Essay
Six A.M. at Barceloneta
巴塞罗那塔的清晨六点
At six in the morning Barceloneta belongs to nobody. The promenade is empty except for a man hosing down the pavement and two delivery vans idling outside the restaurants. I left Gràcia before five, walked down through the dark, and arrived with the sky still the colour of wet slate. That half hour is the only time I can photograph the sea without photographing tourists.
The light arrives sideways first, catching the undersides of the awnings and the chrome of the beach showers. I shoot wide open, f/2, ISO 400, and let the shadows stay black. It took me years to stop lifting them in the edit. A photograph is allowed to have holes in it.
The Swimmer
There is a man who swims here every morning, all year, thin as a wire. I have photographed him forty times and never spoken to him. He walks in without hesitating, three steps, then the dive. I have one frame where his back is still dry and the water is already at his waist. That frame is the reason I keep coming back.
Some mornings I take six photographs. Some mornings I take none and go for coffee.
He got out at seven, dried himself with a towel he keeps behind a rock, and wished me good morning in Spanish. I answered in Catalan, badly. We have had this exact conversation eleven times.
By eight the first towels are on the sand and the light has gone flat and white. I put the camera away, buy a cortado at the corner bar, and read the football results on my phone next to men twice my age doing exactly the same thing.
The Print
I develop at the kitchen table, the enlarger wedged between the sink and the fruit bowl. The swimmer frame is hard to print: the whole left side is water and the whole right side is nothing. I have made it too dark three times. The fourth is on the wall, and it will probably come down next month.
People ask why I don't shoot the colourful things — the market, the façades, the tourists in their clean shoes. I do, sometimes. But the sea at six is where this city stops performing, and I would rather have one honest frame than fifty postcards.
中文译文
早上六点的巴塞罗那塔不属于任何人。海滨大道空着，只有一个人在冲地，两辆送货车停在餐馆门口怠速。我不到五点就从格拉西亚出来，摸黑走到海边，天还是石板被打湿的那种颜色。这半个小时，是我唯一能拍海而不拍到游客的时候。
光先从侧面来，撩起遮阳棚的下缘和淋浴头的镀铬。我全开光圈，f/2，ISO 400，让阴影就那么黑着。我花了好几年才戒掉在后期把它们提亮的习惯。照片是可以有洞的。
游泳的人
有个男人每天早上在这里游，一年到头，瘦得像根铁丝。我拍过他四十来次，从没跟他说过话。他从不犹豫，走三步，然后扎下去。我有一张，他的背还是干的，水已经到腰了。就为了这一张，我一直回来。
有些早上我能拍六张。有些早上一张也没有，就去喝咖啡。
他七点上岸，用一块藏在石头后面的毛巾擦干，用西班牙语跟我道早安。我用加泰罗尼亚语回他，回得很糟。这段对话我们重复了十一次。
八点一过，第一批浴巾就铺开了，光变得平而白。我把相机收进包里，去街角酒吧要一杯小拿铁，在吧台边刷足球比分，旁边跟我做同一件事的男人，年纪都比我大一倍。
印片
我在厨房桌上冲洗，放大机塞在水槽和果盘之间。游泳者那张很难放：整个左边是水，整个右边什么也没有。我把它印暗过三次。第四张现在挂在墙上，大概下个月就会被摘下来。
有人问我为什么不拍那些颜色鲜艳的东西——市场、外墙、鞋子干净的游客。我也拍，偶尔。但六点的海是这座城市停止表演的地方，我宁愿要一张诚实的，也不要五十张明信片。
