From Luis Ruiz in Málaga, Spain
Everytime I witness a building being demolished it makes me feel uneasy. Somebody's former intimate shelter is then brutally exposed, the rooms where he or she loved, sang or cried lie now open to the sky and invaded by gross machinery. A point of sadness is added when some traces of the inhabitants are still present at the place: perhaps a poster, maybe just the color on the walls. In a couple of days all these memories will be gone, once the big yellow intruder is seeking its next victim.
The people that lived here are now probably enjoying at a better home; oh well, perhaps it is just I am a sentimentalist. But it must be admitted that this is a situation which suggests many stories to be imagined by the observer.