Ezkerraldea

Fall 1996. That was when I began my studies at the Faculty of Fine Arts at the University of the Basque Country. Like most students at the time, public transportation was the most common way to get to campus.

I was still living in the town where I had grown up, Santurtzi, located at the mouth of the Nervión River. The river, passing through Bilbao—the main city—divided the area into two very distinct sides: the right bank and the left bank. The left bank was where the region’s major metal, mining, and shipbuilding industries had historically been established, many of them already abandoned and reduced to ruins. I lived on that side of the river.

Although I was aware of the industrial identity of the area where I lived, there were still many places I knew nothing about. Due to scheduling, I started taking a bus to the university that, instead of going directly along the highway, passed through several neighboring towns—Portugalete, Sestao, and Barakaldo—to pick up more students.

The bus left at 7:30 a.m. and, at that time of year, the sun was just beginning to rise. Among the headlights of the cars and the old sodium-vapor streetlights with their distinctive orange glow, enormous cranes, smokestacks, and large buildings already in ruins emerged like abandoned skeletons. I had always been drawn to that industrial landscape, but it was discovering all these places on those bus rides, together with my photography studies, that led me to start photographing them.

Years later, I created a photographic series titled Ezkerraldea (“left bank” in Basque), made up of photographs I had taken over the years. A selection of them is included in this article.

To understand the landscape that appears in these photographs, it is necessary to go back to the origins of industrialization in the area. Industrial activity had existed in Bilbao for a long time, but the arrival of predominantly British capital in the early twentieth century encouraged the consolidation of existing companies and greatly accelerated industrial development. Companies such as Altos Hornos de Vizcaya (AHV) in Sestao and Barakaldo, which became the largest company in Spain; Luchana Mining Company and Orconera Iron Ore Company Limited, which became the largest exporter of iron ore in the province of Bizkaia; and La Naval (Sociedad Española de Construcción Naval – SECN), which took over the Sestao shipyard facilities at the beginning of the twentieth century, were established during this period.

The economic crisis of the 1970s and 1980s, along with declining productivity and other factors, led to the dismantling of these old industries and a complete industrial restructuring. Many of these sites were abandoned—some not demolished until years later—and became part of the urban landscape in which I grew up. Most of the structures shown in these photographs no longer exist.

While initially compelled by the visual character of these structures, I was further drawn in by their historical and social significance for the region.

The scale of some of these buildings was overwhelming. They are structures with a strong personality that reflect the decline of the area, yet somehow still stand impassively, like the furnace that remains standing at the former Altos Hornos de Vizcaya complex in Sestao.

The passage of time and exposure to the elements have transformed the materials from which they were built—mainly concrete, brick, iron, and steel—into endless textures.

These sites became a canvas for graffiti—many of them featuring political slogans—where vegetation and moss slowly started to grow over and around these structures, adding even more drama and mystery.

Without intending to, these ruins and the industrial character of the region became an inseparable part of the everyday landscape of the towns along the left bank and in the mining basin where I grew up. They became witness to the major changes that followed, while also serving as a source of inspiration for architecture and art in Bilbao and its surroundings.