Guillermo Serrano Amat
- Anna Lilli Garai
- Mar 14
- 5 min read
Updated: Mar 14
Guillermo Serrano Amat’s paintings distort familiar figures and spaces, creating intense, almost theatrical emotions. Drawing from esperpento and film noir, his works capture fleeting urban moments filled with tension and cinematic appeal. In "Ridgewood Noir," movement and light shape a narrative that feels both immediate and filmic. His manipulation of space deepens the psychological impact, making the ordinary feel strange, but still relatable
Q: Your work often features exaggerated, distorted figures. What led you to this approach, and how do these characters reflect the themes in your paintings?
A: On a superficial level there is the fact that I do enjoy how those figures look. They are aesthetically pleasing to me. But to me, this stylistic choice goes beyond that: I am very interested in human interactions, their history and the history of characters and the spaces they inhabit. Storytelling - a plethora of mixed stories that operate on different levels - is at the core of my work, and by exaggerating the emotional and psychological inner state of my characters and surroundings - the same way actors used to do it in the silent films era - that information is not only conveyed, but elevated to its higher pitch.
What seems as an exaggeration is just the highlight of that very element that predates the entire personality or circumstances of an individual, and better expresses it at any given moment.
Q: In "Ridgewood Noir", you capture a chaotic, dramatic moment. What do you want the viewer to take from this intense scene?
A: I wanted to recreate the feeling of sitting in the outdoor space of a bar at night, when suddenly something dramatic and terrible, a slice of the urban chaos, bursts out from right across the street and inevitably affects everyone.
I love Noir films from the 1940s and 1950s - movies from the period in general, which are a huge influence for me and are on my mind pretty often - so I wanted the scene in the background to appear as if taken from one of those movies: a femme fatale caught in the middle of a mysterious escape about to find a new way of life.
Q: Your work blends absurdity with empathy. How do you maintain this balance when depicting characters that might seem grotesque at first glance?
A: Both things are not exclusive. The grotesque element is an expression of individuality and originality, anything that comes from a truly personal drive, and it is not necessarily a negative thing. Even when it takes a sinister turn and it becomes something I wouldn’t necessarily want to keep around me in my daily life, it is still something that interests me deeply and where I want to put all my attention. Anything that departs from the consensus of what one can expect when stepping out into the street. I feel by highlighting those I am capable of delving more into the passions that actually conform our quotidian experience, and that it is in absurd moments that our deepest nature is most visible.
Q: You draw from Esperpento and film noir influences. How do these genres shape your portrayal of everyday life and human behavior?
A: The "Esperpento" is a literary movement that started at the dawn of the 20th century in Spain. Its founder, Valle-Inclán, defined it as a classical tragedy played by ridiculous and deformed heroes. The sociological and historical circumstances that allowed for the flourishing of this genre are not unlike those we experience today: total demoralization, untrust in societal structures, and the impending feeling that an imminent catastrophe is about to fall upon us. I am not a pessimist, but there’s a rejoicement in the revealing of certain dismal aspects of daily life, and that’s an attitude I share with Esperpento.
Film noir is an influence because of its somber tone, its archetypical characters, its intense storytelling, and of course its beautiful images and expressionistic use of light. Fritz Lang’s "M", Billy Wilder’s "Double Indemnity" or Tourneur’s "Out of the Past" are all masterpieces in both dramatic storytelling and imagery. Rescuing dark elements from there and adding them out of context to a new composition can create a comedic effect that I’m also interested in.
Q: In pieces like "Bluegrass in Ridgewood", you present multiple perspectives in a single scene. How does this approach help tell the story in your work?
A: Like many of my other paintings, this one is made of the accumulation of hyperfocused individual personal perspectives that clash in the painting space. Every story, detail, character and emotion is as equally high pitch and worthy of our attention as the rest. This ends up resulting in an overwhelming narrative noise, where focus is scattered all over the composition. I want these paintings to be a bit challenging at first; they have to be dense, thick, and they require a few seconds of quiet observation, after which they slowly begin to make sense.
I hope new information can be discovered in every new glance, leaving to the viewer the decision on which element of the painting to focus on every time.
Q: Your paintings play with perspective and space. How does this manipulation help convey the emotional tension in your pieces?
A: By eliminating space restrictions, making the picture plane flatter, the characters and elements of the painting are literally accumulating on top of each other; sometimes, they barely change in size, regardless of how close or far they are from us, pushing those narratives even closer to each other and more intertwined. But the play with perspective sometimes takes the opposite turn, dislocating space, pushing characters far from each other in an exaggerated vanishing point, creating a sense of exhilaration and instability. I like to explore both options.
Q: "The Idlers" explores themes of leisure and social class. What inspired this series, and what do you hope it communicates about New York's social dynamics?
A: I take inspiration from my observations, my experiences and memories, and my imagination. That’s the starting point of everything I do. There has to be a balance between the three, or otherwise the painting just won’t work for me, it won’t feel genuine. I realized that the paintings that form this show had this recurring theme of leisure only when I was finishing the series. To me, it’s natural the paintings are about that. I am from Spain, where moments of leisure are treated with utmost respect, and are truly important. The contrast with work-driven NYC has risen my interest to treat this as a subject, or at least as an underlying theme that can be found here and there.
Q: Your work seems to blend personal experiences with broader cultural themes. How do your own life and observations influence your paintings?
A: I’m mostly recreating spaces that are known to me; places that I inhabit and I walk across frequently: the knowledge of those places is a mix of my direct observations, the stories that I develop in my mind at that moment, and the stories and fantasies that I bring with me. That’s how the atmosphere is recreated, and that’s how I think I can get as close as possible to the way I experience life… For example, my "Veteran Square" sub-series is based on an actual square in my neighborhood, somber and sketchy, whose benches are always crowded. I like to observe their occupants and imagine their relations, hierarchies and pastimes, how they own the square and no one from the outside is allowed to sit with them or even share the same space without being scrutinized.
I need to find a balance between those characters and mannerisms that come from direct observation, those from my fantasy and memory, and those from popular culture. I want to convey something that feels real in its own terms, but getting too close to the actual reality throws me off, and I always try to avoid it.
