In Pollensa, art seems to breathe through the streets. “It’s already a cliché to say it’s a town of artists,” reflects Cati Bennàssar, “but it’s true.” The arrival of painters in the early 20th century shaped the cultural atmosphere of the town, while her grandfather, Dionís Bennàssar, and her father, Toni Dionis, added their own layers to this legacy.
From childhood, Cati was immersed in exhibitions and canvases. “Since I was little, I loved doing creative things,” she recalls, “like ceramics, drawing, painting, sewing, making collages. Everything felt like a game, something that made me feel good.”
Although her surname connects her to a lineage of artists, Cati insists her own path was never planned. “I never intended to be an artist,” she says. “It has been more of a life process. Little by little, I’ve taught myself until I’ve reached what I do now.”
Sketches that become stories
Much of Bennàssar’s practice begins outdoors, sketchbook in hand. “It’s one of my greatest pleasures,” she says. “I love the feeling of being present in the mountains, observing and sketching lines or splashes of colour. It’s a moment when you don’t think. A moment of wholeness.” For her, the effect of simply drawing is profound. “Curiously, making a drawing in any place, whether in nature or in the city, marks that moment strongly in your memory. It’s nothing like taking out your phone and snapping a photo. When you return to that drawing, you are transported back to that moment. You relive it, and you return to that presence.” From these sketches, larger works emerge in her studio, where balance and colour unfold into lasting compositions.
Threads of resilience
Though she never met her grandfather, celebrated post-impressionist painter Dionís Bennàssar, his story has left a deep impression. “He was someone whose mindset did not always fit with the society of his time,” she reflects. His life was marked by profound hardship: the early loss of his mother and brother, the trauma of fighting in Morocco, and the unimaginable ordeal of a mock execution during the Spanish Civil War. Out of these experiences comes a contrast that resonates in her own work. In many ways, her canvases echo both inheritance and transformation. Where Dionís carried pain, Cati creates refuge.
Her father, Toni Dionis, has also influenced her—though unintentionally. “At first glance our styles are very different,” she says, “but sometimes I notice features of his in my paintings… it just happens that way.” His interest in Zen and Vipassana meditation further shaped her philosophy of letting go. “Painting for me is freedom, a state of letting things happen,” she explains. “If people can recover a moment of peace when they observe my paintings, then it has all been worth it.”
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