Fernando Loyola
- Anna Lilli Garai
- Sep 26
- 4 min read
Fernando Loyola, originally from Buenos Aires and now based in Barcelona, works mainly on large canvases with acrylic paint. His method is quick and layered, covering and reworking the surface until new forms appear. Pieces like “bestiasdelsur” and “El verde de tus ojos grises” often begin with accidents or errors that he develops into structure, letting the process lead the way. He describes his paintings as “emotional situations,” where shapes stay open and meanings shift, with titles drawn from poetry or music adding another layer. The result is work that feels immediate yet thoughtful, holding energy without fixing it into a single form.
Q: In works like "bestiasdelsur" or "Arte rupestre" you build by covering, uncovering, and superimposing layers. What keeps you in that cycle?
A: I think it's the anxiety of discovering something new, that urgent rhythm in which I paint my canvases. Each brushstroke is marked by a vertiginous progression, recklessness, and the rush of hundreds of other brushstrokes that follow every decisive action within the painting. It’s a constant metamorphosis of the material generated by the fiction of error: inventing it to correct it, as a pretext to reach the end of each piece. This urge to finish one painting and the immediate impulse to start another is the mechanism that grounds the universe of my works. My images are the result of automatism; I don't do sketches, but I do visualize the scale and intensity of the emotion.
Q: Your process often turns errors into structure. Do you seek out errors on purpose, or do they just happen?
A: There is an interest in producing mistakes and a willingness to give form to something that escapes logic. Accident and chance relate to this chaotic yet organized image of the world. I begin by disorganizing the composition so that something new can emerge. It is a way of undoing habit and breaking away from the known form; an operation that destroys what is given in order to allow something new to appear. It is an intuitive intervention that pushes the painting beyond the expected.
It can even be understood as an act of faith that something will appear, to make the improbable happen and to make something work when it shouldn’t.
Q: The titles "El verde de tus ojos grises" and "El carnaval del flagelo" have a strong emotional charge. How do titles come into your practice?
A: In my works, undefined forms float in imaginary environments, creating elusive spaces where fictitious narratives unfold. I extract and combine titles that read like an interactive theater. These titles emerge from combinations found on the internet, fragments of songs, and lines of poetry. When I title my works, I seek to add layers of information. I like the contrast between a title that may sometimes be very obvious and an abstract painting, which is an intangible element that escapes logic. What matters is that neither the words nor the image are subordinated to one another; both coexist. Words are easier to grasp than painting, and through the titles, I continue adding layers of meaning. At times, I also incorporate a musical layer, which I consider even more abstract than the image itself.
Q: You describe your paintings as "emotional situations." What kind of feelings are most likely to drive you back to the studio?
A: I need to isolate myself to connect with my inner depth. Painting is my way of staying focused, understanding myself, and being present, while expressing that presence. My paintings come from physical spontaneity or impulsive movement. It is a process of the unconscious mind aimed at communicating my emotions. For me, painting is a physical act that takes me to higher places where I can work through things. My practice is rooted in loss and nostalgia. Trauma, disconnection, and frustration are recurring themes in my work. Because painting is so connected to emotions and bodily experience, it is very difficult, almost impossible, to prevent personal experiences from coming through.
Q: Chance plays an important role in your work. When does an accident become an intention for you?
A: Accident becomes intention when intuition intervenes. The possibility of any event occurring in a universe of uncertainty is a guiding principle. Far from being mere chance, contingency becomes a deeply intuitive process where randomness and uncertainty play a crucial role. This approach embraces the unpredictable and values the richness and diversity of possibilities it can generate. Each layer of color reflects a decision made on the edge of the unforeseen, guided by intuition and sensitivity, letting the process unfold naturally. For me, sensitivity is not just an emotional or aesthetic reaction, but a tool that, between the eye and the hand, allows me to navigate and bring order to chaos. It is a form of organization that ultimately reveals itself as harmonious chaos.
Q: You move between romantic intensity, Baroque drama, and surrealist automatism. How do you hold all those influences together on a single canvas?
A: I explore the indeterminate and the ability to find order and meaning in the unpredictable. Baby forms seem to be searching for their definitive shape. Nothing is sharp; I explore the potential that lies in the blurry, struggling to take form. There is a need to discover oneself in the process. I start from a background and enter into a dialogue with the materials. I begin by embracing chaos on the canvas, and it gradually develops structure. I invent ways to disconnect, staying attentive to the moment when the hand detaches from the eye and the unexpected happens: a mark where it shouldn’t be, a combination of colors that suddenly makes everything make sense. There is no recipe for this. Abstract art is a search. Sometimes it works, and often it doesn’t.
