Hell's bitter winds have suddenly reversed and the darkest visions of the Spanish Civil War have drifted back onto the streets of Madrid. And for this, we can thank Chicago-born artist Sebastian Maharg, who has made it possible for us to remember what many of us never even saw.
Recent exhibition La Tienda de la Esquina (The Corner Shop) celebrates Madrid's beautiful antique facades. But, given these old shops are an increasingly endangered species in the Madrid streetscape, you may find yourself cynically wondering if these sculptures are actually miniature death masks.
When I took these photographs, I thought it would take a little longer than a couple of years for them to become an archive of the lost.
From river launderettes and crucifix carpenters to streetlamp lighters and tinsmiths – in just the last few decades, countless jobs that had existed for centuries have disappeared. Let's take a glimpse of these lost trades and professions, because there's a lot we can see in what no longer exists.
I've been working on revealing these restricted rooms for a little while now – negotiating access to locked spaces and requesting permission to take photos you won't find anywhere else on the internet. And it's all been worth it, because we finally get to see inside the most restricted corners of one of Madrid's most emblematic buildings. But first, there are rules…
Madrid's drinking fountains are beautiful, carefully designed and soaked in history. But, you've probably walked past dozens thinking very little of them – perhaps you thought they were miniature monuments, a fire hydrant or an electricity box.
You will probably have spotted that Gran Via is home to Madrid’s grandest theatres and its most spectacular shows. However, what isn’t so well-known is that pulsating deep within the barrios of Lavapiés and Arganzuela is a thriving no-frills theatre scene, which emerged hundreds of years ago.
When you first glimpse Marivi Ibarrola's casually composed photographs of Lavapiés in the 1980s, you feel as if very little has changed. But stare for longer and you'll see some profound differences: the Tabacalera no longer emits smoke from its chimney, the anarchists have been gentrified out of their squats, and cinemas have been demolished to pave the way for the Lavapiés we hang out in today.
This small collections of Spanish vintage Christmas cards celebrate Spain's traditional occupations, but look closely at the design details of each card. These beautifully ornate illustrations give us a fascinating insight into the bygone era of these time-honoured professions, especially into those that are now obsolete.
Under a blanket of snow, I imagine Madrid to be as silent as the night. Not even a gust of wind could echo through the streets, never mind the infamous Madrileño hum. For those of us who arrived in Madrid in the last decade, the time-travelling journey that we're about to embark on feels a little make-believe, but trust me – this really happened.
We’re in a surreal time in Madrid, somewhere between crisis and post-crisis. With the economy in motion again, the city’s charming madrileño hum is being shattered by the crash-bang-drill-beep of construction work and, for a brief moment, a peculiar phenomenon is appearing.
Those seven little holes lead to an underground prison where over the centuries, controversial influencers of their time were incarcerated.
Hidden deep within Lavapiés, and almost always closed, this stunning cobbled patio took some serious discovering.
Corralas encapsulate the soul of Spanish urban living, which boomed when Madrid was declared capital of Spain in 1606.