“There are other groups much more of the moment than us. Or that are, I don’t know, more on everyone’s lips”. This is said, a little overwhelmed by the question, by Xantal Rodríguez. She is the singer and lyricist for Remei de Ca la Fresca, a rock combo from Arbúcies with just over six years of history. There are objective reasons to think that, really, they might not be the band of the moment: they don’t play in any of the four or five photocopied and massive festivals that populate our geography, with –always– the same names, nor are they the ones chosen to represent the brewery of the day, nor do they collect astronomical figures of online plays. Mind you, they have something much better: they are different from the rest. Try to find someone nowadays who in this country marries, as they do, visceralness with energy, lysergia, vindication, magnetism, and insurrection. No need to waste time searching: it doesn't exist. And let's add hyperactivity, because perhaps they are not the group everyone talks about if we look only at numbers, but they start November returning from a British mini-tour, presenting a documentary at the In-edit festival, releasing a new four-song EP, and holding a concert in the large room of Razzmatazz in Barcelona. All this in a couple of weeks. And now what? Who gives you more?

In the avalanche of images of looting that have reached us in recent days, whether the scenes are from Paris, Marseille, Barcelona, or Bilbao, there is a common aesthetic denominator: the black hooded sweatshirt. A garment allied both with those who confront the State apparatus in defense of their rights and those who need anonymity to break the law with impunity. The hood hides the face, key to visual identification, while the black color favors camouflage and the roominess of the sweatshirt facilitates mobility and allows for the hiding of objects. It is no wonder, then, that this garment has historically sparked suspicions, controversies, and complicities.

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The project is named Casa Bosc (Forest House) because that is what it is. This dwelling not only looks at the forest but, by letting it in so much, it becomes the forest. In Camprodon, the house ensures that nature is not just the landscape contemplated from the window, but a constant presence in domestic life. Sliding openings widen the limits of a home that is no more than 60 square meters and connect the interior spaces with the trees that surround it. When they are opened, the forest extends inside; when they are closed, the light and shadows continue to be part of the house.

It is a rainy autumn Monday, but what might seem like an inconvenience becomes a luxury when we sit down to have lunch right by the sand of Bogatell beach. We are in a restaurant specializing in fresh fish, seafood, and rice dishes from the Ebro Delta. The location is fantastic and, even though the weather is not quite cooperating, dining by the sea is always comforting.

Two years ago she climbed aboard El 47 and since then she has not stopped circulating through cinema. Her debut journey was also that of her consecration. The vocation came from afar and the projection now seems infinite. She is premiering Ruega por nosotras, the film by Daniel Monzón that denounces a new shame of Francoism: the Patronato de Protección de la Mujer, an institution where women considered conflicting or rebellious were locked up and mistreated. Solid social cinema with the luminous face of this 22-year-old woman, who is empathetic, analytical, and combative.

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Getting lost in the labyrinthine corridors of Laika studios, located on the outskirts of Portland, the cultural and gastronomic capital of Oregon, in the United States, is like taking a walk through the history of cinema. During an exclusive visit by the newspaper ARA this summer, we were struck by a total silence. Wildwood, their latest film, the sixth and most ambitious of them all, is in the final phase of post-production and the sets are perfectly lit but without a soul in sight. All the rooms are closed off by a curtain accompanied by a rudimentary sign with the name of a color that identifies each of the spaces so that the animators do not get lost. They started with the basic colors: blue, green, black. As the locations multiplied, they ran short and had to add blue 2, green 2, and black 2. On our tour, we find much more specific ones like salmon and turquoise, which complete the more than 100 locations and 130 sets used in total. Quite a feat.

My mother used to say that she had been lucky. When she met my father, the actress Kim Novak was in fashion, and with her, a type of woman with hips and a generous body. In other words, not thin. Later, she would lament that fashion had changed and that gaunt bodies had become the trend, because she knew that her daughters would have a harder time of it. I would listen to her and curse my bad luck because, at home, for years and years, I was the fat one, the chubby one, the one who didn't have the normative weight that was expected and, of course, was a person in a permanent war with her own body.

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In Son Espanyolet, the Palma neighborhood where low houses and discreet facades define a good part of the urban landscape, building anew implies knowing how to look before deciding how to intervene. The house designed by Munarq, a studio founded by architects Rafel Munar and Pau Munar, starts from the desire to be part of the neighborhood without renouncing contemporary architecture.

When Diego Luna (Toluca de Lerdo, Mexico, 1979) was just two years old, his mother, the artist and set designer Fiona Alexander, died in a car accident. Upon reading Brenda Navarro's novel Ceniza en la boca (Sexto Piso, 2022), the actor and director recognized the echo of his own experience in a character as different from him as Lucila, the Mexican teenager who migrates with her younger brother to Spain –first to Madrid, then to Barcelona– to reunite with the mother who abandoned them eight years earlier. But above all, he was fascinated by the clash of perspectives: “The daughter sees her mother's departure as an act of abandonment, but the mother feels she is making a great sacrifice for her children. As a father, I cannot stop thinking about how painful it must be to live away from one's children and start from scratch in another place. But I am also a son, and the absence of the maternal figure is a subject that has occupied my thoughts every day of my life”.

On September 22nd, the first day of Milan Fashion Week, during the Vogue World fashion show at the imposing Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II, there were two people visibly uncomfortable with what they were seeing. Miuccia Prada – head designer of her eponymous brand – and Alessandro Michele – creative director of Valentino – two of the heavyweights of the global fashion scene, were clearly wrinkling their noses while the rest of the attendees applauded, enthralled by the spectacle. The reason? The appearance of four humanoid robots from the Chinese company Unitree acting as acrobats among the models, presented under the title The age of intelligence. While the audience responded with enthusiasm, Prada and Michele seemed to be among the few who did not find it amusing. Perhaps because, behind the spectacle, they saw something more than four robots doing somersaults: the irruption of artificial intelligence into a world, that of fashion, which until now had made the body, hands, tradition, and human creativity its reason for being.

Simone Risoluti is the Vatican photographer in charge of documenting all of Leo XIV's activity. Last Monday, he captured the moment when the pope was talking to the pilots of the plane that was taking him from Lourdes to Metz, on the last day of his visit to France. The scene has a touch of irony that the photographer seems to accentuate: the pope in the sky, closer to God. He is there thanks to aeronautical engineering and the work of the pilots. The ecclesiastical authority who speaks of elevating souls and guiding them to heaven in the cockpit of an aircraft. Here, faith is not as important as mechanics and technology. The scene also recalls those old jokes where all kinds of celebrities would coincide on a plane and, faced with a critical situation, everyone had to jump, but there was always one parachute missing.

On November 13, 2003, Rolling Stone magazine published its issue 935. On the cover, The Strokes, who were releasing their second album, Room on fire. Music journalist Neil Strauss was in charge of the main interview with Julian Casablancas, the visible, and handsome, face of the New York band. It had only been a year and a half since the group had exploded. They were the advanced heirs of the local scene of the seventies, concentrated in the legendary concert venue CBGB, in the East Village, and of bands like Television. The Strokes were the best reality of the new wave: they had released a majestic album, Is this it, and were the center of all eyes. Everything was going well. Or so it seemed, because Strauss, who years later published the complete interview with the singer in the book Everyone You Hate Is Going to You (Contra, 2012), found himself in front of someone decadent, exhausted, erratic, and visibly affected by alcohol consumption. The journalist described the meeting as "The worst interview of all time".

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For ninety years, the photograph Death of a Loyalist Militiaman has been attributed to Robert Capa. The image of a republican combatant at the moment of being struck down consecrated the Hungarian photographer. The precise instant it portrays, with the militiaman losing his balance but not yet having touched the ground, gives it a drama that condenses the cruelty of war. The rifle seems to slip from his hand and the barren landscape further accentuates the tragedy of the soldiers. An atrocious and lonely death. It is impossible to identify his face, and the slight lack of sharpness of the image allows one to intuit the urgency of a photographer who triggers the shutter at the same moment they are startled by the horror of the scene.

Where the Pyrenees plunge into the Mediterranean Sea, some rocks resist submergence. The water reaches great depths close to the coast, and yet, some islets protrude, like perennial icebergs. Two of these islets are found at the tip of Cap de Creus, near the lighthouse: s'Encalladora and the Massa d'Or (or Maça d'Oros).

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