In El vuelo lleva al vuelo, Juanan Requena traces the fragile geometry of a life shaped by movement, memory, and light. He begins with a question—how many points can truly meet on the same path?—and follows the echoes of that inquiry through the landscapes of childhood and the first discoveries of wonder. Decisions become murmurs, time becomes a shifting moon, and each moment burns with the durable glow of an indestructible candle. For Requena, uncertainty is not an obstacle but a companion; the map is drawn in scales only the heart can read.
The book unfolds like a long exposure of a life in transit. Requena revisits the formative scenes that taught him to look: the tent in the Cazorla mountains, the white Seat 128, the Pentax and Kodak colours of early journeys. He evokes the intimate rituals of returning home—unpacking equipment, setting up the slide projector, reliving each adventure through its trembling projections. These memories, preserved against the erosion of time, reveal the moment he first recognized the quiet urgency of seeing, the sensation that images could become a form of shelter.
As years pass, Requena’s practice evolves into a nomadic search for the hazy light where all memories reside. From second-hand cameras to toy lenses, from cheap rolls of film to darkroom lessons by the sea, his path is marked by experimentation, drift, and devotion. Notebooks overflow, escapes lead to returns, and yet the impulse remains constant: to reach again for the warmth of the first light that shaped him. In this book, flight leads to flight—not as escape, but as the continual act of returning to what matters.
