Although much of the program has already finished, PhotoEspaña still has exhibitions to offer. We recommend that you take advantage of these last days to enjoy some excellent showings. We highlight the work of Leila Alaoui, which can be seen in the Arab House until September 22nd.

Leila Alaoui, “Esauira”, 2012

The exhibition "The Moroccans" has been organised thanks to the collaboration of the Embassy of the Kingdom of Morocco and the Leila Alaoui Foundation. It puts together 30 stunning portraits that the photographer made between 2010 and 2014, within a personal project in which she tried to reflect the reality of her country and the power of the look of the individual. Fleeing from the traditional image that pays attention to the contextual elements, she sought to capture the essence of the person and, at the same time, to reflect the details of a way of life, of culture and traditions condensed in the chosen outfit and clothing.

Leila Alaoui, “Moulay Abdeslam”, 2010

This project could not be understood without knowing part of the life of the Franco-Moroccan photographer. Leila was born in Paris but spent her childhood and youth in Marrakech. At that time, her imagination was feeding on the persistent stories of emigrants that seek a better life venturing through the Mediterranean and the tragedy associated with these forced trips, often frustrated and risky. With the passing of the years and her inclination towards photography, Leila saw in this artistic discipline the possibility of generating a discourse of social awareness that would allow her to bring to light many of the stories she had heard as a child and that still were, in the 21st century, entirely common.

“Tameslohte” (Marrakech-Safi 2010) ©Leila Alaoui Foundation

Fully focused on social photography, her work has mostly been developed in the North African countries of the Mediterranean basin. With diverse themes that seek a sort of social justice through the image, her narrative has dealt with emigration, refugee movements, women's inequality, interculturality or national identity. One of her characteristic techniques was to set up an improvised photography studio in the street and invite anyone who wanted to be portrayed. Many of her projects have had the selfless collaboration of numerous citizens, attracted by her equal speech and proximity.

Leila Alaoui, “Plaza de Yamaa el Fna”, 2011

In "The Moroccans", an exhibition curated by the writer and critic Guillaume de Sardes, the humanistic and committed nature of Leila's work is evident. Her photographs want to be the voice of many who have no chance to speak. Her portraits are direct, genuine encounters with people who openly look at the camera to hardly offer their faces surrounded by traditional fabrics. Each look invites us to reconstruct a personal story, but at the same time shared by all of them, which tells us about a common history.

Unfortunately, Leila Alaoui died in 2016 after an attack in Ouagadougou (Burkina Faso), a city where she was working on a project proposed by Amnesty International on the status of women. Her work visits our country for the first time in a beautiful tribute to her social commitment and her talent as a photographer.

The artistic practice of Chamo San (Barcelona, 1987) revolves around a poetics of attention, in which the seemingly insignificant acquires a singular reflective intensity. His works emerge from a persistent observation of everyday life, understood not as a narrative repertoire but as a field of shared experience. Within this framework, the minimal gesture becomes a form of sensitive knowledge, placing the viewer before scenes that are both recognizable and, at the same time, estranged by their temporal suspension.

The progressive shift toward a more atmospheric painting has allowed the environment to cease functioning as a mere support and become an active agent of meaning. Restrained color ranges and carefully constructed spaces generate a sense of stillness that evokes a pictorial tradition attentive to duration and waiting. The human figure—a constant presence in his work—is presented immersed in contexts that amplify its affective and existential dimension.

The silence permeating these images is not absence but condition; it constitutes a space of resonance in which the time of doing and the time of looking converge. Situated between compositional control and openness to the contingent, Chamo San’s work affirms painting as a territory where planning and accident coexist.

Bathtub. 2018. Ballpoint pen on notebook. 14 x 18 cm.

Many of your works show meticulous attention to the smallest gestures and seemingly trivial moments. What interests you about these micro-choreographies of everyday life?

The seed of my work always comes from the sketches I make from life in small notebooks that I can carry with me at all times. Later, I either transfer them to another format so I can work on them more calmly, or they become the final piece in themselves.

Composition, staging, and perhaps those micro-choreographies are what I allow myself to bring to the scene as an artist. For me, these everyday moments are the most direct and honest way to connect with the audience because—even though they are intimate—they reflect universal experiences.

Feet. 2023. Oil pastel on paper mounted on board. 30 x 30 cm.

In your pieces, the presence of sober tones seems to generate a particular type of atmosphere. How would you describe the way that atmosphere emerges during your work, and what role does it play in the overall construction of the image?

Atmosphere and colour are relatively recent additions to my work. Previously, I focused exclusively on the figures as the central element, and they were often left floating in a kind of void. It was when I realised the need to provide context—especially as I began working more closely from the notes in my notebooks—that I came to understand the importance of the environment for the character.

The human figure will always remain the main element for me, as it is through its representation that I find the greatest enjoyment. However, little by little, I have become interested in exploring what surrounds it. I see the creation of an environment and an atmosphere as essential in order to situate the figures within a more complete and fully constructed scene.

Mamant. 2025. Colored pencils on notebook. 14 x 18 cm.

Are the silences in your works inherited from real experiences, or do they emerge during the painting process?

The silences in my work are inherited from real experiences. When I capture those small moments of everyday life—which is essential for me—I tend to be focused and quiet. At the same time, I also believe that the contemplation of artworks naturally invites this kind of calm. In that sense, for a brief moment, both the artist—throughout the entire creative process—and the viewer, when engaging with the work, can meet in the same state of tranquillity and silence.

The Kiss. 2024. Oil pastel on notebook. 14 x 18 cm.

To what extent do you plan your works and how much space do you leave for the unexpected to happen?

Some of my works are very planned, even excessively so, with lots of sketches. On the other hand, I always have that starting point that appears in my notebooks, and I leave experimentation and the unexpected for the end. Although it's also true that when I've thrown myself into improvisation from the beginning, wonderful things have happened, so now I try to combine those two worlds as organically as possible.

Cinema. 2025. Ballpoint pen and oil pastel on notebook. 14 x 18 cm.

Although your work has shifted towards the pictorial—with an aesthetic closely linked to cinema—echoes of illustration can still be seen in your visual language. Which elements would you say remain, and which have undergone a radical transformation?

For me, illustration has been an intense learning process. I deeply admire artists who have combined commissioned illustration with studio work for galleries, such as Ramón Casas and James Jean. I believe these two worlds can connect on a technical level, but their language and purpose are fundamentally different.

The existence of a unique, original work allows for accidents to occur—things that are very unlikely to happen in illustration. It is this condition of uniqueness, and above all the intention behind it, that makes the two practices radically different.