Laura Erviti is a Barcelona-based contemporary Surrealist Painter who seamlessly blends the imagery of her dreams with environmental artivism. Her dedication to researching alternative sustainable materials, along with her deep connection to the subconscious mind, has led to an inevitable blend of the real and surreal.
Will you share where you grew up and how this place influenced you and your art?
I grew up in Barcelona, surrounded by both the Mediterranean Sea and the mountains. Nature was always a huge part of my life, and I spent as much time as I could outdoors—hiking, diving, and exploring the landscapes around me. That early connection to the natural world is probably the deepest influence on everything I create today.
At home, I also grew up in a very unusual environment. Both of my parents are psychoanalysts, so conversations about dreams, emotions, and the subconscious were part of everyday life. As a teenager I started writing down my dreams in notebooks, and I never stopped. For more than fifteen years, those dream journals have become the foundation of my visual language. Many of my paintings originate from symbols, characters, and landscapes that first appeared while I was asleep.
Barcelona itself also shaped my environmental awareness. Living by the Mediterranean made me witness both its extraordinary beauty and the growing impact of pollution and climate change. Over time, I realized that I didn’t just want to paint beautiful images—I wanted my work to contribute to protecting the ecosystems that inspire it. That led me to research sustainable materials, make my own natural oil paints, and create murals with carbon-absorbing paints, so that my artistic practice could align with my environmental values.
Today, my work brings together all of these influences: the dream world, the psychology of the subconscious, and a deep love for nature. My paintings become places where surreal imagery and environmental storytelling coexist, inviting viewers to reconnect both with their inner world and with the living world around them.
When did you first become interested in painting and did you have any early influences?
I started painting when I was very young, but I think my fascination with art began even earlier. Growing up in Barcelona meant growing up surrounded by creativity. I was constantly looking up at the city’s Modernist architecture, admiring the organic forms, the sculpted flowers and faces emerging from building façades, the mermaids carved into street lamps, and all the tiny details hidden throughout the city. It felt as though every street contained its own little universe waiting to be discovered. Barcelona taught me that art wasn’t confined to museums—it could be woven into everyday life.
One of my earliest artistic heroes was Salvador Dalí. I visited his house in Cadaqués several times, and it completely fascinated me. It wasn’t just his paintings—it was the way he chose to live. His home felt like stepping inside a surrealist artwork, where every room revealed another impossible object or playful idea. It showed me that creativity didn’t have to stop at the canvas; it could become a way of experiencing the world.
As I grew older, I discovered the work of H.R. Giger and M.C. Escher, who expanded my understanding of what imagination could be. Giger’s extraordinary organic worlds, where biology and architecture merge into something both beautiful and unsettling, left a lasting impression on me. Escher, on the other hand, challenged the way I thought about space, perspective and reality itself. All three artists taught me that painting could create entirely new worlds governed by their own logic.
Another enormous influence was my grandmother. Her home was filled with paintings, sculptures and beautiful objects collected over a lifetime. Her terrace felt like a hidden jungle, overflowing with giant plants in sculptural pots, artworks tucked between the leaves, and even a swing. As a child, it felt magical. She had a wonderfully playful approach to life, and she taught me how deeply our surroundings can shape the way we feel. Looking back, I think she inspired my desire to live surrounded by art, nature and a sense of wonder.
Together, Barcelona, these artists, and my grandmother shaped the way I see the world. They taught me to pay attention to beauty, symbolism and imagination, and they continue to influence the dreamlike, surreal environments that I paint today.
Your paintings have a unique collaging element, what inspired this approach? Can you walk us through your creative process?
My paintings are inspired by the way dreams are structured. Dreams rarely unfold like a linear story; instead, they’re built from layers of memories, emotions, sensations and symbols that all exist simultaneously. A feeling can transform into a place, a person can become an animal, and a metaphor can carry more weight than anything that is literally happening. Everything is woven together into a single, complex tapestry.
That layered structure is what I try to translate onto the canvas. Rather than depicting one moment or one perspective, I merge multiple visual layers into the same composition. Different scenes, gradients, symbols and points of view overlap and coexist, just as they do in dreams. The result is an image that hopefully feels familiar yet impossible, inviting the viewer to slowly discover connections and meanings hidden within it.
My creative process usually begins long before I start painting. I’ve been keeping dream journals for more than fifteen years, so I have a vast archive of dream imagery to draw from. I revisit those dreams, identify recurring symbols and emotions, and begin composing them into a visual narrative. I often create digital collages first, experimenting with composition and the relationship between the different elements until the image feels emotionally coherent. Only then do I begin painting, using the collage as a guide while allowing the work to evolve naturally on the canvas.
Although this layered language has become a defining characteristic of my work, I’m always exploring new ways to communicate. I don’t see my visual style as something fixed, but as something that grows alongside my own understanding of dreams, consciousness and the natural world. Every new painting is an opportunity to push that language a little further and discover another way of making the invisible visible.
In a past interview, you mentioned you paint your dreams, how do you know when a dream is right for the canvas? Is your painting process linked to uncovering meaning or insights from the dream?
Not every dream becomes a painting. Sometimes I wake up with an image that I simply can’t let go of. There’s something about the composition, the atmosphere, or the emotion of that particular scene that asks to be painted exactly as I experienced it. I don’t always know why in that moment, but I know I need to spend time with it and let it speak to me.
Other times, the process is much more intuitive. I might begin with one dream, but once I’m in that creative flow state, fragments from completely different dreams begin to emerge. Certain symbols, characters or landscapes seem to ask for a place within the composition. Rather than controlling the process too tightly, I try to let go and trust that these elements know where they belong. My role is to listen and weave them together into a coherent visual language.
I believe every dream carries meaning, but it rarely communicates directly. The subconscious speaks through metaphors—visual metaphors, symbolic transformations, shifts in identity, even plays on language. Unravelling those messages isn’t immediate. Often, I have to sit with a dream for days, weeks, or even months before its meaning slowly begins to reveal itself. It’s less like solving a puzzle and more like allowing something to unfold in its own time.
Painting becomes part of that unfolding. The act of translating a dream onto canvas allows me to spend time inside it, to contemplate it, and gradually understand what my subconscious was trying to communicate. What’s fascinating is that the process doesn’t end once the painting is finished. Years later, I can return to a painting and suddenly discover meanings that were completely invisible to me when I first created it. I realise that my subconscious had understood something long before my conscious mind was ready to.
I find that extraordinary. Our minds are constantly speaking to us through images, and being able to move back and forth between dreaming, painting and reflection has become one of the greatest pleasures of my life.
What called you to first try Natural Earth Paint Products and start researching safer art supplies?
My love for nature is what first led me to question the materials I was using as an artist. I spend so much of my work talking about protecting ecosystems, biodiversity and our relationship with the natural world that I reached a point where I had to ask myself: Is my creative process aligned with the message I’m trying to communicate?
Traditional oil painting relies on solvents, toxic pigments and synthetic materials that can pollute waterways and release harmful fumes into the air. Every time we clean our brushes with chemical solvents, those substances eventually find their way into the environment. I didn’t want something that brings me so much joy and purpose to become another source of pollution.
That realization started years of research into safer, more sustainable alternatives. I began making my own natural oil paints using earth and mineral pigments, plant-based oils and natural mediums. I also switched to recyclable aluminum tubes to store my paints, reducing waste while eliminating many of the harmful chemicals found in conventional products.
When I discovered Natural Earth Paint, it felt like finding a community that shared the same philosophy. Their products showed that artists don’t have to choose between quality and sustainability. We can create professional work while reducing our impact on the planet.
I truly believe that no individual can solve the environmental crisis alone, but millions of small decisions made every day can have an enormous collective impact. Choosing non-toxic, natural art materials may seem like a small change, but if enough artists embrace that shift, together we can leave behind a healthier planet—for ourselves, for future generations, and for all the other species we share it with.
What do you feel are the benefits of mixing your own oil paint?
Making my own oil paints has completely changed my relationship with painting. I’m a very curious person, and I love understanding how things work at their most fundamental level. Learning how different pigments behave, how oils bind them together, and how the consistency of a paint can be altered has given me a much deeper understanding of the material itself. It has made me a better painter because I understand not only how to use paint, but how paint is made.
Beyond the technical side, there’s something incredibly meaningful about the process. We live in a world that constantly encourages us to move faster, buy more, and choose convenience over intention. Making my own paints asks me to do the opposite. It requires me to slow down, carefully grind the pigments, mix them with the oils, and patiently work until the paint reaches the perfect texture. That ritual has become a quiet act of mindfulness and, in many ways, a statement of my values. Choosing natural, non-toxic materials and taking the time to make them myself feels like a small but meaningful way of caring for the planet.
There are practical benefits too. If I have a particular color that I use repeatedly in my palette, I can create that exact shade in advance and store it in a tube, ready to paint with whenever I need it. It gives me complete control over the colors I work with while making my painting process more fluid and efficient.
Perhaps the greatest benefit, though, is the connection it creates. These paints aren’t just materials I’ve bought—they’re materials I’ve made. There’s a bond that forms long before the painting begins. By the time I put the first brushstroke on the canvas, I’ve already spent hours with those pigments, understanding them, shaping them, almost bringing them into existence. Then those same paints become part of the finished artwork, it creates a much deeper relationship with the work.
Venetian Red Earth & Mineral Pigment, Yellow Ochre Earth & Mineral Pigment, Refined Walnut Oil, Glass Muller
Did this shift in materials change anything in your art making experience or final results?
Absolutely. It changed not only the final appearance of my paintings, but also my entire relationship with the creative process.
From a technical perspective, the paints behave beautifully. Because I make them myself, I can control the pigment concentration, the texture, and the consistency. They’re incredibly rich and creamy, and I can tailor each color to exactly what I need. There’s a freshness and vibrancy that I really love.
But the biggest transformation has been in my mindset. Before, paint was simply a tool I bought. Now, it feels like part of the creative journey from the very beginning. The artwork doesn’t start when the brush touches the canvas—it starts when I begin grinding the pigments and mixing the oils. That slower, more intentional rhythm has become an important part of my practice.
Knowing that every material I use aligns with my values also gives me peace of mind. My work often speaks about our relationship with nature and the urgent need to protect it, so it would feel contradictory to create those paintings using materials that contribute to pollution. Working with natural, non-toxic paints allows my process and my message to be in harmony.
In many ways, making my own materials has reminded me of the traditions of the Old Masters, who also prepared their own pigments and paints. There’s something beautiful about reconnecting with that slower, handcrafted approach while using it to tell contemporary stories about dreams, consciousness and the environmental challenges we face today.
I often say that artists have the power to inspire change—not only through the images we create, but through the choices we make behind the scenes. If my creative process can demonstrate that sustainability and professional-quality painting can go hand in hand, then hopefully it encourages others to rethink their own materials too.
What is the #1 Eco-tip you would recommend to artists looking to have a more environmentally friendly studio?
My number one piece of advice would be: dedicate some time to researching sustainable alternatives to the materials you already love. It’s much easier than many people think. Today there are so many incredible eco-friendly options available—from natural pigments and plant-based mediums to recycled surfaces and non-toxic cleaning products—that you don’t have to compromise on quality to make a positive change.
Don’t feel like you have to transform your entire studio overnight. Start with one material. Maybe replace your solvent with a plant-based alternative, switch to natural pigments, or choose recycled supports for your next project. Small, consistent changes are much more sustainable than trying to change everything at once.
I also believe that when your materials reflect your values, your creative practice becomes more authentic. If you care deeply about nature, your studio can become an extension of those beliefs rather than a contradiction to them. That alignment is incredibly rewarding—it allows you to create work that not only speaks about the world you want to see, but is also made in a way that helps build it.
As artists, we’re constantly making choices. Every brushstroke matters, but so does every material we choose to bring into our studio. Those small decisions, multiplied across thousands of artists, can have a remarkably positive impact.
What does a typical “day in the life” look like in your studio?
No two days in my studio are ever the same, and I love that. My practice combines research, making, experimentation and painting, so every day feels a little different.
I usually begin with a cup of tea and a quiet moment to ease into the day. Before I paint, I spend some time looking through my dream journals or reflecting on ideas that have been evolving in my mind. Sometimes I sketch, other times I work on digital collages, combining different dream elements until a composition begins to emerge.
If I’m making a new batch of oil paints, the morning might be dedicated to grinding pigments and mixing natural oils. I actually enjoy this ritual—it slows me down and helps me transition into a focused, creative mindset. It reminds me that painting doesn’t begin with the first brushstroke; it begins with preparing the materials with care.
Once I’m in front of the canvas, I can paint for hours without noticing the time. I tend to enter a flow state where I’m completely immersed in the work. I often listen to music, podcasts, or audiobooks while I paint, choosing topics that relate to the feeling of the painting, and I allow the composition to evolve intuitively. Even if I have a clear plan, I always leave space for unexpected ideas to appear along the way.
My afternoons are often more varied. I might photograph reference material in nature, research sustainable materials, prepare canvases, answer emails, work on exhibitions or collaborations, or document finished paintings. Being a contemporary artist means wearing many hats, so there is always a balance between creating and managing the practical side of my career.
At the heart of it all, though, my studio is a place of curiosity. Whether I’m painting, making my own materials, or simply sitting quietly looking at a canvas, every day is an opportunity to learn something new—about my subconscious, about nature, or about the endless possibilities of painting itself.
What has been your biggest challenge as an artist, and how have you overcome it?
The biggest challenge in my practice has always been—and continues to be—finding ways to translate the complexity of dreams into a static image.
Dreams are incredibly rich experiences. They don’t just tell stories; they weave together emotions, memories, symbols, sensations and metaphors into a single moment. Trying to capture all of that depth on a flat canvas is an endless challenge, and one that I don’t think will ever truly be “solved.” In many ways, that’s what keeps me excited about painting.
Because of that, I never want my work to become formulaic. I’m constantly experimenting with new compositions, different ways of layering imagery, and new visual languages that can communicate the emotional complexity of the dream world. Every painting is an opportunity to push my practice a little further.
I believe my work needs to challenge me—both intellectually and formally. I need to exist in that slightly uncomfortable space where I’m not entirely sure if something will work. That’s where the most interesting discoveries happen. If I already know exactly how to make a painting, I feel like I’ve stopped learning.
I think curiosity is one of the greatest gifts an artist can have. It asks us to remain open, to question our own methods, and to embrace uncertainty. I will always choose the path of uncomfortable curiosity over formal repetition, because that’s where ideas evolve, and where I continue to evolve alongside them.
What advice do you have for artists who want to start their art careers but are unsure where to begin?
My biggest piece of advice is to begin with what genuinely fascinates you, even if it feels completely irrelevant to the art world or to the people around you. Follow your curiosity. Follow the subjects you can’t stop thinking about. Those are usually the ideas that are worth pursuing.
When I started painting my dreams, I had no idea where it would lead. It wasn’t a trend or something I thought would make my work more successful—I was simply fascinated by the subconscious and wanted to understand it better. Looking back, I realise that following that genuine interest is what allowed me to develop an artistic language that feels authentic to me.
I think it’s very easy, especially at the beginning of your career, to compare yourself to other artists or to feel pressure to make work that fits the market. But trends come and go. Curiosity lasts much longer. If you’re deeply connected to what you’re making, you’ll keep returning to the studio, even when things become difficult. That consistency is what allows your practice to grow over time.
The meaning of your work doesn’t always reveal itself immediately. Sometimes it only becomes clear after years of making, reflecting and experimenting. So don’t worry if you don’t have everything figured out from the start. Begin with what excites you, trust your instincts, and allow yourself the freedom to evolve.
In the end, I believe authenticity is one of the most valuable things an artist can offer. Your voice won’t come from trying to imitate others—it will emerge naturally by staying curious, making the work that only you can make, and giving yourself the time to grow into it.
Where can our audience see more of your work?
You can see my work through the galleries that represent me. In Europe, I’m represented by Artevistas Gallery in Barcelona, and in the United States by Poetic Tiger Gallery. Both galleries exhibit my paintings and can provide information about available works for collectors.
If you’d like to follow my practice more closely, Instagram is where I share the most behind-the-scenes content. I regularly post my creative process—from mixing my own natural oil paints and documenting dream-inspired compositions to the evolution of paintings in the studio. I enjoy sharing not only the finished artworks, but also the research, experimentation and sustainability that happen behind each piece.
You can find me on Instagram at @erviti.erviti, and my website is www.lauraerviti.com, where you can explore my portfolio, exhibitions and latest projects.
