Cabo de Gata 1 (2022) Photography by Manuel Alcaide Mengual

"But in that solitude that captivates the exact architecture of the bodies that in amorous claim rolled across the sand and the waters bathed in petals and foam, the inflamed voice of desire woke up." JA Santano “…As the waters kiss the sands and only move away to return, I return to your waist, to your lips wet with time, to the light on your skin that the low afternoon wind ignites. Territory, your body…” JA Valente There is nothing more frightening than heartbreak in the magic of Cabo de Gata; however, that magic makes love the only essential infinitive, the backbone of existence. When this love is captivated in this space and becomes aware of the unfathomable thing to respond to this magic, there is only room for generosity. Humble debtor of his light. Entering this insulting space of elements, aromas, sounds and silences, shadows and lights is to immerse yourself in the ancestral magic, white and maternal, telluric and ocher, saline and humid, of a sleeping memory that opens and is recognized in times never gone. , permanent and future. If light did not exist, we would not have to imagine it, it is enough to be. Its white light, far from distancing us, envelops us in a lack of definition of volumes, contours and times. Who knows how the time of the closest, most distant spaces is measured. White dispels everything and on the contrary means it. Approximate the blues and locate the siennas. It wraps the landscape in a hope of light that licenses color, allows its lack of definition. Where the sea, where the land..., indefinite forms return to their meaning, where the mapped breasts, where torrid humidity, where frothy dryness. The white turns the agate, germinates the textures in its distances and brings them closer. Sparkling white, milky and mother, seminal facilitator of my love. Cabo de Gata brings us the milky circle, merges it for us, fills the void of nothingness. Grateful.