• PEPE AYMÁ (TEXTS AND PHOTOGRAPHS)

Updated Tuesday, June 7, 2022-10:13

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"

Please, please, a picture, please

."

The foreigner is surprised to have the King of Spain so close.

"

Oh God, it's Letizia

."

«No, man, no, she is Ayuso!», A fan in a starched shirt and suspenders lets out.

«Wind blows.

The president is moved by her dress, I don't know, with sunny air there is no brave bull, said Don Eduardo Miura », he adds.

A bad-tempered escort makes his way through the crowd: "I said, enough photos."

The Plaza de Las Ventas is a soundscape of shouts and silences.

Echoes of beliefs felt with an open heart, clear talk, released like that, without filters.

Fleeting moments are released and mesh, one to another, sewing the explanation of a party of entrails.

The crowd flows in a disordered order towards the doors.

Each new glance is a glimpse of truth.

That of men and women who forget the cold indolence of everyday life.

Now they walk with the consequences of holding the imprecision of time and its definition.

Only the decisive moment matters, staying with the inconsistency of beauty, fixing in the memory what fades before the eyes

.

When everything lines up in that impossible place, the narrative becomes alive, it is indelibly fixed in the heart of the stands, in the photograph and in the soul of the bullfighter.

Today it is the same as in that time when bulls were brought like lambs by the Abroñigal, a stream that had given kings and emperors a drink.

When the tram went up to Pueblo Nuevo, it was dotted with street flower stalls, gypsies selling good luck, the smell of churros and pickles.

Susan Sontag said that the photographer plunders and preserves, denounces and consecrates.

Sometimes, a photograph manages to show that fragile and powerful truth of the flow of simple things, revealing the nobility, value, balance and respect that the event of the bulls establishes.

There is the eternal presumption of isolating familiar objects from their logical relationships, decontextualizing them and giving them a new significant character.

You always have to leave space, so that someone else gets into the image.

That's where the photographer is, constantly waiting for that someone or something to calibrate the perfect photo.

Down there, the bullfighter unleashes his art, each afternoon new and elusive.

He steps on lime and sand, adjusting to concentric circles.

The most difficult thing in bullfighting is to see the bull and retain it in the subconscious.

Conflict with time, anguish of bullfighters who punish themselves seeking value, nobility and balance.

The shouting slips away in the need for a brave bull, adrenaline sweated by an audience that is looking for a brave bull and the courage of a single man.

Some afternoon, the square cradles a strange silence, which is not the silence of a disillusioned stretcher, but rather the guardian of a fragile and powerful truth.

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