After stumbling across this portrait, I now realize that my physical and emotional well-being hinges on owning a copy of fashion photographer Ruven Afanador's Mil Besos: 1000 Kisses, a love letter to the women behind the dying art of flamenco.
The first time I experienced flamenco was in Madrid, where I was staying at an overpriced hovel and consuming alarming amounts of pork (Museo del Jamon, anyone?). I remember sitting in the theater after the performance was over, shell shocked and covered in goosebumps. It was all so smooth, so ragged, so tender, so fierce. I felt overwhelmed.
I was twenty-two, after all. Life was just getting good.
I thought about a life lived with that kind of passion and ferocity. What it would be like to be so beautiful and so fierce? Exciting. Terrifying. Exhausting. I love how these photographs of Afanador's public exposition in Seville reflect the relationship between Spaniards and their national art form. It's almost as though flamenco is not only in the blood, but a natural part of the landscape.
