To celebrate Mother’s Day, we spoke with Titi Monereo and Clara Cebrian (known to most as Topo), a mother and daughter united by art and creative freedom. We talked about storytelling, creating from intuition, and what it means to walk alongside each other on artistic paths, each in their own language.
TOPO
When did you realize art was going to be your path? Was it a conscious decision or something that just happened?
TOPO: Honestly, I still don’t feel confident saying I’m an artist. It’s a title I give myself—or others give me—every day, but I don’t feel it’s something I have forever. It wasn’t a conscious decision at all. In fact, I didn’t want to do this, but I wasn’t very good at many other things either. I struggle to wake up early, I have a hard time following rules, I make a lot of spelling mistakes, and I’m pretty disorganized. Art started appearing as a way of being in the world that felt more manageable, more intuitive.
What project or moment has taught you the most about yourself as an artist?
TOPO: Right now I’m working on a book—a sort of collection of work from recent years to close a chapter. Looking back at everything from a distance, with a new perspective, is giving me a lot of clues about how I’ve been working, what things repeat without me noticing, when I felt most free or most lost. It’s like seeing the map after being lost for a long time.
You work in many different formats: painting, objects, even music... How do you decide which medium to use?
TOPO: I do what I can, honestly. I love being able to express a single idea through different formats, like each piece is part of a universe where everything speaks the same language. It’s more fun that way. I like trying new things, experimenting… If I had to do the same thing all the time, I’d get bored very quickly. Sometimes it’s not so much a decision as it is a need or a feeling: I use what’s available and what excites me at that moment.
What are some things your mother has taught you that you carry with you every day—inside or outside of art?
TOPO: My mother taught me how to tell stories. Or rather, she taught me to love stories. When I was little, every night before bed, she’d tell me a story. I’d give her the title—always a name repeated twice—and she would make up a whole story on the spot.
If you had to paint a memory you share, which one would you choose and why?
TOPO: I’d choose a time in Kerala, India, when we argued because she wanted to send some plastic monoblock chairs—those basic ones you see everywhere—back to Madrid for her terrace. The shipping cost was like 20 times the price of the chairs. It made no sense, and I refused to help her, but she insisted that something cheap and common there could have a lot of value in another context. We argued a lot, and in the end, I had to admit she was right. The chairs never made it, even though we paid for the shipping.
TITI
How did your training as an actress begin? What from that time still accompanies you today when you create?
TITI: My acting training started when Cristina Rota had just arrived in Spain. She lived in Callejón del Gato, in a very charming old house, and we improvised a learning space in her living room. We had her from morning to night. Little by little, it grew into a school. We were a very committed group—many of whom later became very successful—and the years passed like that.
Eventually, assistant teachers started coming in, and the space took more shape as a proper school, which today is a major institution. I studied with Cristina Rota for five years. Then I took a break from theater, did a few small projects, and then Clara was born—my youngest of three children. That’s when I felt the need to reconnect with theater and went to study with Juan Carlos Corazza, who had just arrived from Argentina through some friends. We also started in a funny little space near Plaza Castilla, and I studied with him for another three years.
I was very lucky because during that whole time, I was close to incredible teachers—first Cristina, then Juan Carlos. From that period, I carry not only a strong foundation but also great friends and vivid memories. And above all, I carry something essential: when you’re an actor, you’re always an actor, whether you're working or not. It’s a way of looking at the world, a need, a desire. That still stays with me every time I create.
When did you start exploring other mediums like sculpture?
TITI: I worked alongside Carlos Bustamante for a long time, right when he started making light boxes, and he was a huge inspiration for me. At one point, I felt the need to do something on my own, so I bought a tiny studio right next to his, in Plaza de las Vistillas. That’s where it all began. I started making fountains—fountains with sculpture… I don’t really know how to define it. Sculpture with water, maybe. I spent quite a bit of time on that.
What has it been like watching Clara build her own creative path?
TITI: I’ve always seen Clara as an artist. Since she was little, I’ve saved many of the things she made because they were already amazing. When she came back from studying in London, I’ve followed her whole creative journey with great joy. I also have deep respect for her. She’s built her own path with enormous dedication and commitment, always driven to express the art she carries inside. For me, it’s an honor that she’s my daughter.
Do you think there’s anything in common between what you do and what Clara does, even if the mediums are different?
TITI: I don’t know, I had to think hard about that. But if there’s something we share, it’s that we both love to create, and we’re both artists. And if I had to find one real common thread, I’d say it’s that neither of us are perfectionists. In that divine imperfection lies that joyful, spontaneous art we both share, even if our languages are different.
Do you have spaces where you share ideas, doubts, or inspiration?
TITI: Sometimes I’ve gone with Clara because she asked me to—for example, to an exhibition she was doing abroad. I remember a campaign where she painted in a studio and then showcased it, like in Greece or also in Brescia, Italy, this year. The thing is, Clara doesn’t really have doubts. It’s amazing. I never question her. She moves forward like an arrow. When I share her art with her, I’m just there to support her in whatever she needs, without trying to say or do anything—because I can see how clear she is about it all.
