Levante is a photography Project developped between 2014-2015 in the South East área of Spain. The work was created around the Levante area of the Mediterranean, as well as within areas affected by the Levante Wind, a wind famous for its dryness and its folkloric ability to alter a person´s mental state.

Aside from its ties to specific geography, it became a reason for me to look towards the visual and ask myself questions on how I feel living in this specific region. The work became a part also of my everyday experience here, due mostly to the fact that it was produced via a Smart Phone camera. This process allowed for an easier process of looking outward and inward.

The art critic, Juan Jesús Torres, wrote a text to accompany the project, in the format of an epilogue. I feel as though these words compliment and add another layer to the work, and are as follows:


He thinks of both leaving and returning at the same time, of becoming light at the mercy of a wind that he recognizes, shakes him, and that sometimes controls him. In truth, he never can fully leave. Each time he returns, he comes back to discover a familiar place that he cannot recognize, full of complacency and routine.

The flag needs a pole so that it is not blown away by a gust of wind, so that it is held in position. It stays there, constructed by symbols that seem as though they are constantly fleeting, and colors that are fading. The photographer stands on a windy pier and watches the flag being torn away and remembers that this, this country, stabs him, makes him uncomfortable, crushes his throat, numbs his senses.

He encounters in these depths a country built at the failure of a baroque façade, boosting upward from hypocritical and pious villages. He encounters a country filled with elders, monarchs, clergy, superstition, and spell.

In the south, life arises from the fresh places like the young lady that permits her skirt to fly up with the Levante. The wind forms itself in the corners saved from the divine light from centuries ago, and shines and warms everything that it falls upon. In the south, shadows.

And in the shadows, colors. There in the reds are shades of black, over there, in the whites, creams, and over in that blue, purples. The world becomes nuanced - the calm after the turmoil - the results of a wind that can melt minds.

In the stinging salty flavor of the seaside wind, it seems both whisper and scream at once: Spain hurts me, but who does it not hurt?