As a documentary photographer interested in the tensions caused by urban growth in geography, anthropology, history, and sociology, Manolo Laguillo is keenly aware of the need to reflect on the boundaries of the medium. Consequently, his work always possesses an element of the experimental. In view of his interests in architecture and its historical and social implications, Laguillo received a commission from the Banco de España in 2020 to visually explore the work of the architect of its headquarters, Eduardo de Adaro. The artist described the project thus: “As the idea was to go beyond mere reproduction, to photograph deliberately and construct a discourse that represents it, I opted for an approach not without subjectivity, meaning one clear of the mannerisms of conventional architectural photography. I sought to create a coherent series of photographs that, consistent with my other work, cast a new light on this Restoration-era architect.”

In this series, Laguillo has selected several photographs focusing on the iconic clock tower with bells by David Glasgow, which has been marking time from the corner of the building facing the plaza de Cibeles since 1 January 1891. The clock remains a prominent symbol of the institution and one of the most recognizable landmarks in the city. Laguillo captures the clock through a measured passage, in a suspenseful temporal sequence, progressing from the exterior to the interior. The public view of the institution thereby gradually unfolds to yield perspectives typically reserved for a few: first, the clock as seen from the rooftops and from behind, and then, as if in a vivisection, its complex and fascinating clockworks, culminating in the enigmatic presence of the iron and wood pendulum suspended over a concrete floor. In doing so, he unveils the most intimate and unexpected image of the clock, which provided regularity to the start of shareholders’ meetings (and hence ensured attendees’ punctuality) and eventually extended its influence to the public sphere, affecting passersby as well.

It is precisely this position, that of the urban pedestrian, Laguillo first adopts in the images preceding those of the interiors, which are especially striking for revealing how technology seems to overpower architecture, crossing the building’s usual boundaries and floor layouts. In this sense, Laguillo demonstrates how timekeeping technology asserts itself as hegemonic, eclipsing all other considerations. Just as Adaro’s architecture represented the vanguard of its time and a forward-thinking approach to contemporary needs, so too did the work of the clockmaker David Glasgow, who in 1899 determined that his clock’s movement should embody the latest technical innovations and achieve the highest precision. As the specialist Amelia Aranda Huete notes, “The pendulum was to be constructed with thermal compensation, ensuring that timekeeping would vary by no more than four or five seconds per week. [Glasgow] also decided that the clocks inside the bank would be controlled by this master clock.”

Laguillo’s photographs are arranged chronologically, with the time each was shot recorded. This serves to emphasize that time is also a decisive factor for the photographer: the exposure time, the time’s influence on the light, the time constraints of the workday; these clues chronicle his passage. Laguillo aims for viewers to know where and when he paused and what captured his attention – that this approach, this sort of photographic stalking, is recorded: first from the street, then on the rooftops, and finally from within. In this series, Laguillo has also eliminated color to ensure formal homogeneity across the images, maintaining the clock as the central theme. The arrangement of the photographs is also significant, echoing that of the clock itself in a kind of schematic reconstruction from the individual fragments: the dial and bell at the top, the clockworks in the middle, and the pendulum at the bottom. 

Carlos Martín