In Barbecho, there’s a strong connection between landscape and memory. What does the idea of “going back to your hometown” mean to you? What would you like readers to take away from the book?
I was born in Teruel, but I’ve always maintained a strong connection to Pancrudo, my grandparents’ village. For me, going back there means returning to my point of origin. I’ve been away from home for about ten years now, and although I’ve learned a lot in the cities I’ve lived in, I always feel the need to go back from time to time.
I believe that our roots, where we grow up, our family, and so on become an important part of how we see the world. So returning to Pancrudo makes me look back at all of that, at the context I come from. It helps me situate myself within it and better understand who I am in other places.
Personally, I’d like readers to make the story their own. I hope the book encourages them to reflect on their own roots and to see them as something worth considering. And for those who feel more distant from the topic, I hope it offers a perspective on rural depopulation from our point of view, showing that it’s not just villages emptying out, but also a loss of culture and identity.
How was your experience in the Master’s in Illustration and Visual Narrative at Elisava? What role did it play in the development of Barbecho?
The Master’s was an opportunity to immerse myself in references and start understanding everything that surrounds comics as a medium. Beyond developing Barbecho as my final project—which helped me structure the process—I feel the novel was mainly enriched by the classroom environment throughout the year.
It was ten months full of conversations, assignments, and readings about comics, where I discovered works and artists I might never have come across on my own. Combined with the experience of the professors and the work of my classmates, it really opened my eyes to the many different ways this medium can be approached.