Cubas' Dream: A Hidden Sculptural Valley in Fuerteventura
In the municipality of Pájara, between the historic capital and Ajuy beach, lies the workshop of one of Fuerteventura’s most singular artists. Surrounded by stone blocks, metal pieces, tools and photographs of his works and of artists he admires—such as César Manrique—a self‑taught sculptor has forged his career.
Juan Miguel Cubas never had the chance to study formally. He learned by trial and error, welding torch in hand, barely using sketches or maquettes—a fact astonishes a fellow sculptor who attended a fine‑arts faculty. For art‑school professor Roberto Cañedo, Cubas’s precision working this way “is a bit of madness.”
Their conversation—reflecting on techniques, materials, the meaning of art and its transcendence—is the thread of the third episode of the video‑podcast Mares de Jable, where the Majorero sculptor reveals his great dream.
The Valley of Sculptures, “My Greatest Illusion”
“I’ve been turning over the idea of having an island‑wide sculptural park in a lost valley, where people go only to see the sculptures.
Not by accident, but having to seek it out, and when you arrive you see works eight or ten metres high, spaced apart, with stone walls, vegetation, reading areas… and you spend the whole day enjoying the setting.”
The proposal envisions a space designed with scale and proportion in mind, while preserving the landscape and territory. Access would be “from above,” allowing visitors to descend beneath the sculptures, always mindful of the environment. Cubas admits the political battle is “the toughest part.”
Cubas’s Method: No Maquettes, No Sketches
“Sometimes I make a model when they ask for it. I first made the goat small—one metre— thinking big. Someone from the council asked if I could do it at four… I went to eight. In my house I don’t draw; at most something simple.”
One of the island’s iconic works, the Wind Goat in Pozo Negro, exemplifies his instinctive process. Cubas recalls:
“I never saw the finished piece. I stood by the leg and thought, ‘damn, what a leg!’ I pulled it back with my head because I made it separate: ‘Is this too much head?’ Then the crane came, straightened it, and I thought, ‘wow! Better than I expected.’”
Cañedo notes that while extraction can be straightforward, “in figurative metal work it’s hard to keep proportions and harmony. Doing it without a model seems like madness.”
The Roots of a Self‑Taught Artist
“As a child I drew. The only subjects I passed were physical‑education and crafts—always of the class. Later I painted in oil, held several exhibitions, and stopped at 18. At 17 I worked as a decorator for the town hall—carnival sets, stages… and kept drawing.”
Sculpture entered his life only after he turned thirty. The door opened at the Puerto del Rosario symposium, where Toño Patallo invited him in the early 2000s, first working in stone and later in metal.
From Stone to: A Decisive Turn
“Toño Patallo asked if I could weld. I said yes, I’d been welding since I was 14. What I didn’t know was how to make a real work. My first piece was the zipper next to the Congress Palace.”
Metal soon became his preferred language. “I’m more figurative, so I started shaping human bodies, hammering small pieces, bending them—hard work. I like metal because it gives me more detail; stone is coarse.”
After years of participating in symposia, Cubas began organizing them himself. With the support of Pájara’s Culture Department, he launched a local symposium, noting that the main challenges are funding the artists and materials, and securing political backing.
The Message in the Material
Cubas speaks plainly, rejecting the “refined contemporary artist” stereotype. He believes a sculptor “controls space,” a distinction he shares with Cañedo.
“When I work freely, without a imposed theme, I try to convey messages. For example, the ‘Metamorphosis’ in France—a dragonfly dedicated to transgender people. Or the spiral with two goat heads in Morro Jable, about fighting ourselves, illness, or the daily challenge of self‑improvement.”
He often answers humorously. About his “Time Rhinoceros” sculpture, a commentary on humanity destruction of nature, he:
“People ask, ‘Does the clock work?’ I say, ‘Yes, but only when it walks.’ They stare….”
“As Long As They Remember Me, It’s Enough”
“As long as they remember me, I’m satisfied. How or why doesn’t matter. Whether they recall me for my jokes, my parties, or my work—what matters is being remembered.”
He adds:
“In Pájara they value me more for who I am, for my flaws they’ve seen, than for the pieces I create. As a kid they called me a troublemaker… and that’s how they know me.”
Cañedo concludes the episode by marveling at Cubas’s journey:
“I wanted to see him, and now, after meeting him and witnessing his power, it’s astonishing. That he came here, self‑taught, and now has works worldwide, so authentic… It’s a very real work.”