pablo ferros
Nights of Wine and Painting
This collection explores the end of the bottle, the remainings of last night and a new bottle that I opened to release my mind from worries and the usual trapped instant thoughts that push me away of my painting table, an old sewing machine I bought second-hand.
The Harvest
These paintings collect every thought that came to my mind while tasting wine, every romantic side of my life. From a great meal to a sad poem, a memory from my childhood, a painful truth in our planet.
Fermentation Dance
A metaphorical representation of the fermentation process, where sugars transform into alcohol. The design of each piece that composes this collection has gone through fermentation one year at least. During that time the idea was built, so I had weeks and months to think about the content, before I detailed final touches.
Aging in Silence
Depicting wine barrels in a cool cellar, Stockholm, this work explores the concept of patience and slow maturation. The textures of every painting is the same, the meaning comes from far away experiences. My grandma's hall, always dark and mysterious to me. One of my favourite spicy dishes, Federico García Lorca portrait and drawing, the time I read Introduction to Death. The Korean cannal that will forever be in my heart. A warm sip of glögg, an almond. Our old appartment stairs window. The sad, slow and coward pace of my decisions. The Mediterranean Sea.
Vineyard Dreams
I never walked around vineyards, I never tried a bitter wine with the sunset at the end of these fields. But every Summer we sat under the grapes on my grandmother backyard, waiting for them to mature. Lately I lost myself, and I found two empty chairs close to the vine. Wine for one.
My winery
Exhibitions:
March 2026. Tokyo, Japan
April 2027. Valladolid, Spain
Aurora Borealis in Finland
Driving from the northernmost point of Europe, the infinite night turned our journey into a moment of reflection. Sometimes that silence brings an idea, a turning point. In this case, it was an intense green dance I will never forget.
Cheonggyecheon and Its Bridges
Many bridges, each different from the previous one; their design and architecture inspire the tones, shapes, and symmetries of my mind. Yet two women sat in front of me and shared a long conversation and a good moment together, while the water flowed and never stopped. It felt like a bittersweet moment of life.
The Soul’s Last Breath
In rhythm or not, the soul’s last breath— in life, in every night, in every conversation. A part of us fades away when crossing that boundary. When I drew the first sketches for this collection, I felt it.
Clown with a Split Face, 1927
Always broken down, duplicated, fused. Lorca drew several people within one, in different environments and with different emotions. Beyond knowing what it meant for him, I see immense meaning in what it defines for an adult who walks through life, wakes up in the morning, a weekday, a weekend, at work, in the other part of life. Federico drew what is now acclaimed: Severance, the upside down, the wall from Game of Thrones.
Dark Corridor
In the place where I was happiest, there were several fears scattered throughout the house. Terrors, hells… now only memory and recollections. The corridor that led to the room with a small pantry, to the bathroom, my uncles’ bedrooms, a landline phone on a small table with candles that were never lit, a large mirror in which foreign entities appeared.
Glögg
And ginger cookies. Hot wine with raisins and almonds. What I like most about Christmas in Sweden: wine that warms the body in such a cold place.
Wine for One
Please.
The Stairwell Window
I have seen the seasons pass, the neighbors, the moves, the clouds. And us—I saw us pass by and didn’t notice.
A Flame of Hope
That is consumed and consumes us, an infinite time that I believe never ends, and yet it consumes us. True, it will not end regardless of our being or physical form, and it will keep passing, like the pyramids.
What We Do Not See
Back in that parallel universe within the same person, this time I think of sadness, tears, the thoughts I never see but know are there. Or worse still, that they are not.
Federico
The reason for this collection. His life, his death, his reason to create, his written words.
Ribera
A culture of living the summer beneath the vine, those small tendrils that seek to anchor the branch to whatever is nearby, to keep growing under a harsh and dry environment. The same plastic terrace chairs that Bad Bunny showcases for taking more photos, for the home patio or for spending sweltering nights in the street.
Langhe Nebbiolo Enzo Bartoli
The bottle from January 2024 that was given to you, which inspired the material, the tint, and the pigment of these drawings.
The Mediterranean Sea
An open interpretation for you who are reading this.
Mapo Tofu
I miss the spiciness that seemingly wasn’t there, and that later made me sweat and overhydrate.
Bouquet of Poppies
There are two kinds: those that grow on corners and between the concrete of the street. These, instead, populate cultivated fields—thousands and thousands of flowers that transform the valley into an intense, magical red.
Heart and Poppy
The one that grows alone beside a drain, and yet hides an intense story, often disparaged.
Castilian Countryside
Like time and life, the temporary gold fades each autumn. The virtue of understanding the price of power, of ambition, and how tiny we are. The now is now, as Mr. Hirayama would say.