but I decide to stay in London because, by that time, it radiated a unique energy. It was an extremely creative period for all forms of visual arts.
At the end of nineties I had my first meeting with Glyn Washington and Paul Green. They visited my studio in central London and we clicked instantly, yet it took us another couple of years to start working together. I hope that the rest will be history.
  I believe that art forms are a fascination with life, and our supreme fascination is with ourselves.

What continuously intrigue’s me are the enigmas of our own nature. The human form, energy and spirit are endless inspiration for me. Sometimes you have an image in your head left over from a dream or a passing glimpse; these have the ability to serve as a starting point for a painting. I try to neutralise the figures and remove them from a particular time period, to make them more mythic and timeless. So very often I find my shapes in practice, not in the process of rigid preparation. The shapes are recognisable with hints of body parts, but they remind us that we can go so much further….if we desire.
Around us there is a delicate balance that I try to capture between the play of the abstract forms and interconnection of human bodies. It is through the medium of the human body that I am trying to express myself, seeking the precise balance between aestheticism and emotion. Fashion suggests that you should be moved by certain things and not by others. This is the reason that even successful artists have no idea whether their work is really any good or not, and they will never have any way of really knowing.
  At university I was passionate about the techniques that differing art materials could produce, constantly experimenting, playing with substances, collecting different formulas, writing down possible recipes. I call that my cookery book. Even today I very rarely use purely manufactured products; I love twisting them to make my own recipes. I was fortunate enough that early on in my career I received excellent training on how to manipulate all the differing artist materials. It can be likened to the ability to effortlessly play on different instruments of the orchestra. You are given the freedom to use so many different things within your work; I use rollers, combs and an array of different tools that I find. Very often I apply paint, dye and pigment with a selection of tools that were originally designed for completely different purposes. On the other hand I have a very ample collection of the finest traditional brushes. My work process always involves some kind of mix of different techniques, materials and tools.

Although I use traditional methods, I want those methods to work for me in a very different way from which they were originally formed. Whilst I may use these techniques that have been handed down and are deep rooted in the artist world I'm trying to make something out of them that is radically different from the way these techniques have been used before. I think that great art is a deeply ordered ritual. Even if within this order there is enormously instinctive and accidental occurrences.
  My day starts with an espresso (I am of Mediterranean origins after all) and early!. I am very alert but silent in that first hour. I crave light early on and I often find myself just staring through the window as if to soak up any early beams that shine through.
I then walk with my dog, Angel - she is a white standard poodle who explores with me for about an hour.
Then I shut myself up in the studio. All I can do is prepare the stage, empty myself of worldly preoccupations and open myself to whatever appears. I stay there until darkness unfolds because I prefer not to work with artificial lights. Darkness is, in my eyes, only for intimate doodles; I call these doodles visual speculations and reflections. For me night is about books, films or travelling through virtual reality of the World Wide Web.
I will almost always ‘uncork’ the evening with a glass of beautiful red wine (usually Spanish). In the part of the world where I come from, wine is essential food for body and soul. I remember, as a very small child, my grandfather performing almost the exact same ritual nightly.
Very often at night I will cook for my friends. The great thing is that when you cook, you can stay in the background observing people laughing, debating, speculating, and arguing.Unlike my wife who as a formal journalist and a news addict, I dislike commercial radio or TV. Those evening gatherings in my house are my constant source of personalised information about worldly going ons.