THE STORY BEHIND THE SHOT

Bar Bull, Granada. 2019

Tiled, shiny walls. The smell of old wine. Damp sawdust and crumpled paper napkins scatter on the floor. 

The bars in Granada, as in Madrid, give free tapas with each drink.

We’ve come to meet up with old friends: a dancer and a guitarist who work at the Music Conservatory.

Embraced by a thousand conversations, we drink fino sherry, eat plates of jamón and cheese, and shout to make ourselves heard.

Laughing, I glance upwards, and notice the stuffed bull’s head jutting out from the wall, its glass eye staring down, more alive than dead.

Then I notice above it the decoration on the ceiling, making an eye and two horns, like a cave-painting echo of the bull itself.

A camera is nestling in my lap. In photography, there are no accidents.

I stand and position myself below. People are brushing past as they enter and leave; this will be difficult: the light is poor.

I wait for my moment. While the bull stares back.

Then sudden stillness.

I hold my breath. 

And take the shot.