Familiarity, Fear and Photography In Barcelona
Barcelona. The name of a beautiful Mediterranean coastal city - but also a name that, for me, instils a confusing cacophony of emotions. Mostly feelings of love and longing, but occasionally pain, grief, regret.
Ten years ago I fell in love with the capital of Catalonia after visiting a childhood friend who was living there. On that first balmy summer evening, while sitting outside drinking a refreshing Sangria, I declared to my friend that I felt oddly at home. A sense of peace and relaxation I wasn’t accustomed to. There are some places in this world where your odd shaped jigsaw piece of a person just seems to fit comfortably. This was one of those places for me.
A few weeks later I was back in Barcelona and consequently spent the next few years splitting my time between there and the UK. I got so many flights between Manchester and Barcelona during that time it started to feel like catching a bus. When in Barcelona I would do bar work and hostel work to subsidise my newly established graphic design business, and when in the UK I would work as a nightclub DJ. It felt like a perfect balance.
Now might be a good time to mention that all this was back when I could walk, and didn't need to use a wheelchair. When you think back to times where you could walk, there is a certain disconnect. It feels like someone else's life. The very idea of walking seems like a forgotten freedom and they feel like someone else's memories… but with your experiences baked in.
It’s weird.
When these memories are tied to a location you haven't been to since, it can be daunting to go back. I was worried that turning every corner would flood my brain with difficult emotions and memories.
Don’t get me wrong, I am very much at peace with being a wheelchair user - I don’t usually think twice about it - but situations like this can suddenly hit you with feelings of loss and grief when you least expect or want it. I guess it’s like visiting a place that reminds you of a lost loved one, and the last time you were there was with them.
I had lost part of myself, but I had to admit, that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing either. I was a very different person ten years ago, not just physically, but mentally. What I have lost physically, I have made up for mentally by just growing the fuck up and finding happiness in things that I love, photography being one of them. Now, instead of searching for myself (through a directionless myriad of bad decisions), I am going to be searching for form, shadows and art as a very content street photographer.
My first full day was everything I could have hoped for photographically. The light was great and the shutter button was seeing some action as I meandered miles of hot dusty Spanish streets; always searching for the next shot with squinted eyes and my favourite songs in my headphones. I was in my element.
A completely different Dave that once walked these very same streets with little purpose.
Despite really enjoying myself, I was still aware of an underlying level of anxiety and edginess. Undoubtedly caused by a few years of wondering how I would feel when this day came. To be back here in what I once considered a second home. It was a scenario I had played over enough times in my head that it almost felt like it would never happen. I made a mental note there and then that everything was fine, I was fine, to enjoy it, and to let myself relax fully into the city’s warm embrace.
It worked.
As the day wore on I began to relax and realised all my worries about being back here were unfounded - I was back and I was loving it! What else was there to think about??
At around British tea time, 5pm, hunger started to set in and I found myself close to a familiar bar that I recall sold decent enough food. With its close proximity to Barcelona’s most famous street (La Rambla) it used to be a place I would often go with friends who visited the city for a drink or a bite to eat. This time, however, after not being here for some years the bar seemed oddly quiet, but it was November after all so I thought nothing of it.
As I sat outside the bar in the quiet square with a small children's park, watching as characters rolled by and children played excitedly, I wondered how much had changed in Barcelona in all these years - had it changed as much as I have?
I ordered a steak, polished it off with a small caña of beer, and then with the sunlight all but gone, I headed back to the hostel to relax and have an early night.
This is where the trouble began.
I like how the slow shutter speed exaggerates the girl’s form, mimicking the girls in the Picasso painting on the wall.
One of my favourites from the trip. I had this shot in mind pre-trip and waited until golden hour when the light was perfect.
Another shot I had planned pre-trip. This look-up shot in the Gothic Quarter is easily overlooked. I was lucky I didn’t have to wait long for a seagull to fly into the frame.
I woke up suddenly around 1am feeling the sudden need to vomit. I hoped it was a one off, but no, I was up a few times after that, heading to the bathroom to relieve myself of something that obviously didn't agree with me. By this point it was clear I had contracted food poisoning and the steak dinner was suspect number one. Great start to the trip!
I guess some things in this city definitely have changed. The bar where I bought the steak being one of them.
Day two started by assessing my situation. It was clear the poisoning was not going to resolve itself any time soon. Undeterred, I decided that as long as I kept myself hydrated and relatively close to an accessible bathroom at all times, it was safe to wander out.
With plans to meet a friend for food out of the city in the afternoon, I decided to hit a spot close by for a few hours, one that was on my list of places I wanted to shoot. The area around the Museum of Contemporary Art of Barcelona (MACBA) is a constant congregation of skateboarders, stoners and day drinkers alongside some curving architecture that casts great sweeping shadows. There are some great ledges and jumps here for skateboarders, and for the most part, the police leave them to it.
My plan was to have the skaters silhouetted in the negative space of the shadows and create some compositions around that idea. As luck would have it, there was a labourer giving the walls a fresh lick of paint too, giving me another subject to work with and add to the story. He was simply painting over graffiti and scuff marks caused by skateboards, but in that moment I imagined he was in fact painting the shadows into the scene.
After some faff and inaccessibility issues with the metro, me and my friend drove out of town for a catch up and something to eat to end the day early. Another successful day considering the circumstances.
Day three was to be my last day, and the clouds had rolled in.
Swaths of grey covered the once sun soaked streets and the food poisoning felt like it was peaking. It was more unstable than the day before, and by the end of the afternoon I had become acquainted with nearly every McDonald’s and Burger King toilet in the city.
Despite all that, I gave myself the best opportunity I could by visiting the Arc De Triomf for a second time, and even caught a metro up to the stunning Sagrada Familia, but didn’t come away with any pictures I liked.
The stomach cramps and persistent clouds made for the least enjoyable and least successful day of the trip; so much so that I only have one picture left after culling everything in Lightroom.
The lone surviving picture from day three, a very average panning shot.
That evening I had some choices to make - either get the flight home the next day as planned and risk any potential toilet mishaps, or stay one more day to let my stomach settle down and have another day shooting. The very idea of me desperately needing the bathroom mid-flight when I can’t walk, or even relieving myself in the tiny cubicles in that state, was horrifying enough for me to make my decision pretty quickly.
I was going to stay another day.
After all that was decided and booked, I let my mind wander and did my daily contemplation over some particularly bland patatas bravas outside the hostel. The curbside tables and street were busy with noise in the dark warm evening, but my mind managed to find some peace as I suddenly came to the realisation that I wasn’t homesick at all. Normally after a few days away I start to feel ready for home, my body is tired and I start to miss my own bed and comforts. This time was different, going back home to my usual routines felt somewhat alien now. In just a few days I felt like my routine here was natural and sustainable. Even with staying in a crowded hostel room, I felt like I could do this for much longer and still be quite happy.
Day four. The last day. Clouds dominated the sky again which was unlucky given the forecast, but my stomach felt a little more steady and I was determined to make the day count after paying for a new flight. Unfortunately, it started off feeling very much like a repeat of the day before. I wandered around the city all afternoon chasing non existent light and finding little in the way of inspiration.
Finally, after a long day and a few ‘meh’ pictures, I was rewarded as the clouds lifted during golden hour, my favourite time of day to shoot. When the sun is low in the sky and in the right direction it backlights people with a halo of light, creating a bright outline that works well with light dragging and ICM techniques. It was at this time and with this technique, that I took possibly my favourite shot of the trip.
A firm favourite. The outline of light drags down to reveal a darker silhouette of the man.
Using the same technique but dragging the light horizontally to give an impression of motion.
Some more golden hour shots.
Pre-trip, I felt confident that my familiarity with Barcelona would give me enough of an advantage to come home with a wealth of grade A ‘keepers’. In the end I came away with only one or two I would consider for a portfolio, but given what transpired I am still more than happy with the outcome. It could have been much worse.
Besides, it gives me a reason to go back next year and shoot again. It appears the unfinished business has shifted from an emotional one to a photographic one - and that feels like progress.
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