Vicente Hernández
Castellón, 1968
Painter and Designer

A hanger. Clothespins. A hat. A set of knives. A classic Volkswagen Beetle. A Leica camera. A Bang & Olufsen radio. A Lee Oskar harmonica. Jowat adhesive granules. The architecture of Mies van der Rohe and Marcel Breuer. The iconic LC4 chaise. Olives. Lupini beans and peanuts. A red pepper. A trunk overflowing with bananas. A Formentera lizard. A starfish. A zebra beneath Kilimanjaro. Long legs in high heels. A Cuban tobacco farmer in Pinar del Río. An Apollo 11 astronaut suspended above prehistoric cave paintings. And portraits. Le Corbusier. But above all, the faces of those he loves.

A gaze that cuts through with the fewest possible strokes — black and white.
Precise. Uncompromising. A gaze that moves both ways.

Vicente Hernández grants the same poetic gravity to the everyday as to cultural icons. To wildlife and to human presence. To objects and to glances. Everything exists on the same symbolic plane. From his early, color-saturated works to his current language of whites and restrained grays, his practice is rooted in close observation — tight framing, decontextualization, radical focus.

It draws from travel — and from photographs of travel. From raw materials.
From substance.

But above all, it draws from friendship.
From love. From long conversations that stretch past the table.
From gratitude translated into acrylic on canvas.

Distilled into iconic, timeless pop.