Listening to a River

During my childhood, the Vinalopó river was a place of games and adventures. A nearby territory that we turned into our own private oasis. Years later I returned to its banks and began to walk along it again.

The river is born wounded and crosses towns and cities that have learned to live with their backs turned to it. Along its banks, vegetation, waste and traces of human intervention coexist. Abandoned spaces where, despite everything, different forms of life find a way to remain.

Listening to a River grows out of that return. Of walking through a familiar territory and discovering that it is no longer the same —or perhaps that it was never as I remembered it—. A way of paying attention to what remains close to us and which, precisely because of its proximity, we have stopped seeing.