Miguel Ángel Romero
- Anna Lilli Garai
- May 27
- 4 min read
For Miguel Ángel Romero, making art begins with something he wants to understand better. A moment, a thought, or a feeling that catches his attention and stays with him. Creating helps him stay close to these questions and see where they lead. He often returns to childhood as a way of thinking. It’s a time full of curiosity, imagination, and discovery—ideas that continue to shape how he works. His personal memories are part of the process, but he gives space for others to connect in their own way. Each piece adds to a larger search, where observation, emotion, and reflection all have a place.
Q: What kind of questions usually pull you back into making something new?
A: The questions arise from my experience with the world around me. From that, aspects emerge that I cannot fully understand. That’s why I create—art, in a way, becomes an excuse to explore and understand the world a little more. I don’t choose the doubts that arise, just as I don’t control the questions or the answers that may emerge for the viewer. However, if my work manages to spark even the slightest curiosity or reflection in someone, that alone makes it worthwhile to create something new again.
Q: Childhood comes up a lot in your work. Why do you think that time sticks so strongly?
A: For me, childhood represents a territory where everything is possible. It is the stage where play is the fundamental tool for discovering and understanding the world. Through play, the child faces the unknown, tries to understand the adult universe, and above all, keeps that sense of wonder alive. Over time, we stop playing and, in a way, give up that childlike perspective that could still be amazed. However, I believe childhood never truly leaves us—this stage is always present throughout our lives and will always be a place to return to.
Q: How do you keep personal memories open enough for others to connect with?
A: I start from my own memories and personal experiences to address themes that, in some way, affect us all—such as the transition from childhood to adulthood. It’s a process each person experiences at different times and in different ways, but it is a universal experience. I don’t intend for those who view my work to get to know me; rather, I hope they can recognize something of themselves through it. That’s why I try not to be overly personal when approaching my work, leaving space for the viewer to project their own experiences. Sometimes it’s difficult to separate my life from my art, but I believe that tension also enriches the creative process.
Q: In “The Ages of Aran,” what kind of feeling or presence were you chasing?
A: In reality, I wasn’t looking for anything specific when I started “The Ages of Aran.” Everything came from a chance encounter with Aran, an eight-year-old boy with whom I shared some games and conversations. He seemed to possess a hidden knowledge that I could not access—he knew a lot about planets, mathematics, physics… he knew about everything, and you could talk to him about anything, as long as he decided to. At the same time, his greatest desire was to play all the time, and through play, I got to know him better. He was like a little adult, full of awareness, trapped in a child’s body. From that experience, I became interested in childhood as a territory of mystery and discovery, and that’s where the series was born. Many times, you have to let yourself be surprised by the unexpected.
Circus Serie - Dry and wet technique on paper, 2024
Q: In your “Circus Serie,” what draws you to performance and theatricality as a way to reflect on real life?
A: The performance and theatricality of the circus open a fascinating window to reflect on life. The bodies, costumes, gestures and movements, the staging, and the audience’s reaction turn the circus into a microcosm where essential aspects of the human condition are represented—often in exaggerated or even grotesque ways. Themes such as the gaze of “the other,” the negotiation between stillness and movement, the distortion of reality, or the emotional immediacy of performance naturally emerge in this context.
These circus characters reveal hidden truths behind appearances—truths that can only be reached through distortion, exaggeration, and theatricality. They are nothing more than reflections of society. In this way, these characters become living caricatures, capable of distorting reality to make us reflect on it. Ultimately, the circus is a visual metaphor for life itself.
Q: When something’s finished, does it bring answers or just more questions?
A: Working on and completing a piece is a difficult process. As you get closer to it, you also move away from it—as contradictory as that may seem. And I think the most beautiful thing is that, as you find answers, new questions are born from them, making the creative process endless. It would be boring to find only answers—not just in art but in life itself. The discomfort that doubt creates is what drives me to reflect and keep growing.
I wouldn’t be able to keep working on something that only gave me answers. That’s why, for me, art is not a destination, but a constant journey of searching and discovery.
