The Painter Who Dreamed of the Atlantic by Marina Marián Rodrigo
Among the various illustrious Spanish painters whose works can be found in museums around the globe, I would like to introduce one of my personal favourites: Néstor de la Torre.
Néstor Martín Fernández de la Torre (7 February 1887 - 6 February 1938) was born in Las Palmas de Gran Canaria to a well-off family, which gave him the opportunity to study under various teachers (including the painter Rafael Hidalgo de Caviedes in Madrid) before continuing his artistic education in Paris, Brussels, Bruges and London. It was in Paris that he made a name for himself as a decorative artist, as well as a designer of theatre costumes and sets. With his growing reputation, he was able to exhibit his paintings across Europe and in South American capitals such as Buenos Aires.
I would argue that Néstor’s most recognised works stemmed from his vision of constructing a majestic gallery, to be called Palacio del Atlántico, where he intended to display Poema de los Elementos: an iconological series of large-scale paintings, begun in 1913 and dedicated to the four elements. Sadly, Néstor died before his masterpiece could be completed: he had only finished Poema del Mar, representing water, and five of the eight paintings intended for Poema de la Tierra, representing earth. (Fun fact: Gran Canaria’s aquarium, Poema del Mar, was named after this series.)
Whilst visiting Madrid last year, I spent most of my time visiting museums in an attempt to escape the unforgiving summer heat. As I strolled through the marble galleries of the Reina Sofía Museum, I came across Néstor Reencountered, an exhibition dedicated to the Canarian artist. Moving from one painting to the next, I was struck by a growing sense of familiarity, realising that these paintings (particularly those in relation to Poema de Los Elementos) had followed me since childhood.
Back when I was little, there was an entire mural on the Paseo de Las Canteras, very close to where I live, dedicated to Poema del Mar. Every time I walked down to the beach, I would see the contorted bodies of the swimmers in Amanecer, stretching the sleep from their limbs as giant fish beckoned them awake. Then came the energetic spirit of Tormenta, electric in feeling, with the splash of the waves mimicking lightning strikes as the swimmers struggled to remain afloat. This contrasts sharply with my favourite panel, Mar en Reposo. Néstor’s style evokes Dalí in the way both artists create a dreamlike atmosphere; in Mar en Reposo, the scene is softened by pastel colours, iridescent fish and cherub-like men peacefully floating on the surface of the water. Speaking of Dalí, he was an enthusiastic admirer of Néstor, something reflected in his work Pesca de los Atunes, in which he used imagery of large fish and nude figures similar to those seen in Poema del Mar.
Another characteristic that gives Néstor’s work a surprisingly contemporary feel is the way certain aspects of the male and female body overlap. He was an artist ahead of his time, and the apparent sexual non-conformity exhibited in his paintings was not always met with open arms, with some artists and critics scrutinising and attacking his work and style. Perhaps the clearest example can be seen in his 1909 work Epitalamio, also called Las bodas del príncipe Néstor: if you look to the left-hand side of the painting, we see a couple in which both figures represent Néstor himself, each embodying different masculine and feminine aspects of the human form. This was meant to represent his “marriage” to the arts. Néstor’s style drew both from artists who preceded him and from his contemporaries. His work was rooted in Symbolism, while his extensive use of colour reflected the Art Nouveau aesthetic that had begun to spread across Europe. At the same time, he was inspired by the Pre-Raphaelites—a group of English painters, poets and art critics founded in 1848—and their use of colour, as well as by the American painter James McNeill Whistler. Néstor took these influences and transformed them into works that were distinctly his own: reminiscent of the Baroque, highly decorative and deeply sensual.
Néstor never forgot his homeland, and this is reflected throughout his magnificent body of work. From 1934 onwards, his work embraced a concept known as tipismo, through which he highlighted Canarian culture and the islands’ landscapes in an effort to encourage tourism, which he saw as a source of prosperity. Despite remaining relevant in his native archipelago, Néstor’s work was largely forgotten in mainland Spain. One possible reason is his commitment to representing a distinctly Canarian aesthetic, perhaps considered too niche for a broader Spanish public. But, much like my articles, I do not think that embracing the local entails adherence to a narrow identity. Rather, Néstor’s work shows how an artist can be deeply rooted in their own heritage and local culture while simultaneously engaging with artistic movements far beyond their origin. Perhaps that is precisely what makes Néstor worth rediscovering…
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