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Hotel Hospes Granada
Hotel Hospes Granada
1, Calle Solarillo de Gracia, Granada, Spain
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Other Projects by EQUIP Xavier Claramunt
Hotel Hospes Granada
1, Calle Solarillo de Gracia, Granada, Spain
Type
YEAR
2007
SIZE
500,000 sqft - 1,000,000 sqft
BUDGET
$5M - 10M
Romeo and Juliet
Juliet dances and shows herself off. Juliet
knows very well how to use the light the sun bestows upon her. Romeo says
nothing. Juliet goes out by day when the light from the Sun can play across her
body adorned with cornices, pediments and scrolls. By day Juliet lifts her
faces to follow the Sun, exhibiting recently restored shades of time-honoured
voluptuousness to recapture poise and self-assurance. Romeo says nothing. Romeo
looks on and adores her. Romeo waits. Juliet is somebody. Romeo is nobody.
Romeo waits, hieratic, impassive, as cold as ice, generously reflecting all the
light towards her. She knows how to use it, to channel it through the gullies
of her sensuality, taming it as she twists and sending it to sleep in her
refuge. For Romeo it is enough just to enjoy the spectacle which every day and
any day performs upon Juliet. After the unintelligible, wild light has played
across her body, it is transformed and bounces back in the form of audible
words.
Romeo is waiting his turn, which
arrives as night falls. As Juliet runs out of fabric to weave her tangle of
seduction, Romeo takes on a more central role. Adieu Sun, welcome the night.
Romeo is sombre, pure, he emits a light which looks out timorously from beneath
different masks. When the Sun abandons its place in the sky, light has to be
created. Romeo undertakes to provide it and in doing so, he reveals himself to
us. While Juliet swirled, he had to content himself with just watching her, but
now he makes himself heard, emitting beams of light which reveal his essence in
layers. Since Romeo is mere air, light from between curtains and from amongst
stones of marble, which fruitlessly try to capture such precious light as night
falls. It all slips away. Luminous clouds cross wooden surfaces, translucent
across marble, unravelling themselves to meet Juliet and ask her to enslave
them, offering themselves as a sacrifice to invoke the rebirth of her
voluptuous display which they long for. Their endeavour is as enthusiastic as
it is futile, but they know an impossible outcome will not stop them from
trying. The suicidal light throws itself out following the capricious trace of
the vines, explodes across the marble surface and emerges diffused from the
water, flowing from shallow depths. It
is all in vain. Juliet only dances
beneath the Sun and knows not what to do with such a crazed outburst from
Romeo. The only way she so sweetly responds is by letting herself be loved.
Romeo is nobody. Romeo is simply a
longing to communicate with Juliet, a desire, the submission of a grateful
observer of her display.
For Romeo is the interior, light trapped in a
maze of marble, crystal glass which tinkles, cloths which swirl and wood which
caresses visions. Something which was a
lifeless muddle of textures filters into an ephemeral hint of fleeing
light. Romeo is generous and
reciprocates Juliet’s daytime display, but in his own way. He seeks to draw her
closer, entwine his arms around her shoulders and embrace her. Beneath the
enchanted waters of the lakes, Romeo glides across to find her and to brush
against her tiny feet, though it may be the only thing he manages to do. Oh
Juliet. Romeo whistles little sparkles which in turn whisper to the scrolls,
cornices and borders as they slumber, whisper to let them know the day will
return tomorrow and they can shine in a frenzy once more. But for now they must
be patient and let themselves be loved, though it may only be briefly. And she
accepts, not moving her feet away, and discovers her shoulders to feel the
touch of his tendril-like hands. For Juliet is mischievous by day, but silent
by night.
Juliet dances and shows herself off. Juliet
knows very well how to use the light the sun bestows upon her. Romeo says
nothing. Juliet goes out by day when the light from the Sun can play across her
body adorned with cornices, pediments and scrolls. By day Juliet lifts her
faces to follow the Sun, exhibiting recently restored shades of time-honoured
voluptuousness to recapture poise and self-assurance. Romeo says nothing. Romeo
looks on and adores her. Romeo waits. Juliet is somebody. Romeo is nobody.
Romeo waits, hieratic, impassive, as cold as ice, generously reflecting all the
light towards her. She knows how to use it, to channel it through the gullies
of her sensuality, taming it as she twists and sending it to sleep in her
refuge. For Romeo it is enough just to enjoy the spectacle which every day and
any day performs upon Juliet. After the unintelligible, wild light has played
across her body, it is transformed and bounces back in the form of audible
words.
Romeo is waiting his turn, which
arrives as night falls. As Juliet runs out of fabric to weave her tangle of
seduction, Romeo takes on a more central role. Adieu Sun, welcome the night.
Romeo is sombre, pure, he emits a light which looks out timorously from beneath
different masks. When the Sun abandons its place in the sky, light has to be
created. Romeo undertakes to provide it and in doing so, he reveals himself to
us. While Juliet swirled, he had to content himself with just watching her, but
now he makes himself heard, emitting beams of light which reveal his essence in
layers. Since Romeo is mere air, light from between curtains and from amongst
stones of marble, which fruitlessly try to capture such precious light as night
falls. It all slips away. Luminous clouds cross wooden surfaces, translucent
across marble, unravelling themselves to meet Juliet and ask her to enslave
them, offering themselves as a sacrifice to invoke the rebirth of her
voluptuous display which they long for. Their endeavour is as enthusiastic as
it is futile, but they know an impossible outcome will not stop them from
trying. The suicidal light throws itself out following the capricious trace of
the vines, explodes across the marble surface and emerges diffused from the
water, flowing from shallow depths. It
is all in vain. Juliet only dances
beneath the Sun and knows not what to do with such a crazed outburst from
Romeo. The only way she so sweetly responds is by letting herself be loved.
Romeo is nobody. Romeo is simply a
longing to communicate with Juliet, a desire, the submission of a grateful
observer of her display.
For Romeo is the interior, light trapped in a
maze of marble, crystal glass which tinkles, cloths which swirl and wood which
caresses visions. Something which was a
lifeless muddle of textures filters into an ephemeral hint of fleeing
light. Romeo is generous and
reciprocates Juliet’s daytime display, but in his own way. He seeks to draw her
closer, entwine his arms around her shoulders and embrace her. Beneath the
enchanted waters of the lakes, Romeo glides across to find her and to brush
against her tiny feet, though it may be the only thing he manages to do. Oh
Juliet. Romeo whistles little sparkles which in turn whisper to the scrolls,
cornices and borders as they slumber, whisper to let them know the day will
return tomorrow and they can shine in a frenzy once more. But for now they must
be patient and let themselves be loved, though it may only be briefly. And she
accepts, not moving her feet away, and discovers her shoulders to feel the
touch of his tendril-like hands. For Juliet is mischievous by day, but silent
by night.
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