I came to Motril as an outsider. I'd visited here years before when I studied in Madrid but came back and stayed. I fell in love with this place and the people in it - married a local and built a life here. I'd studied Spanish since I was young and speak fluently, but that didn't mean I could take things for granted. I still had to earn my place - and I wanted to.
That meant feeling confident to go shopping on my own, opening a bank account, ordering in restaurants, learning to ask for what I wanted in the little produce markets. It meant showing up, again and again, and saying: I want to belong here; I want to understand how things work.
The Tomato Conversation
One of the first times I went to the weekly Tuesday/Friday outdoor market, I asked for tomatoes. Mind you, there were huge bins of different tomatoes, other fruits, veggies, even sugar cane and flowers. So, I should have known that broadly asking for tomatoes was going to get me into trouble.
The vendor looked at me with a specific kind of patience. The kind you use when you don't quite understand, and you're waiting for more information. My silence then instigated the vendor to continue with "for salad? for gazpacho? for cooking? for sauce? green? red? yellow? for now or for later? one kilo?"
Suddenly, tomatoes weren't just tomatoes. They were a conversation. Each variety, each answer, led somewhere different. The way locals ask for tomatoes without thinking twice, and with such specificity, is part of what they learned early on. But I had to find out the hard way. I had to learn. And by the way, I wanted to buy them for a salad. I did eventually succeed in buying some sweet little cherry tomatoes - a whole kilo of them - but that's another story!
That's when I really started seeing them.
The Outsider's Lens
Cherry tomatoes are everywhere here on the Costa Tropical. Motril sits in a pocket of subtropical climate, nestled between the mountain range that rises behind us and the heat that drifts north from Africa. It's a place where things grow year-round. Where the sunlight is relentless, and abundance never stops. Fresh produce is readily available, and economical. Found at the outdoor markets, in large grocery stores, in small specialty produce shops that dot the city, in the hands of friends who grown them and work hard to send them across Europe - to the UK, Germany, Scandinavia, France, and beyond. They aren't just a local food; they're an important economic product.
Having friends here who grow them and belong to one of the cooperatives, I learned how essential they are to Motril, economically and culturally. The tomato that seems so simple at first glance carries the weight of livelihoods, tradition, and commitment. Through talking to my friends and seeing through their eyes, I started to understand what I was seeing at the market was so much more that a sweet, tasty little piece of fruit.
There's something about not growing up somewhere, because you tend to not take things for granted as much. You notice the colorful ceramic tiles on buildings because you didn't see them every day as a child. The way the light hits the striped canvas awnings, the shadows of the terra cotta roof tiles on the streets, the centuries old fountains - still providing a refreshing stop on a hot summer day, the door knockers - classic faces, ornate details, the variations from building to building. You notice, because you're still learning and appreciating.
This isn't a critique of people who grew up here. When you see the same things day in and out, they become background; they become normal. But when you arrive as an adult, wanting to belong and blend in, then paying attention - deliberately - everything becomes material for observation.
From Noticing to Making
This is where Observations come from.
I take photos of what catches my attention and even record sounds that aren't in my memory bank from decades of growing up in the US. Then I sketch and carve them by hand into Lino. I print the images onto leather and textiles in limited runs. Each design is tied to specific moments of really looking and understanding where I live and what makes this special place so meaningful.
Cherry Tomato is the first. But there are door knockers coming; classical faces, hands. Each one unique, each one ornate. There will be more observations, because I'm always noticing, always asking questions that help me understand better.
An Invitation
Observations are intentional. They're designed around unique details that define this city and province. They exist because of deliberate, daily engagement. By asking questions, by building friendships, by noticing.
If you're interested in pieces that carry intentionality and specificity of place and observation, I invite you to browse my Observations collection. Each limited run is a moment frozen - a thing I noticed, carved, and printed, one by one.