The vast and arid deserts of the southern province of Spanish Navarre, selected by Terry Gillian for his disastrous "Don Quixote", seem to have rubbed off on a handful of villages that border it. The landmarks there are distorted. No noticeable features mark the silent streets where shuttered houses are backed by sandstone ridges like a flow of lava and line-up, folded in on themselves and their modest histories.
The architecture, the discreetly ornate and hermetic facades, the faded color tone of houses and the light that reveals them, evokes expectation, gives way to various scenarios, scenes already seen, like a dream one remembers wrong and attempts to reconstruct.
This slow pace exploration seems, during each one of my trips, to become more dream like a journey than a documentary, to the point of losing any sense of reality. Memories mingle with a reality of constantly changing tones, from dawn to sunset, which emphasizes the fictional and mysterious aspect of the places.

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