Tunnel I

The Fat Rabbit Series

€165.00

Watercolor on W & N Cotton Paper.
23 W  x 30.5 H cm.
2026
Signed Front B/R.
Unframed.

Unique Piece 1/1.
Cetificate of authenticity printed.
Blockchain QR certified by Certs 365


This watercolor belongs to The Fat Rabbit series and turns the warren upside down. What you see is a corner of a bridge at the golden hour, set against a ceiling that has become green. For the rabbits encased in a garden in the middle of the M-30, the world is already topsy-turvy. Sky and ground trade places. A bridge, which for us is a way over traffic, is for them a lid, a beam, a golden wall that arrives at the end of the day. The painting is that inversion: three fields meeting in a Y, a joint of paper left white, and no animal drawn—only the architecture of a crazy enclosure at the hour when colour goes strange.

The garden beside Madrid’s ring road is a pocket of permitted nature. Ducks, grass, a fat rabbit’s inherited tunnels, and then the continuous roar of the highway. Encased: that is the right word. Like St James’s in its square, like a royal parterre in its walls, this green is held. The rabbits did not choose the M-30. They inherited a soil that happens to sit against a masterpiece of human circuit. Golden hour does not calm that fact. It gilds it. The right-hand plane is yellow, thin, fading into the tooth of the sheet—the last light on stone or on the flank of a bridge. The upper plane is a raw, almost acid green, the underside of leaves or the “ceiling” of the garden when you are the one who lives in the ground. The left is grey-violet, watery, stained in vertical runs, as if the shadow of the bridge were still dripping. Where the three meet, a reserve of paper keeps them from mixing. The joint is sharp. The world is in pieces, and the pieces fit.

Topsy-turvy is not a decoration. It is how a burrow thinks. Surrealism knew this: the hole reverses inside and outside. A ceiling of green is what you get if the sky is soil and the roof is grass. A bridge at sunset is what you get if the city’s crossing becomes the rabbit’s horizon. The fat rabbit of the series is comic because it is well fed in a landscape of haste. Here the comedy is spatial. We stand on the bridge and call it infrastructure. They look up and call it weather. Both are right. The M-30 does not care. It goes on being a warren for cars, louder and less intelligent than the one under the lawn.

The style is calmer than the swirls of other sheets in the series, and that is part of the joke. Geometry instead of scribble. A corner instead of a tangle. The crazy rabbits are not shown running. They are implied by the encasement: someone lives under this meeting of gold, green and dusk. Human life, set beside them, is the species that built the bridge and then sat in the jam, missing the hour. The rabbits, without a speech, take the golden light as another wall of the house their grandparents dug.

Light is the paper in the seam and in the fading yellow. The coarse grain holds the green so that it feels like turf seen from below, granulating, almost grassy. The grey wash blooms and streaks, climate rather than stone. Pure pigment, uncorrected, meets the sheet in three climates only. No line describes a rabbit or a guardrail. Each plane is a declaration of matter. Texture is the whole argument: you see the weave in the gold as glare, in the green as canopy, in the violet as wet shade. Accident—the uneven fade of the yellow, the cloud in the grey—is the hour passing, which no highway can schedule.

What the work offers is a corner of the Fat Rabbit’s world at the moment the city looks beautiful and still makes no sense: a bridge in golden hour, a green ceiling, an enclosure in the middle of the M-30. Topsy-turvy, ludic, and exact. The traffic is outside the colour. Inside, there is only the joint, the three weathers, and the light.