The Beauty of the Grotesque / Guillermo Lorca

The Beauty of the Grotesque

Interview with Guillermo Lorca

In conversation with the Chilean artist, to enter in a grotesque world, halfway between the inescapable fairy-tale realm of fantasy and the dark, visceral taste of the Gothic. He talks about his past and roots, offering insight into his creative approach and the influences that have shaped his art. Lorca reflects on how his origins have played such a fundamental role, while at the same time expressing a desire and need for new experiences. In his works, he explores themes like eroticism, violence, and the beauty of the grotesque, blending symbolic and fairy-tale elements with spiritual emotions. His timeless art creates a mix of sensations, both pleasing and unsettling that come together in paintings that lull you with an unexpected sweetness.

Where are you currently based?

Over the past few years, I’ve split my time between Barcelona and Chile, but this year has been especially hectic. I’ll end up visiting about ten countries, including Korea, Dubai, Japan, and several European cities like Italy, Prague, and Germany. It’s a bit chaotic. I work across studios in four different countries. For smaller paintings, it’s easier to set up a temporary studio wherever I am, which gives me more mobility. However, for larger works, I need a more established studio. Currently, I plan to maintain two main studios and primarily stay in Europe, with Barcelona being my base. That said, I have strong personal ties to Chile – my family is there, and there’s that Latin family tradition of keeping loved ones close. I enjoy being near them, but Santiago doesn’t have the same artistic energy as Barcelona. While Barcelona might be smaller, there’s always something happening, and it’s well-connected to the major art capitals of the world.

Do you notice a cultural difference between Chile and Spain, and how does it influence you?

The cultures are somewhat similar, so it’s easy to adapt between the two. It’s not like places such as Seoul or Tokyo, where everything is organised differently, and it’s harder to understand their cultural “codes”. I’m not obligated to stay in Spain – I could easily move and work from Chile or another place. Where I decide to spend most of my time is more of a personal choice, a balance between excitement and a place that feels like home. In Spain, I don’t feel like a foreigner, but interestingly, I feel more like an outsider in smaller cities in Chile. European cities, like those in Spain, have a different way of shaping their cultural behaviour. In Santiago, the city is more spread out, and you need a car to get around. Life there tends to happen more in houses rather than in public spaces, so there isn’t much of a walking or neighbourhood culture. It’s more similar to an American lifestyle, where social interactions are more private and in specific groups. That can create a social bubble, and for me, that starts to feel limiting, both as a person and in my work.

“I focus on keeping my mind open to new places, faces, and experiences, constantly interacting with people from different cultures”

3The Enccounter, oil and acrylic on canvas, 210x230 cm , 2018-19

23 The Banquet, oil on canvas 260x210cm (needs to be borrowed)

la curandera oil on canvas 180x300 cm detalle 3

What’s your opinion on the Chilean art scene?

It could definitely be better. The reality is that the big art scene tends to follow the money or places with more opportunities and visibility, at least the hope of you going to have some of those elements. In Chile, lately, the art scene is a bit of a disaster. You can try to apply the European dynamics, but it won’t be effective here. Our institutions, cultural centres, and museums aren’t functioning well at all. For instance, there’s no contemporary art museum properly speaking. We do have a beautiful national museum that’s split into two parts – one for contemporary art and one for traditional – but they’re managed by two different state entities, each with its own political and cultural agenda. This division creates a lot of confusion and mismanagement. While there are various opinions, I believe the system needs significant changes. I’ve seen how things work in other countries, and we need to develop the market here. Chile is a country that’s still growing, but when you compare it to places like Peru or Argentina, which have more serious crises and instability , their art scenes are much more vibrant and established. Chilean culture has strong roots in the countryside and in a certain way that is still present in urban culture despite the great growth. There have been times when the ecosystem was conducive to great writers and although great visual artists have come from Chile, almost all have had to develop their careers in other countries . The problem has multiple sources, from the irreverence and lack of interest of the country’s elites, deficient cultural institutions and a weak market compared to the country’s wealth.

Would you want to make any changes or start a movement to influence the Chilean art scene?

Definitely. I believe the younger generation will bring about change, but I also dream of creating a small museum or private gallery myself. It wouldn’t be about business or money, but about building a permanent collection – a treasure to share. The goal would be to do it properly, to create something that attracts tourism and inspires others to invest in the art scene and help build a stronger institution.

Growing up in Chile, how did your environment influence your perspective on art?

I spent a lot of time on a farm, mostly during the summers, so I developed a deep connection with nature and animals. Being far removed from the city, I turned to books to learn about art, Japanese animation, and films. At 18, I started travelling and lived in different countries like Norway, Germany, France,and Spain and it was so exciting when I saw for the first time the old masters that I’ve studied. While my family ties often pulled me back to Chile, I eventually realised I didn’t need to physically be there all the time. Now, I focus on keeping my mind open to new places, faces, and experiences, constantly interacting with people from different cultures. That has shaped not only my art but also my perspective on the world.

“The goal is to create something that moves me on a deeper level”

What is your favourite animal? You mentioned earlier that you have a special connection with animals, which is reflected in your paintings.

I love dogs – they’re an essential part of human existence. But for my paintings, I’m more drawn to felines in general. I really enjoy portraying them from different perspectives, and I’m fascinated by their energy. Another animal I really like is the goose. It’s a bit like a swan, but more playful, aggressive, and has a curious personality. There’s something about it that’s both beautiful and grotesque, yet magical at the same time. It’s a classic farm animal, and one I use the most in my work.

Who are your female characters – are they real or fictional?

It depends on the character. Most of the time, they’re based on someone I know – either a model or someone from my life. It could be an ex-girlfriend or a close acquaintance. The little girls I paint are often the daughters of friends or relatives. But I’m usually focused on capturing certain features, like those resembling Japanese animation. You can’t get that look with adult faces because their structure is different. I aim for those Japanese-like features and that magical, childlike essence. For me, the child characters represent a kind of spirit – something ancient, with thousands of years of wisdom, but in the innocent body of a child. The setting in my paintings often reflects this symbolism, enhancing that magical, almost otherworldly presence. In my mind, they are natural but alien-like. When I create these characters, I often reference a model, using details like an ear or a specific pose, but it’s layered and built up over time. It’s similar to how I depict animals like the goose – sometimes it’s oversized or its beak is an unnatural blue. I reinterpret familiar things in abnormal ways, turning them into fantastic creatures that feel both real and unreal.

Do you try to project any emotions, whether your own or those of the characters?

It’s more about expressing what I feel in a specific moment, that feeling used to be quite deep, and I organise emotions like I would put them into folders – drawing inspiration from conversations, images, books, or movies. I take notes from these experiences, blend them with other thoughts, and work from there. The goal is to create something that moves me on a deeper level. You’ll see elements in my work that carry symbolic power. It’s important to balance those symbols in a way that preserves the original feeling I want to convey. I don’t aim to portray a specific emotion like sadness. Instead, I’m after a more abstract feeling, something like the way you experience fairy tales or ancient Greek myths. You understand the story, but it also stirs something deeper – an ancient memory or feeling that people thousands of years ago might have experienced. I try to tap into that, combining it with my own personal elements.

What’s the balance between your emotions and the art itself?

Not every emotion can be fully translated into my work, so there’s definitely a balance. When I’m really sad, art helps me make sense of that sadness. It keeps me going, allowing me to find elements I wouldn’t have discovered otherwise, especially when I feel stuck. My paintings delve into emotions beyond the human experience – they’re not about natural, everyday feelings but about spiritual emotions. It’s difficult to narrate physical sensations like pain or pleasure in art. Painting isn’t the right medium for that, it’s more about a symbolic world, a place I can escape to.
My process starts when I create an image or symbol that teaches me something personal. I hope that others will feel that connection too. Another approach I use is balancing beauty with more grotesque or complex elements – creating a symphony of sorts. If I can achieve the right balance, people can connect with it in various ways.

I find your paintings tender and erotic at the same time. How do you balance and interplay these elements?

My art draws inspiration from the late 19th century,specifically the symbolism movement, a time when artists often explored themes of eroticism. I think eroticism is an interesting aspect to work with in painting because it can be subtle or even transgressive, depending on how it’s framed. For me, eroticism is not just about nudity or explicit sexuality; it emerges from how different elements and contexts shape our perception of intimacy. Georges Bataille, in his work Erotism, suggests that eroticism goes beyond the physical act or the simple exposure of the body; it arises from contrast, from the tension between what is visible and what is hidden. In this sense, it’s not nudity that creates intimacy, but rather the layers that hint at what remains unseen. Clothing can often heighten eroticism by evoking curiosity, something that full nudity doesn’t always offer. As Bataille notes, eroticism is an experience that envelops both the mind and the body, something that transcends mere visual exposure. In my paintings, I try to capture this dimension of eroticism through symbols, rather than by directly representing nudity or sexuality. I use hunting scenes to evoke violence, but it’s not human violence—it’s the violence inherent in nature. Hunting is intrinsically tied to reproduction, to that vital impulse that drives life. Eroticism, for me, is connected to that same vital energy, an expression of our deepest instincts.

Do you reflect on your works after creating them?

It’s more of a spontaneous, almost anecdotal reflection. Once a piece is done, I don’t usually analyse it deeply. My reflection happens more casually, when I recall specific moments or thoughts from the creative process, but it’s never through a rigorous analysis of its meaning.

12 The girl in the peacock room, oil on canvas 75x140 copia IG1