I find myself in something of a quandary, not only because of the essential differences between the Spanish and English languages but also because writing is not, and never has been, the natural mode of expression for a painter, and I am no exception to the rule. My translator, moreover, has had to cope with my personal linguistic quirks, perhaps a trifle baroque, and this has been a further source of complication. You are, therefore, regretfully forewarned. I shall do everything in my power to convey to you as accurately as possible my feelings, rather than ideas, concerning ‘beauty and the grotesque’.

Despite all the obstacles, and believing as I do that what really counts is communication, whether by means of words or signs, I think that the best thing I can do, to start with, is to tell you something of my personal experience as an artist: that is to say, of the insatiable curiosity that has driven me all my life to try my hand, albeit timidly, at other disciplines. These disciplines have turned out to be complementary to my principal activity as a painter: engraving, the illustration of literary texts, the production of sets for theatre, and sculpture. To conclude this preamble, I must insist that I am not writing as a specialist in beauty, aesthetics or semiotics. To pose as such would be to indulge in impersonation, hypocrisy and pedantry, all of which vices I detest. As for my views on the ‘ugly’ or ‘the grotesque’, I hope that they will become clear later in my comments on their paradoxical relation to beauty.