Cuevas del alma

TitleCuevas del alma (Caves of the soul)
Acting and writingsAlbert Vidal
PhotographerLeopoldo Samsó

The distant images from Cant a la mímica, the book we published with Leopold Samsó a good 40 years ago, have not only remained in memory but continue to persist over time, as nothing has been interrupted. The energetic DNA remains the same, only fueled by a faithful and persistent collaboration throughout this interval. And we can speak of an interval because the same performer and the same photographer are now publishing, once again in black and white, this new work: Cuevas del alma (Caves of the Soul).

Unlike the first book, where the snapshots immortalized moments of expression in front of an audience, these images are studio-only. The communication between performer and photographer is pure and specific. No one was allowed to be present during the sessions that we conducted over two long years in an ancient 9th-century fortress, where historical memories remain intact.

In this construction of oak and stone, we worked solely with the nuances of natural light, which, filtering through the windows, allowed us to calibrate the intensity to illuminate the expressions that surfaced from the depths of the soul in deep communion.

In the long silences that enveloped these artistic encounters, the climactic point found its being in the subtle click of the shutter. In those moments, the soul’s journey in revealing its secrets was rewarded by the affirmation that immortalized the apex of the emotion that had been drained from the sediment of existence.

Brief selection of the more than 60 images with their corresponding thoughts that make up the book.


Life blossomed in its purest essence, in every second of perception the world was recreated, imperturbable love. I received looks, smiles, caresses and hugs.


I accuse, truly, I accuse. We will have to start over from scratch. Mastering feelings and emotions with the distance of profound detachment. The Telluric Prince will arrive; pride, envy, and greed swept away into eternal fire. That is the great hope.


So, I would take refuge in copious and endless meals that would press against the walls of my stomach
and thus not have to worry about anything more than the next flavor that would overwhelm me. I felt satiated, but I couldn’t calm my mind.


I was passionate, whether I believed or not in emotions that shape the hollows of stubbornness.


Dodging the numbing caresses, vanities of this world, harassed but not sunk. Vigilant in the face of setbacks, attentive to the cracks in the walls through which inspiration would continue to flow. In a permanent state of attention, where the cells of the body rest eager to take action. No, I wasn’t going to give up knowing that I was the depositary of a testimony that the general current of the river did not want to hear.


Perhaps a goblin awaits me at the end of the road.