Sometimes to get through a distance or get some perspective we must find the way to float above it, to slip in the opposite direction of what we are going to observe in order to make it smaller and comprise it, or to crash our legs into that place, and go through it without actually seeing it, walk around it without ever understanding it completely. Sailing allows us to float, to pass slowly before the buildings and the people; pass by, from one side to the other, to the inside. To pass. To walk. Pasaia Bitartean is a walk that helps us see the city. It tells us about the city as a stage, the city as a cemetery, which self-destructs by rebuilding itself, whose memory is gradually settling on everything that is no longer what it was. The city thus becomes an entity populated by phantasmagorias that only exist because those who live in it have seen the changes and project them in their memories as glazes and ghosts of movement, architecture and life, mutant in the urban as in nature.
The city is considered as a representation, and the buildings as books with stories that are not articulated through words. But Pasaia does use words to talk about the city. Citizens talk about it. They understand it from the gaze and the oral expression as well as from experience. In the city everything passes through. It is at the same time a great meeting point full of intersections and a great silent bookstore. In Pasaia, the city traps us in a reduced space and abandons us before an immense time – as one of its inhabitants observes – before a time that we perceive but cannot fully understand, nor float away from it, sailing, to appreciate its outline.
The time of the city, its transits and the lives, their rhythms and stories intersect on this walk, through Pasaia.
Curatorial text (by Noa Castro Lema)