Raúl’s Story
Growing up in a small town always comes with a magnifying glass that highlights differences. For me, being openly gay in that environment meant a constant contrast between who I was and what others expected.

Fortunately, my experience was not marked by the darkness of bullying, but by everyday annoyances: occasional mockery, comments that, though mild, reminded me that I didn’t quite fit the mold.

However, those small frictions never managed to hurt me. If anything has always defined me, it’s my strong and independent personality. I already knew who I was, and that inner conviction acted like an impenetrable shield. External criticism bounced off, because my real support never came from outside approval.

That vital support came largely from two essential pillars: my family, who were a perfect ten in acceptance and unconditional love, and the wonderful circle of friends around me. They gave me the foundation to build a self-esteem so solid that no town gossip could break it.

The true turning point came at twenty, when I moved to the city. It wasn’t an escape from something bad, but an expansion toward something greater. The city didn’t make me free—I already felt free inside—but it gave me the perfect stage to express that freedom. It was there that I could finally develop my creativity (fashion, theater, painting) without the invisible limits of the town, and feel a social freedom that transformed my life.

My story, in retrospect, is that of a quiet victory: having built an inner fortress in a closed place, and then, in the openness of the city, being able to flourish fully and be, without reservations, who I had always been.

My life is not defined only by where I’ve been or whom I’ve loved, but also by what attracts and inspires me. In my visual world, two seemingly opposite forces coexist: the cleanliness and essence of minimalist art, and the raw, honest strength of brutalism. I find that same duality in the cities that fascinate me. I love the mix of bohemian and modern energy you feel in places like Berlin or Barcelona.

Paradoxically, although my soul oscillates between art and reflection, my working life has always revolved around direct interaction: I’ve worked with the public most of my life. This experience has polished my social skills, but now I feel called to something different—a new path I’m still exploring, without knowing where it will lead. It’s a moment of uncertain transition.

In love, the road hasn’t been easy. I haven’t had much luck in the traditional sense, but it would be unfair to put it that way. Every experience, even the failed ones, has allowed me to meet exceptional people who have enriched my life. And most importantly: they’ve taught me to value peace.

That’s why today I’ve learned to live and enjoy my solitude. It’s a chosen space, not an imposed one; a refuge where I find clarity and allow myself to be creative, far from the noise.

Being Dueñas is exactly that:
daring to make choices,
believing in oneself,
letting out the value that was always there.

Raúl did it.
And in his story, we all find a piece of our own.