El último Vaquero en la Tierra ("The Last Cowboy on Earth") was created during my trip to Fuerteventura, where I was working on a photographic and film project for Fujifilm.

From the very beginning, the film was conceived as a poetic and metaphorical story about a cowboy living on the island. He was never meant to represent one specific person, but rather someone searching for his own path while trying to preserve his identity in a rapidly changing world. To me, the island is both a home and a place of isolation. It is the place that shaped him and the place he deeply loves, yet over time it also becomes a kind of prison, separating him from the rest of the world. Ultimately, the film is about finding your own path while remaining true to yourself.

Alongside the film, I wanted to create a photographic series that explored the same ideas through the landscapes of Fuerteventura. Before travelling there, I imagined photographing vast, raw and almost empty spaces. They feel both unfamiliar and strangely intimate at the same time, creating a profound sense of presence and connection with nature.

I grew up surrounded by American popular culture—westerns, cowboy stories, films and books—which profoundly shaped my imagination. That fascination naturally became part of this project.

The title refers to the cowboy you see in the photograph, but it should not be understood literally. He is not a portrait of one specific individual. Rather, he represents anyone searching for their own path while trying to preserve their identity in a constantly changing world.

Looking back, I realised that this photograph became the meeting point of many different influences: the landscapes of Fuerteventura, my fascination with the mythology of the American West, and my long-standing exploration of light, colour and geometry. All of those influences had existed somewhere in my imagination for years, simply waiting for the moment when they could come together in a single frame.

Yes, there is an actual cowboy in the frame, but he is not intended to portray one specific person. The figure functions more as an archetype than as an individual character.

For me, he represents someone searching for meaning, identity and belonging in a world that is constantly changing. The photograph works on both levels: there is a real cowboy in the image, but the title invites the viewer to see him as something more universal.

The title came afterwards.

When I made the photograph, I simply knew that everything in front of me had suddenly fallen into place. Only later did I realise how naturally it connected with the ideas I had already been exploring in the film project.

The title wasn't created to explain the image. Rather, it emerged because the photograph already belonged to the same story.

The photograph happened completely unexpectedly.

While walking through the streets of El Cotillo, I suddenly saw all the elements of the frame come together. Nothing had been planned. The harsh sunlight, the bold colours, the architecture and the figure suddenly formed a complete image. At that very moment, I knew I had found the photograph.

Only afterwards did I realise that I had been carrying this image within me for many years. It had simply been waiting for the right circumstances to appear.

Geometry has played an important role in my photography for many years. I have always been fascinated by the relationship between architecture, light and shadow, but I rarely go out with the intention of finding one particular image. Instead, I carry these visual ideas somewhere in the back of my mind until one day I recognise them in the real world.

Many times, I have deliberately chosen a location, the time of day and a subject in order to build exactly this relationship between geometry, light and the human figure. In that sense, this photograph was no different. The creative process was exactly the same. The only difference was that instead of constructing the scene myself, I recognised it as it already existed. My role was simply to notice the moment when all of those elements aligned perfectly.

I often think that photography is less about creating images than recognising them when they finally appear. This photograph felt exactly like that.

One of the photographs that remains closest to me is this image I made in London in 2008. I was still very young and only beginning to discover photography, yet when I look at it today, I can already see many of the ideas that continue to shape my work.

Geometry, the relationship between architecture and the human figure, a sense of solitude, scale and mystery—those elements were already there, long before I consciously understood that they would become part of my visual language.

I still consider this one of my best photographs. What makes it especially meaningful to me is that it revealed something fundamental about the way I naturally see the world. Looking back, I feel that this image quietly set the direction for my development as a photographer. It taught me that I was less interested in documenting reality than in discovering moments where space, light and a single human presence come together to create an emotional experience.

It fascinates me that, almost twenty years later, I am still exploring many of the same questions. My style has evolved considerably, but its foundations were already present in this photograph.

The connection with Mondrian came afterwards.

It was only when I looked at the photograph on the back of my camera that I realised how strongly it echoed his compositions through its geometry, colour and balance. That reference was never intentional. Like many of the meanings within this photograph, I only discovered it after the image already existed.