The Biscuit Factory blog interview

Hi Alex, could you introduce yourself and tell us a little bit about your background, both personally and creatively?

I’m originally from Barcelona, where I studied Fine Arts and Design at the University of Barcelona. Since 2010, I’ve lived in several different cities, including Dublin, Milton Keynes, London, Glasgow, and now Copenhagen. Moving so often has strongly shaped both my personal life and my creative work.

Most of my drawings are a direct consequence of my everyday life, wherever I am. I see them as a kind of visual diary — capturing the houses and flats I’ve lived in, friends hanging out, and all sorts of domestic scenes. Through these everyday moments, I explore familiarity, intimacy, and how spaces become personal over time.

What does a typical day look like for you? Are you sketching or drawing every day? Are you often working on many pieces at once or does each drawing hold your entire focus from inception to completion?

A few years ago, I enjoyed working late into the night, but now I prefer waking up quite early in the morning, making a coffee, and starting to draw. Those first hours of the day are very productive for me — my mind feels clearer, and I can better evaluate the work I did the previous day.

I sketch every day as part of a routine. I believe that things happen because you’re working on them rather than just thinking about them. Drawing regularly keeps ideas moving and allows unexpected results to appear naturally.

I usually work on many pieces at the same time. I don’t really believe in the idea of the perfect single work; instead, I prefer to play around with different drawings simultaneously. That way, I feel freer, make fewer creative blocks, and allow myself to make as many mistakes as possible — which is often where the most interesting things come from.

Do you work primarily from life, memory, imagination, reference - or a combination of sources?  

When I was a student in Barcelona, I worked almost exclusively from life. At the university, we drew from models, and every afternoon I also attended a very traditional drawing Centre called Cercle Artistic de Sant Lluc, where we could draw from live model poses from 6 pm to 9 pm every day except Sundays. At that stage, it was essential for me to gain strong fundamentals and to understand drawing through observation truly.

Little by little, I began to work more from memory in my studio. I realised that drawing only from direct observation could become limiting when it came to developing my own voice. Memory allowed me to filter reality, keeping what felt essential and personal rather than purely accurate.

Today, my process is a mix of observation, memory, and imagination. I occasionally use photographs, but I try not to rely on them too much. I’ve seen many artists become overly dependent on photos, and in a way the image can start to limit interpretation rather than expand it.

How did you find your signature style? Was it quite instinctive from the beginning or did it emerge through a process of experimentation and discovery? 

From the very beginning, I tended to do things in my own way. As a student, I sometimes had challenges with certain teachers, especially in drawing subjects that required a high level of accuracy, such as anatomy or landscape drawing. My instinct was often to exaggerate shapes and perspectives, so I had to consciously control that impulse in order to meet academic requirements and pass those courses. In that sense, my approach was quite instinctive from early on.

After finishing my degree, my signature style developed more consciously through experimentation in my studio. I focused on enjoying the process, playing with ideas, and allowing myself freedom rather than aiming for immediate refinement. I studied other artists, but instead of prioritising quality at first, I was more interested in quantity — producing a lot of work to see what would emerge over time. Working with flexible, replaceable materials like paper made that process easier, as it encouraged risk-taking and reduced the fear of making mistakes.

What draws you to portraying your subjects in intimate everyday settings, such as messy bedrooms? What do these scenes allow you to explore about your subjects that a traditional still life set up might not? 

From the very beginning, I was drawn to the human figure and to the emotional intensity you can concentrate within it. I was always more interested in people than in objects. Interestingly, to be admitted to the Faculty of Fine Arts at the time, we had to pass a four-hour drawing exam based on a very complex, classical still life — charcoal, heavy focus on shadows, volume, and accuracy.

To prepare for that exam, I spent an entire summer at an old academy in Barcelona called Escola Leonardo da Vinci, where a wonderful elderly teacher taught me the fundamentals of observation. I produced dozens of drawings just to be able to pass that still-life test. I learned a great deal from that experience, but it also left me slightly tired of traditional still life, and afterwards I naturally shifted my focus back to the human figure and modern artists. 

Intimate and domestic scenes came very naturally to me. I’m interested in the simplicity of everyday life at home — the ordinary objects that surround you, friends hanging out, laundry baskets, a coffee maker. These settings allow emotions and relationships to appear quietly, without being staged. In a way, there’s a contradiction in my work: I’ve found a lot of inspiration through living in many different cities, yet what I enjoy drawing most is the private, familiar world of home. Those intimate spaces allow me to explore vulnerability, closeness, and lived experience in a way a traditional still-life setup never could.

Your work is incredibly vibrant, lively and frenetic, is that a result of your process or a conscious stylistic choice? Do you work quickly or take a long time over each piece? 

In my work, I rarely make fully conscious decisions — most things emerge in an unconscious way through practice and repetition. I think visual artists are deeply intuitive; often we don’t completely understand why we do certain things. It’s usually only later, after producing a significant body of work and gaining some distance in time, that we begin to recognise patterns and understand why the work looks the way it does.

That said, I do think my background has played a role. The Mediterranean light where I grew up has influenced my attraction to vibrant colour, even though for the last fifteen years I’ve been living in much rainier cities. I try to bring intensity into my drawings through vigorous lines at the beginning, which later soften and merge with colour — some lines remain, others disappear.

I work quickly, but individual drawings often stay in progress for weeks. I might spend 20 or 30 minutes on a piece and then switch rapidly to another, or create a different version of the same image. Working in short, intense sessions and constantly moving between drawings helps me maintain energy and spontaneity while allowing the work to develop over time.

There appears to be a lovely painterly process of layering happening in your pencil drawings, how do you decide which elements to emphasise and which to leave ambiguous? How do you know when a piece is ‘done’? 

During my university years, and for a few years after graduating, I experimented extensively with abstract acrylic painting. At the time, I remember seeing other students working directly from photographs pinned to the wall and copying them onto canvas. I found that approach quite discouraging and unmotivating, which pushed me in a different direction.

By my second year, I began working with a group of abstract painters, producing large-scale canvases around 200 × 200 cm. Abstract painting taught me the importance of process — layering, memory, and the constant selection of what remains and what disappears. It also taught me how to work with freedom, without the pressure of representation.

Those abstract years have strongly influenced my figurative drawings today. I intuitively emphasise certain elements and let others fade away. I’m interested in ambiguity — when things are present but not fully revealed, allowing space for interpretation.

As for knowing when a piece is finished, it’s largely intuitive. A drawing feels done when adding more no longer contributes to it. Sometimes it’s simply a moment of clarity; other times, it’s fatigue — a sense that the conversation with the piece has ended and it’s time to close that chapter.

Can you tell us about any challenges you encounter in your creative process and how you overcome them? 

Most of the challenges I encounter come from creative blocks. Sometimes it feels like I don’t know what to draw or where to place my attention — as if something is missing — and motivation can suddenly disappear. It’s easy in those moments to feel stuck or disconnected from the work.

Over time, I’ve learned that motivation comes and goes, and that you can’t rely on it too much. What really matters is showing up. Even if it’s just sitting at the drawing table and making a few lines here and there, that act of working keeps the process alive.

At the beginning, I was pretty afraid of creative blocks — they felt like reaching the middle of nowhere. Now I understand them as part of the process. The way I overcome them is simply by continuing to draw and move forward, even when I don’t feel like it. Very often, clarity returns through the act of working itself.

Do you have any advice for people wanting to explore their own creativity but unsure where to start? 

I would say that enjoying the process is fundamental. You only need to watch kids drawing for half an hour to understand what creativity really is and how it works. Creativity that feels forced usually isn’t true to you — what inspires you generally comes naturally and effortlessly. It’s like surfers riding a twenty-metre wave: they don’t calculate every move, they just flow with it.

The key is to pay attention to the things you naturally repeat — the gestures, subjects, or ways of working that feel instinctive. Those are valuable clues pointing toward the direction your creativity wants to take.

What have been some of your greatest sources of inspiration in your life? 

I’ve had many different sources of inspiration throughout my life. As a student, being close to other artists friends was incredibly inspiring — talking about art, debating modern masters like Picasso, Matisse, or Gauguin, and sometimes having heated discussions that would continue over a beer in a pub. There was also a kind of friendly competition about the next painting, which pushed me creatively during those early years.

The years I spent drawing the human figure obsessively at the Cercle Artístic de Sant Lluc in Barcelona were also a huge source of inspiration, as it helped me develop discipline and observation skills.

Later on, inspiration has often come from everyday life — ordinary objects at home, friends hanging out and posing casually. Cinema has also been essential for me. I’ve always admired independent films, because unlike a static image, a movie captures movement, time, and emotion in a concentrated way. Watching a great movie, even with a peculiar or unconventional narrative, often gives me new ideas and the urge to draw something immediately.

Can you tell us about a piece or an achievement you are particularly proud of? 

It’s a bit challenging for me to single out one piece or achievement, because I tend to give each drawing the same importance. Of course, some I like more than others, but once a piece is finished, I usually move on quickly. Each work represents a vivid moment in time, like entries in a visual diary, and once that moment passes, it passes — the focus is always on the next step.

For me, the achievement I feel most proud of isn’t a single drawing, but the sense of following my own path, seeing my progression, and gradually finding my own voice. I also take pride in staying humble and recognising that growth is ongoing — that there’s always more to explore and improve.

Finally, what are you most excited to be working on this year? 

This year, I’m really excited about returning to painting with acrylic on paper. Drawing has always been my way of adapting to a very mobile life — moving between flats and cities over the years. Its simplicity and immediacy make it easy to keep working: all you need is pencils and paper, and the process is spontaneous in a way that painting sometimes isn’t.

Painting, on the other hand, requires a different mindset. It demands more energy, preparation, and a certain theatricality, while the attitude is similar to drawing. But the results can be incredibly rewarding, and that’s what excites me about this return to acrylics.

I’m also thrilled about participating in several galleries this year, including The Biscuit Factory in Newcastle, Liza’s Gallery in Denmark, and, for the first time, sending two drawings to Anita Rogers Gallery in New York. These opportunities are inspiring and motivating, and they make me even more excited to explore new directions in my work.

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https://www.thebiscuitfactory.com/blogs/news/meet-alex-pascual