Isolation, which in a natural surrounding takes us in and protects us, is also ideal for committing a crime. Places are not witnesses of anything, places do not see us; we recreate them, we take possession of their endless time, of their slow changes, of their majestic indifference towards our fleeting future. During our walks there are moments when, merged with the surroundings, we go so far as disappearing in a joyous stroll to nowhere. With a paradoxical meaning, the expression ‘go for a walk’ (to bump off) echoed tragically during the Spanish Civil War following the rebels’ occupation. Thousands of people were murdered, and many in remote places such as this one.
In these photographs the camera’s point of view is located in the place where those assassinated fell. It is impossible to attempt to reproduce what these people saw for the last time, if during that tragic circumstance one can see anything but one’s own thoughts, but these are the places that others chose for their death; we do see them, and in them their last view.