Adra Pallón: «Lumes moves between paying homage to the rural and denouncing the policies that abandon it»
Theorist Roland Barthes said in his celebrated work ‘Camera Lucida’ that “whatever it grants to vision and whatever its manner, a photograph is always invisible: it is not it that we see”.
This statement, to which a myriad of interpretations could be attributed, gives a preponderant role to the photographed referent since that is what we perceive in the end. That is what makes us react to what we see, giving us joy, sadness, discomfort or indifference.
That referent, therefore, is also the one that the person behind the camera chooses to portray. And therein lies one of the keys to Adra Pallón's photographic work: deciding what the subject of his frames will be. Objects that are not always easy to photograph but which are undoubtedly necessary.
Among a multitude of works by Adra Pallón that have been awarded prizes for more than five years is Lumes (Fires), a project that focuses on the process of 'demothanasia' that rural Galicia is undergoing and its economic, social and environmental consequences. A work that materialized in a photobook had the collaboration of Campus Terra.
We were lucky enough to have a little chat with him to get answers to many questions first-hand: his experience in creating Lumes, his vision of documentary photography, the importance of memory in the preservation of cultures and his particular work process.
- Documentary photography is undoubtedly a very demanding field. From a distance, it seems like a genre that requires a very deep exercise of reflection in order to be truthful and authentic. What was the trigger that led you to take this path?
- For me, the term documentary is perhaps very transcendental. It's a big word. Right now, I'm giving a lot of thought to photographic language, to the terms themselves. After having studied a lot, after having dedicated years to photography and reflecting on truth, on what we include or don't include in the frame, I don't believe so much in documentary photography.
In fact, if I have to define myself as a photographer, I don't usually do it as a documentary photographer, even though that may be the niche for my work. That's where people pigeonhole me, and I understand it.
In reality, as with everything, photography is subjective. I, in particular, don't believe that photography is a language as such: we have a sender and a receiver, but the code we play with is based on the individual memory of each person. For example, the same photograph would not be interpreted in the same way in Galicia as it would be outside of it due to the essential differences between the different collective memories.
So, when I find myself doing this kind of documentary work, it always gives me a headache because you have this weight of documenting a reality. But, at the same time, I am aware that you do it from your perspective, from your feelings.
- Was this form of self-perception reflected, we understand, in Lumes, one of your latest works?
-Indeed. About Lumes, I always say that it is like having made a very long journey through the interior of Galicia over many years, together with a work of simplification. I collected emotions, feelings, and opinions, and, in the end, these are synthesized in that book, which is a tribute to the people portrayed.
They are older people who stayed where they were, perhaps because they had no choice. They chose to remain in their territory, ensuring that the names of the villages, the culture, and the knowledge would endure...
So, for me, Lumes moves between paying homage and denouncing the social and economic policies that do not support rural permanence or the people of the countryside. That is my perspective on my work and on how I see documentary photography. But I am increasingly distancing myself from that term because I find it particularly difficult to reconcile my photographic activity with that burden, with that responsibility of documentation.
Right now, in fact, we have another project underway with the University of Santiago de Compostela, which aims to generate a graphic document, but from a more poetic perspective, which is still an opinion on a specific topic. It is based on people's testimonies, so it still has a documentary dimension.
There is a very famous photographer, Josef Koudelka, who photographed the Romani people and made a book called that, ‘Romani people’. And I really like how he reflects on the image. He says a phrase that is, after all, what allows me to be a photographer, which is that “the Romani people are not like that; the Romani people are also like that”. So, when I take photos, I say: I'm not saying that this is how it is, but that it is also like that. In my opinion, photography is very subjective.
-So, would you rather stick with the poetic component, with the art, over the sociological reflection that is inevitably perceived when viewing your work? Because each person has their own sensibility...
-Indeed. In the end, you play with purposes, with objectives. For example, the Japanese greatly value the beauty of shadow. In our culture, on the contrary, beauty is linked to light. So, each one plays with their cultural codes to construct their work and their story.
Therefore, I think that photography does not have a code; what you have to do is play with feelings, appreciation, cultural codes, etc. I come from photojournalism: I started from there, and, therefore, I make a very referential use of the image; I am very anchored in the truth of the image. And, at the moment, I find it difficult to assimilate it; I'm halfway between the documentary or journalistic part and the more artistic one.
-Going back to your work in Lumes, which you did in collaboration with Campus Terra, with the University of Santiago de Compostela, tell us about it. How did this collaboration come about?
-This type of work seemed very natural to me. I worked in inland Galicia, especially in Lugo, which is my region. It's the one I know best, the one that's closest to me. I realized that a project of this calibre was a bit precariously sustained. Not everyone can use 4 years of their life to carry it out. I had to give up many aspects of my life to be able to do it.
So, I asked myself: how can I sustain this project? At a certain point, a national grant was offered in Catalonia by the Photographic Social Vision Foundation. I applied and, when I was awarded it, the work as such began to take shape. It was the result of the union of my previous work over the years with a new production, which lasted a whole year and was really intense.
It was at that point that contact with Campus Terra began, as we needed collaborating entities to be able to move the project forward in a physical format, which we finally decided would be a book. So, I got in touch with the campus, specifically with Elvira López. She became very interested in the project and finally decided to help finance Lumes.
-Ageing, depopulation, loneliness... In Lumes, you portray a Galicia that, in a way, is ignored by a large part of our society. From your point of view, is there a loss of roots in this oblivion?
-There is a very important point to highlight in Lumes, which is a small book that is found inside the book itself. It is inspired by 'O Gaiteiro de Lugo', an agricultural almanac that began to be published in the mid-19th century and which was in every peasant house. We found it very interesting to include our texts in this format because the almanac values culture. A culture that was attacked by certain interests.
Ana Cabana Iglesia, a tenured professor in the Department of History at Campus Terra, writes the text. I think the text she wrote is amazing. Taking into account what I was talking about earlier, about the subjective component of the images, which, in the end, are a summary of the feelings and emotions that I found, in this little book, Ana Cabana gives it its raison d'être. It contextualizes my work on a historical level, and without her text, I would not feel comfortable with Lumes because it would leave the work totally open to interpretation.
So, in the end, we all come from that culture from which we draw so much inspiration in our work. The current generation has inherited a personality rooted in that culture, even if we don't realize it. The Lumes journey was the most important of my life. And it's still a journey just a few kilometres from home. But I understood myself, I understood a little of where we come from, what makes up our personality... I also understood those voices from the countryside, who, when I talked to them, always told me that “here you are nobody”. That someone, nobody, in our literature is still there. I became aware of this historical contempt for the peasantry, for working-class culture.
I therefore believe that it is very important that we realize, and I think that this generation is doing so, that we have a very rich culture and that we, in some way, are responsible for ensuring that this legacy does not disappear. Even if it is only in memory, that is what Lumes is trying to do in broad terms.
In relation to this, I wanted to mention that Lumes is what the inhabited houses in the countryside used to be called. But, at the same time, it has a very powerful emotional charge. I always say that the fire didn't go out, it just moved. It went from the kitchens to the hills.
-In this answer, you said something fascinating about the moment we are currently living in, in which it seems that the experience of travelling is better the further you go. On the contrary, you told us that the trip to Lumes, in your territory, was your most transcendental, most fascinating trip. Sometimes we know many countries, but we don't know the place that surrounds us. As a photographer, have you ever come across this reality?
- Definitely, I've been in that position too. The problem is that I don't like to travel much either. It seems that this is a profession that doesn't suit me very well. Sometimes I think I took the wrong path.
I like to travel locally; I really enjoy trips to nearby areas that share my cultural codes. I connect much more with the people here.
I'm currently working on another project about the coast. And if I speak to someone from the Costa da Morte, for example, I don't know if it's thanks to the cultural code, taking into account that I'm from the interior, but I connect specially. More than if I had gone very far away, I think. So, I really value that trip on a local level. It helps me understand where we come from, and it enriches me a lot on a personal level.
-Your work receives a lot of attention across our borders, even more than in our territory. How do you deal with this reality? Does this particular fact generate a point of frustration in you?
-It does generate a bit of frustration, to be honest. Because, when it comes down to it, when you take photos, it's for ourselves too, I understand. So, I try to pay tribute to our people with my work. When I arrived in a new village where only one person lived, I was absolutely fascinated.
You see how that person keeps the village alive, with something as every day as rubbing some brambles. And you think this is incredible, isn't it? So, I'm sorry to think that it didn't have much of an impact here but that, nevertheless, it did abroad. I don't know if that's a good thing or not.
In any case, Lumes was a success. It was launched in April, and by midsummer, it was already sold out. For example, half of the first print run was ordered from the United States. There were some reports in France, the Netherlands and Japan. And it's something I didn't quite understand at first.
For example, when the editor of Newsweek Japan contacted me to ask for photos and statements and things like that, I told her that I was delighted, obviously. But I asked her why. Why was it of interest to them? She told me that the work I was doing, despite being local, was very global. In the end, the demographic problem they have in Japan is still the same as the one we might have here in Galicia.
-Throughout your career, you have received numerous awards and prizes at national and international levels. Is there one that has a special meaning for you?
-Yes, perhaps the grant. From a more pragmatic perspective, it was what made Lumes possible today. Without the grant, I don't know if the book could exist as such. The entire body of work would have no material support, so to speak.
In fact, the photographic work behind Lumes amounts to more than 60,000 images. So, the photographic load would continue to increase, but there would be no materialization as such of the work.
-Although you don't consider yourself a documentary photographer, there is undeniably a very powerful ethnographic component to your work. On an artistic and technical level, what is your work process like? How do you combine this search for the real, for the truth of the image, with a visual and aesthetic impact?
-I don't have any formal training in photography. I come from a different background, from the world of science. But I'm very obsessive in general terms, so there was a time when I focused a lot on photography. I studied a lot of works on my own; I looked for many references in the history of the image, in cinema or painting, such as the work of Jean-François Millet, for example.
I suppose that all this visual input, which I file away in folders on my computer according to the project I'm working on, ends up getting into my head. The references condition your way of proceeding and end up constructing your gaze.
In terms of my way of working, I first make a few initial trips to get a feel for the subject I'm going to be dealing with. That way, I can see what the light is like in the place and think about how to approach it. You have to bear in mind that in Galicia, the subject of light is complex. For example, when we have these typical storm clouds, and suddenly, that ray of sunshine appears in the middle of the scene, you have to be prepared.
In addition, colour temperature is also very important. It is very striking when blues and oranges coexist in an image. But it is not something accidental. You know when you are going to be able to capture that particular light: there are optimal days to look for those lights.
For their part, the interiors in which I usually work are very dark. The light enters through very small windows, which allows the element of fire to stand out. In the end, this is the backbone of all the work, and it remains anchored in the same colourimetry, which reflects the existence of very deep analysis. The first year, I was perhaps a little lost, but with practice, this way of seeing and working is becoming more defined.
-You mentioned your scientific training, which you later changed to focus on something totally humanistic and artistic...
-Yes, I studied physics for two years. I also studied civil engineering, of which I have two subjects and the Final Degree Project left. I don't know if it was the lack of this other perspective, the humanistic one, that led me to change course along the way.
That I should dedicate myself to photography was one of those wonderful coincidences in life. I wanted to make a science documentary, that's why I bought my first camera. Then, this first trip with the camera made me realize that the image was much more satisfying to me than the equations and formulas that I was studying at the time.
I'm very happy with the decision I made, but my work is indeed, at times, very precarious. But it's also very beautiful, and it rewards you with very special encounters.
- And finally, let's do a little test. If you had to choose one of your photographs, which one would it be? One among the 60,000 from Lumes, for example.
- Well, I'd choose one of Domingo, an inhabitant of one of the villages portrayed in A Fonsagrada, making a fire inside his house, where you can also see the kitchen chimney. I would also choose one of the chestnut trees that is burning in Vilar, in Folgoso do Courel. I find this pairing very interesting, as it represents that transition from the inner fire, linked to that element that we control, that protects us, that gives us heat, to that same fire that destroys everything in an uncontrolled way.
-And a photograph that moves you?
-Well, maybe any of the Courel fires. For example, one of the firefighters that looks all orange with a hose in the centre of the composition. I would choose one of those because the process of taking it was quite hard.
Thanks to the stories that I tell with my work, which are very hard and sad, I have developed a thick skin that protects me and makes it easier for me to cry, for example. But when the Courel fire happened, I did burst into tears. Because I didn't know what was going to happen to the Courel. The helplessness felt by the firefighters in front of the flames was exasperating. That really moved me.
- A source of artistic inspiration?
- In the field of photography, I would choose Josef Koudelka, but in general terms, I would go for Chano Piñeiro. I think that audiovisual has something that photography doesn't have. Photography suggests, it asks questions, but it doesn't give answers. I think that in audiovisual those questions are answered.
Mamasunción, in particular, is a short film that I love, that evokes many different questions for me. I have a very special affection for it.
-Is there any scene you have pending to portray? Or an exhibition or project that is yet to be executed?
-The Lumes exhibition is still pending, which is another kind of experience. In fact, people are working on it right now precisely because it was a pending matter that is in demand. But, as far as a pending image is concerned, I couldn't say.
- And the last one. What are you currently working on?
-Right now, I'm working on two larger projects and also here, in Galicia. One portrays, following the same rural theme as Lumes, a very specific region in the interior of Lugo, but exploring other perspectives.
The other focuses on the colonization villages of Terra Chá, also in Lugo, in collaboration with the University of Santiago de Compostela. In addition to photography, there are also interviews and a compilation of the machinery and constructions in the area by a team of engineers. It is, therefore, a very cross-disciplinary project in which Ana Cabana, for example, is also working.
And I also have another major project that deals with the sea. In other words, I always have one foot in our land, I continue to work here, in Galicia.
