Jaoquin Ruina, Els Castellers

The faces of many rest on the shoulders of strangers. Generations bombarding carelessly but cautiously as the procession passes through the streets. Eyes inhale the air as heads lay supportive upon others, hands providing a kind of sandwich in which everyone is invited to digest. Hands progress the passive walking, as minds turn blank, free from all thought and the shuffle dictates the direction. These hands act like guards, leaders inspiring from the back, for their direction allows the euphoria to sweep over passers in the street.

An unknown light source projects incredible clarity, shafting its rays amongst the heads of potentially thousands. Shadows form as hands block the lights progress in its bid to pass through unnoticed. Their presence makes the light real, although it may be artificial. It is almost impossible to ignore the expressions of mixed sadness and undeniable relief as a sensation sweeps the streets, when they may lay so quiet hours before. The energy sweeps, pushing the momentum to an unknown path, for we are only given segments of the whole scene. Their abstraction forming a kind of obsession, in the expressions of many but the feeling available from such depictions.

Heads glance toward the next, adding a kind of spiritual support. Eyes rest, more than they have ever rested, our bodies syncing purely in mental pictures over ordinary surroundings. This is not the street anymore. The area becomes flooded with feeling. The area has now become a playground, for the mind. Lead by cautious hands, with the sweetest of intent. Their timeless qualities give us no sense of dates or years. They sit in a monochrome of staggering beauty. Each head sensing the constant resurgence of positive e steps forward for a potentially distressing situation. Yet the documentation reveals nothing, only feeling and any sense of time and date never enter our frame of mind. For they are without context, but get us feeling insatiable thoughts and unbelievable euphoria.