Basabé Street, Saturnino Espin Photography
Murcia, Museum City, March to May 2011
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As a god of autumn, Saturnino Espin rainfall has littered the streets of Murcia . And their monuments. A city drought and blue sky, everlasting water turned into meat and vivid color. Some intense vivid, full of iridescence, only achievable by the wet deep and substantial. And a broken sky clouds of darkness and greyness report, which fertilizes the earth and then inseminated beauty will be born. The photographer has given the city its most coveted desire. No more than the urban soul in your pictures. People have hidden from the camera can worship freely officiate clouds moisture storm slid by the fiery colors, but watery, the final result.
There is anger in the clouds, the threat of thunder and fuss of llamp, which is relevant Murcia. And there is pride in the walls, floors asphalt, paving and granite slab in the brick walls and autumn leaves lying on the beds. A pride of knowing different, these prospects, as we have internalized all of us forever: well, with a polvedad centuries, a millennia Sequera. Now, are allied to water and twin vision beautiful, unusual, but perhaps more authentic, because we are more, much more, what we want, and do not have, that what they see day after day, night after night, with full possession. We are what we dream.
Murcia is that, too. And perhaps more than what the days and hours show ever. Saturnino Espin sleep awakens us throughout the winter solstice, and opens an autumn morning rain, magnificent and unique. One morning, perhaps in that magical moment of dawning of a Sunday in winter, it's autumn, of course.
And the contemplation of the pictures the soul and moistens the adjectives unborn slide, a custom-made dry, almost sterile, Levitical city. And in the back, but holding it all, the perfect geometry of the vanishing lines, profiles and curves of the Baroque facades, cobbled streets that together give us the daily landscape of the city we inhabit. Now, they reveal an identity provisional much purer than any other.
And so the city, dressed in water, clouds godmother beasts, go to the altar where the groom lover, our look, with gallant demeanor touched, grateful looks.
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