July-August barefoot in the sand, the smell of wax and sunscreen, the fingertips crumpled by salt water. Olatua is born as a naive teenager with an impatient summer ahead. That of the prisoners of this wonderful place where the others come on holiday without ever staying there. Olatua is a concentrate of suspended memories. Memories of a short history, with no future but unforgettable. A wave of submerging euphoria recedes in September, as if nothing ever existed. It sticks to the skin, its wake persists. Yet we have to move on. If the candor fades with the passing summers, Olatua allows us not to forget, to be reminded by the wave.
