Barcelona
Market Oranges and Cold Stone
Barcelona is two smells that should not go together and somehow do. The first is the market, early, before the crowds: oranges split open on a stall, olive oil, herbs bundled with string, cold ham, the wet concrete floor under everything. The second is the old city in the evening, where the stone holds the day's cold and the sidewalks still smell faintly of rain that did not fall. Orange blossom drifts over the top of it. Rosemary grows out of a wall somewhere. There is a little smoke in the air, from a kitchen or a cigarette, and it makes the oranges sweeter.
The wall
Barcelona is where I learned to photograph walls properly, standing square to them instead of walking past. The one that stayed with me was in a narrow street where women's faces had been painted large, over and over, in different hands, layered on top of each other until the wall was less a picture than an argument. Somebody had painted a line across the bottom of all of them in white. I photographed it four times to be sure I had it right.
Formats in mind
- Salt soak
- Candle
- Incense
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