The Market Is Closed. Life Isn’t
A Sunday photo story from Valencia
At the first PhotoHunt challenge, we planned to photograph the vibrant and colorful Mercado Central in Valencia — a place filled with colors, textures, details, and life. But unfortunately, we discovered that on Sundays it is closed. Still, we decided not to change either the day or the location. Instead, we went hunting for beauty and aesthetics in a Valencian Sunday morning.
To our surprise, the location welcomed us with a whirl of life, hopes, joy, excitement, and calm — a whole spectrum of different worlds brought together by the small street market beside the silent Mercado Central.
A closed market does not mean the absence of life. On the contrary — life finds new forms.
I began thinking about the theme I wanted to share here. Walking around the building, observing the environment, feeling the atmosphere of the old city of Valencia, a simple but precise thought came to me:
No matter what happens — life never stops. Some things may disappear, close, slow down. But one thing remains unchanged — life does not wait. It continues.
I wanted to show this contrast through my frames: where architecture and details are stable, silent, almost eternal, while people around move this world forward in an unstoppable flow, creating a blurred and continuous wave of life.
In many ways, life can feel like chaos — a collection of fleeting moments. But some things remain constant: relationships, values, movement, curiosity, emotions. All of this — and more — runs like a thin thread through centuries and generations, shaping our shared urban life.
It was fascinating to observe what people were searching for, why, and for whom. How they chose what to buy. Watching their emotions. Some lingered longer, carefully studying books on the tables. Others grabbed a souvenir and rushed away, as if carrying a quiet sense of fear of missing out.
If for buyers these were brief stories of contact with something new — with desires, thoughts, emotions — it was no less interesting to observe the sellers. Some came with friends and enjoyed sincere conversations, occasionally turning their attention to customers. Some clearly loved what they were doing — talking to passersby, laughing, telling stories, arranging more and more books. And some… were simply trying to exhale and find a moment of grounding in the swirl of this dense, vibrant existence.
A Man and His Books
I noticed this man as he approached a table of books. He stood out from the others somehow. Loneliness — but also self-sufficiency. Depth and perhaps pain. Something subtle and human caught my attention instantly, and I decided to observe him for a while.
Slowly, methodically, patiently, he looked through the books. Was he searching for something specific or simply browsing? Taking one after another, turning the pages, he seemed to be searching for something special — something that might warm his soul on this cold day. He touched the books with care and respect. He looked into the camera only once. And in that moment, I found myself wishing I could hear even a fragment of his stories.
This person left me with so many quiet inner questions. Who is he? What is he looking for? What does he remember? And did he find his book that day?
Small People of a Big City
This story unfolded on the other side of Mercado Central in Valencia. A true burst of energy and excitement.
I did not expect to see so many parents and children together, equally fascinated and involved in something shared. To be honest, I have no idea what those cards and figurines meant that they were buying. But from the youngest to the oldest — everyone examined them with passion in their eyes, writing notes, crossing things out, comparing, searching again.
Everyone knew why they were there. Here and there, they spread out their collections, discussed, laughed, and proudly showed each other what they had found. It felt as if parents and children had gone on a shared treasure hunt — equally meaningful for all of them.
It was a beautiful image of generations united.
I didn’t start photographing right away. It felt important first to explore — to see, hear, and feel the space and the people around me.
I liked not interfering. I was an observer. Slowly moving between human stories, I caught moments that felt beautiful and resonated somewhere deep inside. Sometimes I simply stood without a camera, dissolving into the space, enjoying the life unfolding around me.
This is a story about a city. About people. About continuity. About relationships, emotions, and life itself.