Taquen

Taquen is a visual artist and muralist born in A Coruña in 1992 and based in Madrid, with a degree in Fine Arts from the Complutense University, dedicated to pictorial creation, intervention in public space, and the analysis of the relationship between human beings and nature.

His work stands between urban art, drawing, and the analysis of community identity, with a clear vocation for intervention in public space. Through large-format murals and collaborative projects in both urban and rural environments, Taquen uses natural elements and harmonized color palettes to activate new readings on movement, roots, and coexistence with the environment, transforming walls and facades into cultural, symbolic, and social cohesion devices.

Your work is closely linked to travel and different contexts. Comparing Madrid and Catalonia, where do you think people work with more judgment and where do you see more inertia or improvisation?

In every place I have worked, I felt that things were done differently—some better, some worse. In some, the logistics are perfect, while in others I have had to manage the entire project myself, which tends to happen quite often. For any artist, it is sometimes utopian to get the best conditions regarding travel, accommodation, amenities, logistics, transport, a wall ready to paint, the correct materials, cranes, or ladders… There are many elements revolving around a project, and then, on top of that, there is the support and companionship. In Barcelona, I have had the fortune of working over the last two years on various projects. I painted in Sant Andreu, Mollet, and Nou Barris last year, and this year in Cerdanyola. Despite being different organizations, I think they have been solid projects, with prior follow-up regarding the relationship between the artist and the environment/location of their work. This ensures that the final piece maintains a dialogue and is contextualized, and also that it can be understood and shared by the people who inhabit and coexist in these places. They have been, for the most part, well-paid and well-managed projects. In Madrid, where I live, I have also had the opportunity to carry out projects—sleeping at home is priceless. Logistic management is much simpler for me, and even though I have to manage, contract, and take care of all these details more personally, I think it pays off. Furthermore, they have been projects where, as an artist, I have felt highly valued, and I will be able to return to work there again in the future. It is a city where urban art arrived a bit later, where various companies or agencies work to carry out and manage these projects, but they also come directly from the Madrid City Council itself. Ultimately, I wouldn’t lean toward one place or the other; I believe both have their pros and cons.

You have worked with us in Nou Sentit Urbà and in KROMATIC, two quite different formats. How did you approach each intervention and what decisions did you make in each case to adapt (or not) to the context?

In Nou Sentit Urbà, the information I used to create the piece was drawn from a more general context of the neighborhood and its history. I did some prior research and adapted a recurring theme in my projects—migratory birds—to the situation and context. In contrast, for Kromatic, we asked the residents and several associations to suggest themes on which to develop my work. In this case, culture and traditions were the axes around which my piece would revolve. After receiving their feedback, I made several sketches related to their dances, games, and other foundational elements of their culture so that they could decide. It was a slightly more complex process, but I think it yielded a more positive return, one that was more contextualized and adapted to the environment. It is true that in Nou Sentit Urbà I didn’t have as much time to prepare, and the wall itself presented various complications. Different paths and results to try to reach the same goal. I always include in my adaptation process the use of a harmonized color palette that aligns with its environment and the elements surrounding the mural.

Muralism has grown significantly thanks to public budgets and private commissions. From the inside, who would you say understands the value of the artist’s work better?

From the public sector, projects usually have a more social and cultural character, involving interventions in schools, social centers, and other public buildings. This is usually done through prior competitions, although lately, figures are appearing within governments who specialize in urban culture, art, and urban art more specifically, and the selection criteria seem to be improving. As for private commissions, it is the clients themselves who choose and evaluate what they want and which artist they want to carry it out. Fortunately, if there is a middleman who can do the necessary work so that the artist receives what they deserve and their work is valued and respected beforehand, that is a job we don’t have to do ourselves.

If you had to point out a practice that you find directly problematic in how these projects are managed (both public and private), what would it be?

The lack of a prior relationship between the artist, the place and environment where the work will be created, and the people who live there. If we are in contact beforehand, if a dialogue exists, and decisions are made keeping both the spectator and the artist in mind, everyone wins. Unfortunately, this is something that doesn’t always happen. I also see and come across projects managed with public budgets where many artists are being poorly paid and compensated in other ways. Furthermore, when an artist works away from home, they need the comfort of not having to focus on things other than the artwork itself. It is a creative job—physically and mentally demanding, exposed, etc.—and all of that must be considered both when it comes to remuneration and when finding the best possible safety and comfort conditions. On the other hand, communication is often not covered, and many projects end up going unnoticed among so many others.

Do you feel that today the artist truly negotiates their conditions, or that, in practice, they end up adapting to whatever is available just to be able to work?

I am lucky enough to be starting to tip the scales in my favor when it comes to negotiating the projects I participate in, but I am the first to admit that I have accepted stingy, poorly paid contracts with terrible conditions just to have an opportunity I wouldn’t have had otherwise. It is something I detest today—that there are still places taking advantage of artists who are just starting out—but I understand those who want to be able to paint, build a portfolio, develop, and grow. It is very difficult to stand firm against something when the emotional side of such a passionate profession comes into play. But fortunately, yes, I think people are starting to understand that this is a job, like any other, and it must be respected, starting from certain minimums that must be covered. Risk is another factor that is usually overlooked when working, and the organizers are entirely responsible for this.

In a sector where there are more and more projects, do you think there are more real opportunities, or simply more volume with less quality and worse conditions?

Higher volume, more exploitation, worse conditions, without a doubt. But the opposite also exists; there are very good projects, and it is important that those of us who dedicate ourselves to this know how to choose well and demand our conditions. Unfortunately, trends always bring less quality and greater quantity.

You have been critical of AI. What do you find more worrying: the tool itself or the mindset behind its use?

The tool is great; anything that can shorten paths is welcome, but I am very critical of the way it is being used, as happens with everything. It’s not the weapon, it’s the one firing it… We are becoming accustomed to living in complacency and comfort, to not giving things a second thought or racking our brains a bit to achieve something. We want immediacy; we do not accept doubt or waiting. We are entering a fast, simple way of life, without sharp edges, where the shortest path, even if it isn’t the right one, is always chosen. I like tools that help us remain creative, even those that enhance our capabilities, but there is a great risk behind this one, and it lies in how it is being used. City councils that prefer to create designs for their posters using AI instead of hiring illustrators, texts written by computers without any soul, same ideas, same thoughts… doubt and not knowing keep us awake; having all the answers at a single click is very delicate and frightening.

If tomorrow a client proposes that you develop a mural based on images generated by AI, where would you draw the line?

If it allows me to interpret those images in my own style and manner, I could do it. But right from the start, I highly value the work of photographers; I have worked with several female photographers for almost all my projects, and just as I expect my work to continue to be valued, I like to do the same. I don’t think any computer understands the delicacy, the subtlety, or any other sensation and feeling that a photographer can capture. My work is based on real images, and it shows when something is based on images that are not. Perhaps using AI for a composition, mixing already existing elements… could be an option. But I believe that if my work is the way it is, it depends largely on the people who took the photos I work with.

Your work maintains a very direct relationship with painting and gesture. What do you think is lost when the process stops being physical and becomes mainly digital?

The interpretation, the brushstroke, the incidence of light, contextualizing the piece alongside its environment, the dialogue with the viewer, the spontaneity, the changes during the process… all the elements that motivate me and push me to keep painting in the street. The digital sphere has its place and I don’t close myself off to it since I do a lot of work that way, but I refuse to think that we paint murals just for a simple photo and a lot of likes. Lately, I am trying to squeeze the most out of the experiences I live in the places I paint, and it shows in the work. Color on a wall or a canvas has nothing to do with a screen. It moves you, you can perceive the hand of the person who made it, the decision… it is incomparable. Identity and personality are lost. My work always begins on paper, with a hand-drawn sketch, and that carries over to the very last stroke on the wall.

In public space, are you interested in being accepted, or do you think a work of art should take the risk of not being liked?

I respect any artistic decision, but who am I to worsen the daily life of the people who walk past the mural I have painted? To some extent, I feel responsible for it. We are bombarded with huge advertisements and billboards with strident colors that have nothing to do with nature, nor are they considering the environment they distort or the visual noise they generate. I think of something like that when I work in the street; in the end, my work stays forever, and it is the viewers who think, enjoy, get bored, argue, or criticize the piece, and it is for them that I paint. I understand and believe that sometimes it’s good to touch a sensitive nerve, but there are ways and ways. Public art must understand this.

Have you ever had to tone down a proposal so that it would be accepted by clients, institutions, or neighbors?

Yes, more than once—a lot of back-and-forth—but I’ve also had to turn it around and make it more eye-catching than I had originally intended. My color palette has that effect; sometimes, on paper, it’s hard to understand. Just this past week, exactly this happened to me: someone asked me what I was going to paint on the facade of their building (they hadn’t seen it beforehand), and their first impression upon seeing the sketch on paper—where the color has nothing to do with reality—was very negative. I tried to think of her while I worked, and although I didn’t change my artwork, I tried to ensure her final opinion would be different, and fortunately, it was. When it’s a private client, I modify my work up to the point where I no longer feel comfortable; that is a red line for valuing what I do and my profession. If someone is interested in my work, they must understand that my judgment is part of the process; otherwise, they should have looked for someone different who executes without thinking. Maybe AI can help them, hahaha.

Looking at the sector globally, what do you think is working and what would you say is straight-up smoke?

Management is starting to work, and above all, the value of certain artists for their work, far removed from the persona or trends. Urban art is fashionable, and that always has a good side and a bad side. Everyone wants to join in, hop on the bandwagon—intrusiveness, poorly paid murals, poorly managed projects done quickly and without knowledge or criteria, cities and towns bombarded with murals that are completely out of context, made by artists who are not to blame beyond looking for their space and wanting opportunities. What works is judgment; cultural managers are starting to know the lineup and are becoming interested in artists for their projects who make sense. Artists are starting to become part of the working teams of the festivals or projects themselves, and this makes the final works worthwhile. There are true urban art curators who know what is happening, who look further ahead and don’t just stay in the mainstream scene, doing the same old thing. People are starting to see the artist and value them as a true professional, and their work is remunerated as it deserves. The smoke, unfortunately, also grows and can be seen from afar. Pieces made simply to draw attention, to move on social media, giving more importance to the final video/reel than to the actual work, artists focused on digital interaction rather than their day-to-day work in the street, in the real world. I wouldn’t like to get into the subject of competitions, “best murals in the world,” fake awards that overshadow everything that is actually happening… certain platforms work that help us show what we do and locate it, but these types of interests related to competition do not work. Festivals work where the artist feels part of them, generating a sense of family, comfort, and feeling valued. I have had the opportunity to participate lately in many of them, where good judgment and sensitivity reign when it comes to working, far beyond looking for the most famous artist and paying them double what the rest get simply so their project appears in the media. There is a lot of smoke, unfortunately, but also a lot of light; we just need a little more sensitivity and judgment. I also think advertising is part of this smoke—it jumps on the bandwagon and does whatever it wants with many artists because it “can,” and that’s where we must take care of each other, among ourselves.

We know you are working on a book. How does this project relate to your current practice and what are you interested in exploring through this format?

The project, fortunately, has already seen the light of day. It is called “Esperas sin Horizonte – Sahara Marathon” (Endless Waits – Sahara Marathon), an intimate diary in which I recount my day-to-day life in the Sahrawi refugee camps in Algeria, where I also participated in the charity marathon organized annually. It was a journey that was profound, harsh, and beautiful in equal measure. It shook me and knocked me down; I thought I was prepared because of everything I had lived through, but nothing could be further from the reality. In the end, the race was the least important part. I gathered analog and digital photographs, texts, drawings, and documents from all those days. It is the best way I have found to talk about what happens there, to bring it closer, to give a voice and put a face to this problem that is, unfortunately, often unknown.

Delving into my current artistic practice, I have always been interested in this format. I made my first diary during the lockdown; it came about just as this one did, without looking for it. I write often, I always travel with an old camera belonging to my parents, and drawing is my best tool… I found the possibility of doing something different and I think I got it right. I am interested in communicating, sharing, and talking openly about what I live and feel, because I believe it connects us with those who do not know us.