Olía a flores y a tierra mojada, sabía a bocata de queso con membrillo y a veces a chocolate con mantequilla. Estaba acompañado de una banda sonora de la que formaban parte el revoloteo descontrolado de cientos de golondrinas alegres y las risas y llantos de un grupo de niños que correteaban por las calles de gravilla sin preocupaciones, ansiosos por ser los últimos en comerse la mejor croqueta de su abuela, controlando que nadie les arrebatara la última patata frita en cada cena.

Y esto refleja "Kilómetro 22", o no, quizás no puede. Surge como recuerdo, como una mirada a un pasado que se ha evaporado y quizás no vuelva más. Estamos destinados a un cambio constante y a veces doloroso.
¿Qué es lo que verdaderamente cambia? ¿El lugar o nosotros? Quizás no nos apetezca darnos cuenta. Vivimos continuamente buscando excusas para no aceptar que maduramos y dejamos de lado aquello que tan felices nos hacía.

Intento, con esto, volver a aquellos veranos interminables a kilómetros de la capital en los que nuestra casa sólo nos era útil con hambre y lo importante era no ser visto al escondite.

Volvamos a ello, ¿por qué no? Volvamos a los pantalones cortos y las viseras, a las bicicletas y a meter los pies en un rio que corta la respiración. A tumbarnos en la hierba e imaginar formas en las pocas nubes de un cielo azul. Nuestro particular Kilómetro 22 necesita volver a ser visitado, pisado y vivido. Volvamos a despertarlo.

-

It smelt flowers and wet earth, it tasted a cheese sandwich with quince preserve and sometimes chocolate butter. It was accompanied by a soundtrack that included the wild fluttering of hundreds of happy swallows and the laughing and crying of a group of children that were running around on the dirt streets without a care in the world, eager to be the last to eat the best of their grandmother’s croquettes, and making sure that nobody grabbed the last chip in every dinner.

And this is depicted in “Kilometre 22”. Or not. Perhaps it can’t be. It comes into my mind like a memory, like a vision of a past that has disappeared and might never return again. We are destined to constant and sometimes painful change.

What is it that really changes? The place or us? Perhaps we don’t want to know. We live constantly making excuses to avoid accepting that we grow older and leave to one side the things that made us so happy.

With this collection I attempt to go back to those interminable summers, kilometres from the capital, when our house was only of use when hungry, and the important thing was not to be found in a game of hide and seek.

Let’s go back. Why not? Let’s go back to shorts and baseball caps and bicycles, and dip our feet in the river that took our breath away. Let’s lie in the grass and imagine shapes in the few clouds in a blue sky. Our special Kilometre 22 needs to be seen and felt underfoot and lived once more. Let’s return to awaken it.

Loading more stuff…

Hmm…it looks like things are taking a while to load. Try again?

Loading videos…