Hola, amigos —welcome back to Sombra Y Cultura. I’m Chris. Today, I want to take you on a walk — through narrow alleys and shadowy corners of a city in flux; a walk through a time frozen in monochrome, through the lens of a man who called the street his studio.

Imagine a city of cobblestones and worn facades, a city of whispered conversations, furtive glances, lives lived in public but often invisible — and a photographer who carried a camera hidden at his side, quietly documenting everything.

That city was Barcelona. That photographer was Joan Colom.

Let’s walk with him.

Joan Colom i Altemir was born in Barcelona, 1921. For much of his early adulthood he worked as an accountant — a “normal” job in a normal life. But around age 36-37, Colom decided to pursue something else: photography. In 1957, he joined the Agrupació Fotogràfica de Catalunya (AFC).

From that moment on, he carried a camera — quietly, secretly — and began to see his city differently. The people, the alleys, the shadows — everything became subject,story, moment.

He wasn’t part of an elite, glamorous photography world. He was self-taught. He had a day job. He worked the streets. In his own words: “Yo hago la calle” — “I do the street.”

Colom’s most legendary work stems from the late 1950s and early 1960s, when he focused on Barcelona’s under-belly — especially the neighborhood then known as the“Barrio Chino,” now called El Raval. (If you want to view Joan's work, click here)

He didn’t photograph from a distance, nor did he stage scenes. Instead, he shot from the hip, often without using the viewfinder, letting life unfold naturally in front of him.

The result: hundreds of images of street-life — children walking home, laborers returning from work, dim lit doorways, quiet corners, rough faces, fleeting glances.

There was something honest, raw, urgent about his vision. He captured not only poverty or marginality — but humanity, dignity, resilience.

Among his early published work was the series known as Izas, rabizas y colipoterras (1964), a photo-book with text by the writer Camilo José Cela that included Colom’s images from the streets.

But that book sparked controversy — and due to a lawsuit by one of the women portrayed, Colom retreated from photography for decades.

Despite that painful interruption, the images remained — witnesses of a Barcelona that was rarely seen, rarely spoken about, rarely documented.

After decades away, Colom returned — and the world around him had changed. By then, many recognized how singular his vision had been.

In 2002, he received Spain’s National Photography Prize.

In the years that followed, other honors followed — including the Golden Medal for Cultural Merit from the Barcelona City Council, the National Visual Arts Prize of Catalonia, and the Creu de Sant Jordi.

In 2012, he donated his photographic archive to the Museu Nacional d'Art de Catalunya (MNAC), including more than 9,000 prints, negatives, and even an 8 mm film —making possible a full retrospective titled I Work the Street (1957–2010).

Today, Colom is considered one of the great documentary street photographers of 20th-century Spain — and his work stands as historical record, social memory, and artistic vision all at once.

Why does Joan Colom still matter today? What sets his photos apart? There are a few reasons that make his work timeless:

• Truth over glamour: He rejected staged portraiture or stylized photography. He photographed life as it happened — raw, unfiltered, real. His images don’t romanticize — they document, they observe.
• Empathy and respect: Even when photographing what many considered “marginal” — workers, women on the streets, children — Colom never objectified. He acknowledged dignity. These are human stories.
• Street as living archive: His photographs document a Barcelona of another era — neighborhoods, faces, details, ambiance — all lost in modernity now. They preserve memory, not as nostalgia, but as testimony.

Courage and subtlety: Taking photos with a hidden camera in a repressive, conservative era — when many looked down on those neighborhoods —required bravery and deep commitment.

Picture this: we start with a soft soundscape — footsteps on cobblestones, distant traffic,ambient city noise — and I ask you to close your eyes and drift into the streets of 1950s Barcelona.

Then we introduce Joan Colom: a man with a ledger and calculator by day, a camera-bearing wanderer by night.

We track his first hesitant frames, his fascination with people and alleys, his discovery of the Raval’s hidden life — the beauty in what many ignored.

We follow the creation of his series La Calle, his clandestine photographing style, the risk, the raw honesty.

We then confront the controversy, his withdrawal, the darkness of being erased from sight — and years later, the redemption: rediscovery, recognition, legacy.

Finally, we step back and ask: why does this matter today — for us, for photography, for memory?

If this story — this journey through forgotten streets and captured lives — resonates with you, I invite you to click this link to support Sombra Y Cultura. Your help makes it possible to keep uncovering voices, pictures, and stories that matter.

No pressure — just a gentle thank you for keeping the light on.

My Final Thoughts

I often wonder how many stories go unnoticed — streets we pass without seeing, faces we glance at without reading, lives lived without record.

Joan Colom teaches us that photography doesn’t always need a big studio, a perfect light, or grand ambition. Sometimes all it needs is a watchful eye, compassion, and a willingness to be invisible in order to see what’s real.

His photographs are not pretty postcards. They’re honest. They remind us of where we come from. They honor the invisible.

And they challenge us: to look, to remember, to care.

Thank you so much for walking these streets with me today. If this episode moved you — if Joan Colom’s vision stirred something in your heart — please consider leaving alike, subscribing, or writing a review on Spotify or Apple Podcasts. It helps others find these stories, and it helps this podcast live on.

If you want to support our mission a little further, the donation link up above is a quiet way to help keep the lights on and the stories flowing.

I’m Chris, and until next time — gracias por escuchar, gracias por ver con nuevos ojos, and always — keep looking through the lens with respect, empathy, and curiosity.