Gwynned Vitello: I feel that there's an absolutely unblinking honesty about Spanish portraiture. It's never prettified or sentimental. Being a native of Barcelona, I wonder if you agree with me. Do you feel that Spanish blood in your art?
Noelia Towers: As a Catalonian with a deep sense of the complexities surrounding our identity and history, my perspective is marked by the struggle and tension inherent in our region's relationship with Spain, particularly its historical association with fascism.
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While Spanish portraiture may possess a raw and unfiltered honesty, it's essential to acknowledge how Spain's history, especially its dark period under Franco, casts a long shadow over its cultural expressions, including art. For many Catalonians, myself included, this history evokes feelings of pain, oppression, and a desire to assert our distinct identity separate from Spain's authoritarian past. There is a raw authenticity and unfiltered sets it apart from more idealized and romanticized styles of other places and time periods, and I admit that being away from home for such a long time has gifted me with a new outlook surrounding my homeland, making me more accepting of the nuances of my heritage.
Were you exposed to art by circumstances growing up? Barcelona is romanticized for the Gothic center and Gaudi architecture, but what was it like for you growing up?
I grew up in an environment that lacked cultural exposure. My parents, not by choice, were unable to provide a rich literary or artistic environment due to their own upbringing. Our home had no books, but my thirst for knowledge led me to the local library, where I discovered a world beyond my immediate surroundings. My maternal grandfather stood out as the most cultured individual in the family. As a cinephile and enthusiast of music and theater, he became my guide in the realm of the arts. I fondly remember my local church sparking my interest in creativity. The intricate stained glass surrounding the building, the captivating limestone sculpture standing behind the altar, and the majestic vaulted ceiling-every detail stimulated my senses and fueled my imagination. Although I might romanticize those memories, the impact of having such a beautiful sanctuary a block from my childhood home was profound. Living in Barcelona, I was surrounded by beauty, but I didn't fully appreciate it until I left. Now I marvel at the city's magnificence like a tourist captivated by its grandeur.
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When did you realize you wanted to make art? I know your family wasn't able to send you to art school, but you did seem to get encouragement from your mom, right? Do you think your background gave you more sensitivity to human struggles?
I would always be drawing in my room or using any materials available around the house to entertain myself. I had been begging for lessons, and when I was around six, my mom found this grassroots community center where they offered painting classes. I'm grateful for the emotional support my family provided, since it's rare within the dynamics of our household-but they never once doubted my passion for the arts honesty often present in Spanish art that Coming from a family riddled with financial struggles actually stimulated my creative side. You have to make things work with whatever you have at your disposal, and my upbringing provided me with a more empathetic world view. Early on, I was able to recognize other people's struggles in a way that growing up in a privileged environment wouldn't have granted.
You've admitted to turning away from art during your teenage years, though I bet it wasn't for long? Were you just hanging out? Was it music? What brought you back?
My teens were incredibly intense, something I don't really like to talk about because it's hard to fathom someone so young having such life-altering experiences, and whenever I speak about it, it feels like I'm narrating someone else's life, not mine. So briefly, I quit art when I was around 13 and went down a very dark path. Sometimes I think it's a miracle I survived, skipping school, partying, and attending concerts. I played in bands, organized shows, and hosted bands from all over-all things a young adult might do, except I was extremely young and naive. One day I felt a massive void and realized something big was missing. I took my box of oils out of teenage angst retirement and started painting again, horrendous ones that still hang in my grandpa's apartment to my embarrassment, and it was one of the best decisions of my life.
When you finally attended art school, was it what you expected? Do you feel you developed a style, or at least an idea of what you wanted to express?
The art school I attended isn't the same as those in the USA. Back home, once you finish high school, you have to go through what's called Bachillerato for two years, then pass a final exam before you can attend vocational training or college. I chose the art branch, which did reignite my passion for painting; however, we were more focused on art history, philosophy, technical and live drawing, graphic design, and audiovisuals, which helped me gain a broader knowledge and inspired me to try different mediums. It complicated things in such a way that I wanted to do it all. It was a bit overwhelming, but very informative.
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And then a big move to Chicago? What brought that about, and how did you adapt? It's such a big, modern city. How did you begin to establish yourself?
Moving was not on my bingo card, but I met my American husband in Barcelona and decided to make the big move. Everything fell into place, and I'm so happy it worked out so well. I was blessed with insane adaptability skills from birth and have always adjusted to things (even though change scares me!). Some incredible people enriched me and opened doors, and I'm forever grateful.
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A huge life changer which you have been very open about is the diagnosis of ulcerative colitis. If you don't mind talking about it, how did it affect you?
It was the most frightening thing to go through. I've always had stomach issues related to stress, which all started in childhood. It got worse when I was around 18 and trapped in an abusive relationship that almost ended me. My first severe UC symptoms occurred when I was 21, visiting a remote place in Thailand. During dinner, I went to the restroom, where I was shocked by a surge of blood, like I was having a miscarriage. It actually looked like a crime scene, and I didn't know what to do... at a place only reachable by boat! I survived the night and returned home, only to undergo continuous agonizing experiences with neglectful medical professionals. I'll never forget the pain and lack of care I received. It's been 11 years and many flare ups, but I've learned so much about my body.
I feel like it manifests so much in your work, just on the basic level of things not appearing as they seem at first, like a strong, beautiful woman in handcuffs or holding a bouquet of flowers and scissors.
I used to paint other people, sometimes friends, and often I still do. I wanted to share certain aspects of my life without giving away too much, and a way to accomplish that is by making the figures I paint appear to be mysterious and ambiguous.
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I think the blank or hidden face is a very effective way to portray a personal story, as well as a method of making it universal so that a viewer can see themselves or others. Tell us more about her choice to frequently obscure the face.
If I don't show you a face, it could really be anybody. It makes the narrative of the work less about me and more about how the viewer feels when looking at them, and it may also make the work more relatable. I love painting faces and really miss doing so. There's so much raw power in facial expressions; you can convey so many emotions. Yet I don't always want to give said emotions away, but I wish for people to connect in their own manner without telling them how they're supposed to feel. Sometimes a painting isn't what I'm trying to say, but a mirror for whatever people want to project on it.
We know that in conversation, especially as portrayed in movies, what is unsaid is just as potent as what is spoken. I almost feel like that is similar to what we see when someone walks away. You paint many pictures where we see the subject from behind. Why are you drawn to that aspect?
Viewing a subject from the back evokes mystery and introspection, as well as anonymity, leaving room for interpretation. I like themes of departure, solitude, loss, despair, and instability, and I have found that seein...