The voice behind the mask
The mask symbolizes people with mental health challenges. According to the WHO, over 1 billion pe...
Finding stillness in a fragmented world
What does it take to silence the noise? For Itziar Barrios, the illustrator behind the debut collection, it meant reinterpreting silence.
A conversation about self-discovery, change, and duality.
Interview with Alice Waters
Film, photography Marti Yagües Gomà
"For as long as I can remember, creativity has been a part of me."
Tell me about your journey as an illustrator. Where did it all begin? How did you develop your distinctive ballpoint pen technique?
For as long as I can remember, creativity has been a part of me. While the format has changed over the years, it wasn't until my youth that I realized this was the best way for me to express myself.
For me, everything in my childhood was malleable; that awakened a strong inner strength in me.
A desire to be constantly on the move and to work with my hands.
My visual communication took shape during my school years, but it wasn't until university that I truly discovered my own language through various drawing techniques. Graphite and ballpoint pen have always been my preferred media; I found a greater harmony and connection in the speed they offered, and the results always felt more coherent to me. It was then that I realized this was exactly what I wanted to do, although it wasn't until a few years ago, when I began my career as an illustrator, that I saw it as a viable path.
You live between Andalusia and Holland – six months here, six months there. Most people struggle to have a home; you've chosen two. Why these places in particular?
Living between two worlds was more a matter of chance than a conscious decision. Life led me to the Netherlands, and I settled in well there. It happened at a crucial moment, when I felt rather out of place in my own country. This 'escape' to the Netherlands allowed me to rediscover my love for my homeland and appreciate what I truly had.
I believe it was exactly what I needed: an impetus to the outside world that led to a rediscovery of my inner self.
Now I appreciate both worlds, and both nourish me equally. Spain means a great deal to me. It's the place I will always return to for healing, relaxation, and self-discovery. Spain represents peace and nature. In Holland, I cherish the friendship and energy of the many people I've had the privilege of meeting.
"The world scares me. But I know we're all in the same boat."
If you close your eyes and think about what is most important to you – not in your work, but in your life – what comes to mind?
The world scares me. But I know we're all in the same boat. As creative people, I believe we possess a greater capacity for change. Everything that happens around us changes us. Personally, I've always felt a deep connection to nature. If I had to highlight what's most important to me—aside from health, my family, and those close to me—it would be the environment and the impact we have on it.
Right now you're in your hometown of Alcalá la Real, where you were born. You left, traveled, built a life elsewhere – and yet you're coming back. What does this place mean to you now as an adult, what it didn't mean when you were young? And if someone in Holland asks you where you're from, what do you say?
Alcalá is what reminds me of who I am. It grounds me and shows me the path that I sometimes obscure with my own steps.
The Netherlands, on the other hand, allows me to dream. It offers alternatives and broadens my horizons. The cultural difference is immense, and although it can sometimes be difficult to find my way around, I feel that I grow personally through these contrasts.
The Netherlands welcomed me in the best possible way, and I feel it will always be an open chapter in my life. But Spain: that's me. And even though there are many things I don't like or identify with, it's the place I want to work for, to improve it, and to give it everything I have.
Take me back to your childhood for a moment. Do you remember the first story that really stuck with you? The one that felt like it was speaking directly to you? What did you dream about as a child—not literally, but what did you imagine your life would be like?
The first story I can remember in my life is The Jungle Book, specifically the Disney version. From a distance, I now see why it left such a deep impression on me, even if it might not have been the very first one I encountered. Its connection to music, another fundamental pillar of my life—and to nature—resonated directly with my core.
I wasn't much of a dreamer. It's strange, because looking back, I think I focused more on the 'now' – on spending time alone, creating things from recycled objects, or playing in imaginary worlds in the drawers of my home. My dreams existed in the present, and I always tried to bring them to life. I remember wanting to be a veterinarian.
"I believe that a lot of myself and my life circumstances are reflected in this illustration."
Did you read Alice in Wonderland as a child? Or did it find you later? What is it about children's stories—Alice, Peter Pan, The Jungle Book—that adults keep returning to? What do we find there that we have lost?
I saw the Disney film, like many children of my generation. However, it wasn't until university that I read the books and was captivated by their imagery and storytelling. It's not the first time that the contrast between a book and the version adapted for children has so drastically altered the original concept, but in this case, I found it particularly striking.
I believe that as adults, we constantly return to these kinds of stories to find ourselves—to reconnect with our memories and with the people and places of our past. It's a brilliant way to bridge the gap to what is no longer within our reach today.
When you were asked to illustrate the "Silence the Noise" collection for Sed & Zia, the rabbit essentially became the hero of the series. In Alice in Wonderland, the White Rabbit is always stressed, always late—practically the embodiment of time anxiety. But in your illustration, he's something else: fragmented, cut apart, existing on the threshold between worlds. What were your thoughts when you created this image?
It often happens that when I immerse myself in a new project, a new universe waiting to be discovered and shaped, certain concepts suddenly appear with striking clarity. Images take shape, and you might not even understand why they manifest themselves this way. Yet you know that your only task is to give them form and meaning. I simply can't fight it!
The rabbit's fall into the hole is crucial. The rabbit, of course, serves as a vehicle that helps us transform and express everything that unfolds. We all know where this rabbit comes from: from this constant struggle against time, against the world, and against the relentless maelstrom of events. It is the race itself that compels us to keep going.
Then, at a certain moment, we fall, as it were, into the hole and into the tunnel. This tunnel fragments us into different levels of reality. But perhaps these are imposed layers that we don't even want, parts that aren't essential to our core. We want to traverse them, leave them behind, and let them float upwards like weightless bubbles.
You described the hare as existing "on the threshold between two worlds"—the visible chaos of urban life and the private labyrinth where silence resides. That's such a powerful image. Do you also live on this threshold?
I believe that a lot of myself and my life circumstances are reflected in this illustration. Perhaps that's why it's so clearly manifested.
We live in a world of constant stimuli: buzzing phones, beeping notifications, opinions everywhere, endless demands on our attention. How do you personally cope with mental overload? How do you find silence when your own head is full of noise?
In many cases, my need for silence negatively impacts my mental health. I am a person who needs peace and quiet, lives close to natural environments, and constantly needs this peaceful escape.
I believe that learning to seek stillness within oneself, to control one's thoughts, ideas, fears, and energies, is an essential endeavor. I now have a much better understanding of how my mind works, and I possess many more tools to quiet my inner voice.
The rabbit in your illustration invites us to "follow him down into your own Wonderland of Silence"—this private labyrinth where your inner voice speaks. What does your Wonderland look like?
I think my wonderland of silence has developed with age, shaped by experiences and the things I've learned. It's strange; I never really thought about it until this very moment.
Years ago, as a teenager, it was probably a monochrome place. Something that made me feel more unique and was devoid of nuance. Something pure, rigid, and structured. That was my place of mental peace.
The collaboration with Sed & Zia evolved over many conversations. How did this process differ from other work you've done?
Working on this collection marked a significant turning point for me. It was a big step forward and also an investment in myself. As an editorial illustrator, I'm used to a different kind of process, characterized by very tight deadlines, highly specific content, and minimal feedback.
I felt empowered to share my ideas without hesitation and felt deeply supported throughout the entire process. I now feel immense pride in the work we have accomplished and am profoundly grateful for the opportunity.
How do you motivate yourself? On days when it feels impossible, especially when self-doubt arises?
There is no alternative but to continue. The creative process is my way of existing. The end goal may change, and there may come a time when I have to earn my living in another way, but I will continue to create. I don't think I will ever stop. This is how I nourish my soul and let it breathe.
What does creative freedom mean to you? Not freedom in the abstract, but the actual feeling of being free to create what you want. Have you ever felt completely free in your work?
I don't believe I identify as an artist in the traditional sense. Artists as such possess absolute freedom because the work and the process itself are the goal.
Illustrators like myself offer a service that is always dedicated to a message beyond the illustration itself. The formats and markets may vary, but illustration always serves a purpose, a text, or a narrative.
This means that we as illustrators do not have absolute freedom per se.
I don't see that as an obstacle. I enjoy having boundaries and guidelines. I engage with these rules and restrictions as if they were a game board. I find my 'freedom' within the game.
I am at my best when I work within boundaries and make creative decisions within those parameters.
Do you believe that art can change the world? Or at least a person? If someone puts on a piece from this collection – your rabbit, your vision of silence – what do you hope they will feel?
Art undoubtedly changes the world. We may not be fully aware of it. We take art, design, and creative forms of communication for granted; yet that is precisely what saves us from ourselves.
I would like to think that my work has this kind of impact on people, that they feel a connection to a particular impulse. I have no desire to control the message itself. I want it to evoke a personal emotion. I want it to ignite a spark within them.
If you could go back and speak to your younger self – the one who was just starting out – what would you say to her?
To my younger self I would say: Keep moving forward, have faith, trust your intuition. Respect your taste, your time, and your passions. And love yourself wholeheartedly.
Looking ahead, I would tell myself to always remember all the times I persevered. Let yourself be inspired by others, but also by yourself!