"This is a song to Barcelona" is how Salvi Danés writes about his collection of images.
Yes, because these pages aren't the background of a story, but rather a catalog of experiences tucked into the most turbid creases of this multifaceted Spanish city.
The outdoor environment is the central stage – alternated with anonymous interiors – but is never visible in the spotlights that delineate outlines and delimit spaces. We breathe the filth of the street, its odours, the swarming of life, the smell of civilization. We then walk through a door to find empty rooms full of dust, soot and ashes in corners, that sense of interrupted existence when time is crystallized.
The characters swirl grimly and static exuding loss, like someone who doesn't have a certain place, but is completely true to itself in its being undefined and unidentified, with a strong hint of grotesque.
A rapacious shadow hovers over these images that have freely inspired my mental association with the decadent and essential poetry of Edgar Allan Poe, his gothic plots and psychological thrillers that never stand out clearly in these photographs, but slowly release these feelings page after page.
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