Chasing Light: Discovering Sorolla

Joaquin Sorolla | The Cinematographic Light

I first discovered Joaquín Sorolla almost by accident. One painting here, another image there—glimpses of an artist whose light felt uncannily familiar, as if I had seen it before without fully understanding why. The connection was faint at first, more like a visual déjà vu than a conscious recognition. But the encounters continued, and each one pulled me closer.

One of those moments came when Eve Kahn, ever the generous guide through the cultural labyrinth of New York, pointed me toward Sorolla’s monumental mural at the Hispanic Society. Vision of Spain—I believe that’s the title—struck me not only for its scale but for the astonishing way Sorolla seemed to choreograph daylight. Not imitate it. Not paint it. Choreograph it.

Then came a conversation with master cinematographer Ricardo Aronovich, who confessed (with the delight of someone sharing a treasured secret) that Sorolla was one of his favorite painters precisely because of the light. He added—almost as a matter of fact—that Weinschenk–Tabernero was similarly drawn to Sorolla’s work. In their view, Sorolla’s canvases contain quiet lessons about exposure, reflection, and the emotional temperature of luminance. Lessons that subtly shaped the way these cinematographers approached their craft. Suddenly, the connection I had sensed began to take form: Sorolla’s light teaches cinema how to breathe.

Chasing Light: Discovering Sorolla

This coming June, I will temporarily move to Madrid, seeking quiet and proximity to the locations central to Sonata Mulattica, the film I’m developing with Rita Dove about George Bridgetower. During that year, I intend to continue following Sorolla’s light as deliberately as I follow Bridgetower’s footsteps. And the coincidence (or perhaps the inevitability) is that the Sorolla House-Museum—his home, studio, and sanctuary—is only a few blocks from where I plan to settle. I imagine myself walking there often, letting those sunlit gardens and persistent shadows become part of my daily rhythm.

The short film I am Chasing Light: Discovering Sorolla, and sharing here is nothing more than a quick study—a montage of luminosity and shadow, a meditation on Sorolla’s way of sculpting daylight, a hint of guitar strings reverberating behind images that refuse to sit still. It is a first step, a way of preparing the eye before standing in front of the original canvases.

More than anything, it is a gesture of anticipation.