In-depth interview published on the «Spain Today» page of the Weixin platform. The original Chinese version can be read at this link:

那个受西班牙王后亲自颁奖的年轻人，和你不一样却又一样 (qq.com)

Below is the Spanish version of the interview:

1. A person always keeps a special relationship with a city or a town, as in the case of Antwerp, which Easterners know through Rubens. You told me that in your hometown in Álava only 1,500 people live. Georg Simmel, in his works The Metropolis and Mental Life and The Philosophy of Money, distinguishes between big cities and small towns and stresses that the pursuit of money in capitalist society clashes with the inner desire for intimacy and a sacred vocation. What do you think of this view?

The clash between town and city is a recurring theme. In this respect, we must not forget the Horatian topoi of ‘locus amoenus’ (the attraction of a pure, unspoilt natural setting) and ‘beatus ille’ (the peace and happiness that come from living far from the noise and scandal of the cities). Yet this is still a cliché, because towns are noisy too. Sometimes too much so. As a popular Spanish saying puts it: “small town, big hell”. In towns everyone knows everyone and, although there is calm, peace and a great deal of beauty, there is also room for gossip and malice. Fortunately, I cannot say that of my own town, Arceniega. The truth is that it is an exceptional place, and its people tend to be pleasant, kind and well-meaning. And, as if that were not enough, it is also one of the most beautiful towns in the whole of northern Spain.

Regarding the question you raise, I would like to add that the tension between the urban and the rural has evolved radically in recent times, thanks to the development of technology, communications, globalisation and the big cities. In the past, cities were at heart still small towns, where most people knew each other and moved in the same cultural circles. Today's big cities have an absolutely different character. Individuals can achieve an autonomy hitherto unknown and shape their existence to suit their needs, in an almost perfect social anonymity if they so wish. Moreover, job opportunities seem to be concentrated in the cities and their infrastructure for most of the population, since remote working is still a minority option, at least in Spain. This has produced a massive exodus from rural areas, which are increasingly abandoned and ageing. Together with mass immigration, this phenomenon will radically transform Spanish culture and identity.

In this context, the position of the artist is certainly complicated. On the one hand, the beauty and tranquillity of the town are exceptional for creating. On the other, social and commercial opportunities are found in the big cities.

2. Some global economic organisations predict that, owing to the impact of the pandemic on mental health, people tend to choose stable industries rather than innovative ones. So, what is the strength that sustains you in choosing to remain an artist?

When one embarks on a professional adventure on one's own, not only in art but in any other field, one can weigh what one may gain or what one may lose. I always prefer to look at what I can gain, because I fear neither defeat nor failure. What can happen to me if I fail? Having to find a job as an employee? Not being a millionaire? It would have been much worse to end up like that without having tried, reproaching myself every day for not having had the courage to devote myself to what many people say I have a talent for. In any case, I think a deeper analysis of this question in the Spanish context could be interesting.

The preference for the stable over the innovative here goes back to times before the pandemic. In Spain, at least, a very clear link can be established between the generation after the Civil War and the rise of this culture of life security. The post-war generation, still deeply traumatised by what had happened and sheltered by the new social system of the Franco regime, gave priority to the education of their children. Medicine, Engineering, Architecture or Law seemed safe bets for a comfortable, carefree life, rather than vocational professions requiring a deep commitment to life. With the arrival of democracy, this culture reached its peak, to the point that the fallacy that technical training equals success in life became established in the collective mind.

Although this phenomenon began with the search for security by a generation that had suffered great hardship, the key to its maintenance over so long a time is not practical but moral. Indeed, in the heat of this effort, and mixed with the Catholic roots of our society, the idea took hold that success must only be the consequence of suffering and sacrifice. Being able to achieve success without great suffering, simply through work and talent (artistic, commercial, social…), soon became one of the most despised and feared facts in Spanish society. I still remember the words of many teachers at school who told us “you had better study something serious because otherwise you will end up working on a building site or living miserably under a bridge”. The great irony is that today those technical disciplines that once guaranteed a comfortable life have become precarious, above all because of the amount of labour on offer in those sectors. Thus, a self-employed person who is a good professional in renovation or plumbing earns considerably more than many salaried lawyers, engineers or architects. Not to mention those who decide to start a business if they have some commercial talent.

So, in short, secure jobs are nothing but a mirage. Because, in addition to everything I have mentioned, what is the use of having a stable job if one truly hates that job? That stability can even be an endless sentence. That is, what one must seek is the profession that suits each person's interests and nature, as far as possible. The more vocational the work, the more success one will have in it, since in my opinion success is not so much making money as doing good work and being satisfied with it.

3. Elaine Aron tells us in The Highly Sensitive Person that artists belong to the one fifth of highly sensitive people, which means that artists can perceive more pain than ordinary people. How do you face your frustration and pain in life, for example, the end of a very important relationship, the disillusionment of a project, etc.?

Sensitivity is something I cannot rationalise; it is simply there and it happens. Pain has always marked me; I believe life is to a large extent a tragic experience. But, in my opinion, the key is that what is painful is not necessarily negative. On the contrary, what is painful can be beautiful, it can be just and it can be good, however much it hurts us. On the other hand, I agree that the artist has a more developed (or rather, different) sensitivity to pain because to a large extent his work consists in contemplating the world and in the aesthetic articulation of the feelings, sensations, paradoxes and contradictions he observes in it. Even the most abstract arts, such as music, emerge from that contemplation of the world and of human nature. Thus, the artist, rather than being sensitive to pain, is simply aware of his reality, whereas most people live with their backs turned to pain because they have not needed to stop and contemplate it carefully. Not being used to contemplating it, they become insensitive, although this does not mean they cannot develop that sensitivity. The arts (especially narrative and poetry) are, in fact, the best way to educate sensitivity. In this sense, I know many great readers of literature whose sensitivity is equal or superior to that of many artists. At the same time, the artist, like the reader, may reach the opposite extreme and become extremely insensitive, almost a psychopath, when the contemplation of pain is excessive, extreme, obsessive and dangerous.

My way of facing frustration is through trust in myself and in what I do. If an artist does not trust himself, he is absolutely lost. Of course, many things do not always turn out as planned. However, I am sure that what matters is trusting in doing quality work, valuable in itself, and sustaining that effort over a long time. As I said before, the satisfaction of work well done is true success.

4. Who is your favourite English author and what reception or influence has he had on your artistic consciousness?

The truth is that I find it very hard to speak of a favourite author. There are many authors of English literature, and of many other languages, who have influenced me notably. To name a few, in the case of English literature I pick these four: Shakespeare, Milton, Keats and William Blake.

In Shakespeare I admire his depth and ambiguity. Shakespeare shows, as few do, how a work of art must work. Especially, how good art consists in stating problems that are hard to solve. Whereas the classical tragic tradition always tended to point towards a transcendent destiny whose designs man cannot avoid, ending in a perfect but painful order, Shakespeare illuminates reality in all its complexity. Evil and good, intelligence and stupidity, virtue and vice intermingle until they create an irrefutable portrait of the frail human condition. I like Milton for how he uses language, for his skill in building a text halfway between the epic and revelation. It is fantastic how he makes Paradise Lost seem an almost revealed book, of boundless ambition. His masterpiece was created, as he himself states in it, with the intention to “justify the ways of God to men”, without doubt the most ambitious reason one can imagine for writing a poem. In Keats I like his sensitivity and his absolute beauty. I think I have read few poets with a more elevated sense of beauty. The way he develops his metaphors, the musicality and evocative power of his verses are hard to equal. Finally, in William Blake I admire his radical originality, his philosophical and theological ambition and his exploration of beauty and truth through the stages of innocence and experience. In this sense, there has been no more original poet than him in history. Blake invented his own mythology, his own way of printing, his own way of illustrating his texts… Besides, I admire the fact that he does not offer a simple philosophical or theological reading; his thought contains nuances equal to the complex reality that surrounds us.

5. You said you like the Chinese poet Li Bai; one of his verses says: 今朝有酒今朝醉，明日愁来明日愁, which means: “There is wine today, drunk today, leave the worry for tomorrow”. Li Bai opted for an attitude of living here and now, in fact very different from the rationalism emphasised by the continental philosophy of the West. As a Westerner, what do you think about reason and the planning of life?

As for planning, I believe it is necessary to have a destination, but at the same time it is impossible to know completely how to reach it. The important thing is to trust the course, and not to close oneself off to the enrichment of life produced by unplanned experiences. In fact, we can all see that the things that happen without planning are usually the most beautiful and the best. If one tries to control all the variables of the journey, the journey becomes impossible, absurd and boring. There must always be room for improvisation and adventure. In short, I think the healthy thing is the middle ground between planning and hedonism. In this sense, I believe Eastern philosophies and religions often have a better attitude towards life. Because of this, I identify strongly with the Taoist principle of Wu Wei. On the other hand, it is problematic to speak of the West as a unity, since there is a very great difference between the Protestant world and the Catholic Mediterranean cultures in their way of seeing life. The Protestant ethic simplified and materialised Catholic morality, replacing the need for good works with the idolatrous worship of work. From the Protestant point of view, success and performance at work is a sign of divine grace, whereas Catholicism gives more importance to non-material values. Even today we can observe how the Catholic lifestyle differs entirely from that of northern Europe and the Protestant world: people are less bent on utilitarianism and more focused on socialising and enjoyment. That is why I believe Li Bai's way of seeing life is not so different from that of Catholic authors such as, for example, Quevedo. And, precisely for that reason, it seems to me that relations between China and the Catholic world are so good and fruitful, and that Spanish culture is so popular in China. However, the globalisation of Anglo-Protestant capitalist culture has endangered the values and traditions of other cultures. With the rise of globalisation, the cult of excessive work began to spread throughout the East. Nevertheless, I think things are now changing, and I am glad to know that China is protecting the immense wealth of its valuable traditions from Anglo-Protestant imperialism.

6. You have many friends in Madrid. Aristotle distinguishes three kinds of friends: utility, pleasure and virtue. What principle do you follow in forming friendships?

I believe friendship must be deeply altruistic and must simply arise as a will to understand, help and love others. Of course, there are factors arising in the context of utility or pleasure that can give that will a more particular flavour, but a friendship that dispenses with that will is not a true friendship but a confluence of circumstances in people's lives. When that confluence gives rise to pure, disinterested love, we can speak of friendship. So, in a way, I find myself closer to virtue when it comes to shaping my friendships, although they often do not arise in a particularly virtuous context.

Having worked for a time as a salesman, paradoxically, made me focus on understanding others, because until then I was too centred on myself. And so a new world opened up for me: I discovered that the best way to know oneself is to know others and discover what is foreign to oneself, without renouncing one's own identity. I have learned so much from my friendships that I would need to write five novels to convey it adequately. On the other hand, as I have already mentioned, I also like to see friendship as a service to others and from others towards oneself. This vocation of service must not be confused with the purpose of friendship, since then it would not be friendship but a frivolous, perishable interest, as Aristotle rightly points out. The dedication that true friendship demands is the fruit that is produced when it is true, that is, when genuine love, admiration and affinity towards another person spring forth.

As for the circumstances of friendship that I consider important, I still have to mention the constant learning it involves. In this sense, although Aristotle focuses on the common ground between the two partners in a friendship, for me the most interesting thing is what differentiates me from my friends. This means I can learn about an infinite number of subjects and circumstances I would never have reached by myself. Indeed, friendship is above all a vehicle for learning. Perhaps because of my love of literature, I love getting to know other realities, since for me each person is an open world or a most interesting novel and, the more different and alien to my circumstances, the more that novel interests me. Thus, I feel that the more people I meet, the more I learn, and especially from the people from whom I least expect to learn.

7. Many experts are worried about the threat of artificial intelligence to human existence. For example, the Midjourney engine we talked about is capable of producing digital paintings. What do you think about the differences between artificial intelligence and artistic creation? Does art remain unique because of the emotion that computers cannot replace?

The threat of artificial intelligence to human creation is an increasingly recurring subject. The new artificial intelligence engines that have reached the general public show astonishing creations; let us not imagine what the most advanced models, still out of the public's reach, will be capable of achieving. Artificial intelligence produces harmonious, detailed, well-composed images with a particular aesthetic and stylistic sense. However, they remain digital reproductions. Painting offers a physical, unique object, subject to a thousand nuances in its state and form over time. Although, certainly, digital art and illustration are going to be threatened. Even so, I do not believe it will put an end to them entirely, nor to any other kind of art, just as photography did not put an end to painting. This is because, although artificial intelligence will be able to replace to a large extent the most mediocre works of art, it will be impossible for it to reach the level of depth needed to rival true art. To explain it, I would like to cite a very important concept from the work of William Blake. Blake said that true creation emanated from ‘poetic genius’. For Blake, ‘poetic genius’ is a creative way of perceiving reality, the human capacity to create what has never before been created or perceived, beyond the ‘ratio of the five senses’, that is, beyond the sum of what we have perceived through the five senses. Artificial intelligence cannot even experience the perception of the five senses; it simply operates on the basis of what it knows humans have felt. That is, artificial intelligence is able to imitate very well the feelings and reactions that events have so far caused in humans, but it will never be able to express any feeling that has not already been felt. The way each artist has of feeling the world is absolutely unique and, although artificial intelligence may become a good impostor, it will always trail behind true creation. Faced with this reality, developers and experts in artificial intelligence claim that at some point artificial intelligence will be able to feel, through the computational re-creation of brain structures. This scenario still raises many doubts, and I trust we never arrive at it, because it would imply the end of the human.

8. John Berger emphasises the experience of the five senses for artists. For example, he mentions José de Ribera's The Sense of Touch in the Prado Museum. On the other hand, the enjoyment of tea, which you like so much, is also a kind of cultivation of taste. Can you tell us of a memory that has left its mark on your five senses?

The arts, indeed, play with the senses and, essentially, art is a sensual experience. Perhaps what is most interesting about this aspect is how our senses can be awakened by contemplating art. Ribera is a great example of this aesthetic circumstance. His works, through an exceptional use of volume, through the light he uses and his impasto, awaken the sense of touch. In the work Berger cites, this sensation is heightened even more by the chosen subject: Ribera could never have chosen a more suitable subject for his painting. If I have to refer to personal memories of the five senses, I would keep many memories of fantastic dinners with excellent wine and company. If I refer to the experience of the senses in art, I would choose Velázquez without any doubt. Velázquez is the sensual painter par excellence, because his painting offers total immersion in the action, capable of awakening almost all the senses. In ‘The Spinners’, for example, one can not only see the movement but also hear the bustle and confusion of the complex scene. In ‘The Forge of Vulcan’ one can feel the sweat, the smell of the forge and fire, of work and metal, but also hear the sound of the hammer and the instruments of the forge. In ‘The Drinkers’, in turn, one feels the taste of alcohol, the jokes, the shouts, the smell of alcohol… Velázquez is unique in his way of understanding painting; it is almost as if a modern film director had started painting during the Baroque.

As for tea, what fascinates me most is its incredible variety of flavours and nuances. There are so many factors that can alter its taste! The tea plant is so sensitive to changes in its surroundings that it can absorb any aroma or flavour. In fact, even a few used tea leaves can absorb the bad smell of a room. It is a pity that in the West good tea is not appreciated as good wine is. I am sure that, with a little curiosity and knowledge, whoever appreciates good wine can appreciate good tea.

9. There is always a threshold between high culture and low culture, but nowadays, secularisation and the popular dissemination of art present a problem of survival that every artist must consider. What do you think of this phenomenon?

I will begin by referring to the Western artistic context, especially the European one. Here, art was formerly dominated by the aristocracy. Aristocratic taste imposed a grandiose, ambitious and monumental style. And, besides that, it also financed it with large sums of money. The aristocrat chose his artists solely on the basis of talent and the quality of the works. Thus, artists of miserable life and values such as Caravaggio won the favour of the noblest. After the French Revolution, the fall of the aristocracy and the rise of capitalism, bourgeois taste prevailed. Art gradually became a commercial phenomenon similar to fashion, where the most important value became the creation of a representation that is easily understood, identified, renewed and disposed of. Thus, the idea of ‘style’ ended up prevailing over the idea of beauty or monumentality. Some disciplines, such as sculpture or architecture, were completely devastated by this new conception. However, that does not mean that artists with a high sense of beauty, such as Sorolla or Klimt, did not triumph, but that the reason for their triumph has much more to do with their easily identifiable style than with their high sense of beauty.

At the same time, broad sections of the population began to be able to access education and, thanks to it, to develop a higher appreciation of art. Television and radio, in their beginnings, contributed to this popularity, promoting interest in high culture with various interview programmes, theatre, musicals and quality cultural broadcasting. However, in the 1990s the phenomenon of trash television and sensationalism burst in, and television became a large-scale broadcaster of a low and dreadful form of entertainment that prevented new generations from reaching the cultural level of their predecessors. In that context of cultural decline, the arrival of the internet, video games and social networks only contributed to worsening the problem. Vargas Llosa describes this phenomenon very well in his essay ‘The Society of the Spectacle’ [Notes on the Civilisation of Spectacle].

In the art world, this popularisation of empty entertainment and low culture provoked a great crisis. The bourgeoisie and the middle and upper classes of society, who until then had been consumers of high culture, seeing in art a mark of cultural and social superiority, gradually lost interest in it, let alone investing money. The true art market, as a popular phenomenon, has since then been outside decadent Europe and the Anglo-Saxon world. China and even Latin America now have large sectors of their population with a high cultural level, eager to distinguish themselves, to grow and to collect art. The axis of culture and of humanity's economic future will lie in the axis between China and Latin America, and I hope that this will bring about a global cultural renaissance.

10. What do you think of the success of the Spanish artist Bakea? He combines the signs of the Chinese zodiac with Spanish landmarks. Is he the first Transcultural Hybrid in the history of Spain?

I think he is a great illustrator; his work is certainly interesting. Here it is important to establish a clear difference between the visual arts. I believe painting is radically different from illustration. The purpose of illustration is to create an easily identifiable and reproducible image in which technical expression is subordinated to a specific idea. In that way, all the elements of the work express a determined meaning. Painting, on the contrary, is not truly reproducible, not even through a photograph, and the artist's technical and conceptual expression contains nuances that are not easily associated with the representation of one particular idea. The artist Bakea, indeed, proposes an extremely interesting transcultural iconography, and exceptionally masters the new means of artistic expression in the field of illustration. Moreover, the use of colour and composition is also interesting in the realm of illustration. As for the transcultural question between European culture and China, at this point I would like to recall Hergé, the great comic artist, and the influence Chinese culture had on him. Recently there was an extremely interesting exhibition about him in Madrid, and one of its sections was devoted to the friendship he established with Zhang Chongren, a Chinese artist he met during his student days in Brussels. Zhang showed Hergé a new way of understanding ink drawing, and gave him Chinese brushes and pens, but above all revealed to him an unknown culture that completely marked Hergé's work. I keep this example of the ‘transcultural hybrid’, as you call it. Finally, I would like to add that, just as many Western illustrators and artists have been influenced by the Eastern tradition of ink drawing, the introduction of oil painting in China has produced very great artists, who have managed to bring together the best of each artistic tradition.