Fête de la Musique 2026: When Paris Became the Dancefloor

DOUBTS - Paolo Roversi at the MOP Foundation

There is something slightly strange about having one of the world's most important photography foundations sitting in A Coruña. Perhaps because the city is not normally the first place that comes to mind when we think about fashion photography, or perhaps because the scale of what the MOP Foundation has created here still feels relatively new. Either way, walking into the MOP is a reminder that interesting things do not always have to happen in the places we expect them to. The Marta Ortega Pérez Foundation was established in 2022 with three ideas at its centre: A Coruña, photography and fashion. Since then, it has brought some of the most important names in the history of photography to the city, from Peter Lindbergh and Steven Meisel to Helmut Newton, Irving Penn, David Bailey and Annie Leibovitz. The exhibitions are free, and the Foundation has also developed educational initiatives and Future Stories, a program supporting young creatives at the beginning of their careers. It is an impressive program by any standard. It becomes even more impressive when you consider where it takes place. The MOP Centre occupies a former industrial space on A Coruña's Muelle de Batería, restored and reimagined by local architect Elsa Urquijo. What was once part of the working infrastructure of the port has become a place dedicated to looking, thinking and spending time with photography. The building itself is worth paying attention to. There is something particularly satisfying about seeing an old industrial structure retain its character while being given an entirely new purpose. This summer, that space belongs to Paolo Roversi. For anyone interested in photography, Roversi hardly needs an introduction, although his work deserves considerably more attention than a list of fashion clients would suggest. Born in Ravenna and based in Paris since the 1970s, Roversi has spent more than four decades developing a photographic language that is immediately recognizable: soft, atmospheric, intimate and often suspended somewhere between photography and painting. His relationship with fashion has been extraordinary. He has worked extensively with Dior, Comme des Garçons, Yohji Yamamoto, Cerruti, Yves Saint Laurent, Valentino, Armani and Chanel, among others, while his photographs have appeared in publications including Vogue Italia, Vogue America, W, Vanity Fair and i-D. His collaborators have included some of the most important designers and models of the last four decades, from Rei Kawakubo and Yohji Yamamoto to Kate Moss, Stella Tennant, Natalia Vodianova and Saskia de Brauw. But looking at Doubts simply as an exhibition of fashion photography would be missing the point. Roversi has always been much more interested in what happens between the photograph and the person in front of his camera. His images often feel as though they have been allowed to exist rather than forced into existence. There is movement, blur, imperfection and a particular softness to the light that makes even the most recognizable faces feel strangely private. His techniques are equally important. Roversi became fascinated with large-format Polaroid in the early 1980s and has continued to explore its possibilities throughout his career. He has also deliberately embraced accidents and imperfections, including an accidental processing experiment in 1990 that produced a colour negative from black-and-white Polaroid material and opened another avenue of experimentation. His work has incorporated slow exposures, movement, blurred focus, unusual lighting and, at various points, even the use of a simple flashlight to illuminate his subjects. There is a lovely contradiction in all of this. Roversi has spent his career working within an industry obsessed with perfection, yet so much of his best work seems to come from allowing things to remain unresolved... Which brings us to the title: Doubts. For Roversi, doubt isn't something to overcome. It is where the interesting part begins. He describes doubt as an open door to creativity and imagination, whereas certainty closes it. The exhibition takes that idea and turns it into the organizing principle of the entire experience. Rather than presenting his career chronologically, Doubts moves through nine interconnected spaces: Theatre, Appearances, Shadows, Doubts, People, Presence, Grace, Beauty and Fading. Each room approaches his work from a different angle, creating something closer to a journey through his way of seeing than a traditional retrospective. The exhibition brings together around 196 works, including some of his most recognizable photographs alongside images that have never previously been shown. Perhaps the most memorable thing about Doubts is how dramatically the exhibition controls it. You move through rooms that can feel almost completely dark, with the surrounding space deliberately disappearing around you. Then, seemingly suspended in that darkness, a photograph is illuminated with extraordinary precision. Nothing competes with it. There is no visual noise around the image. You are given the photograph, and almost nothing else. Roversi's photographs already depend heavily on the relationship between light and shadow, and the exhibition seems to understand that showing them requires something more than simply putting them on a white wall. The darkness becomes part of the work. It slows you down. It changes your eyes. It makes you look at the photograph differently. That is also why the MOP space works so beautifully for this exhibition. The former industrial warehouse has been transformed without losing the feeling that it once belonged to something else. Concrete, timber, darkness, open space and carefully controlled light sit alongside photographs that were created in studios, backstage rooms, fashion houses and private moments around the world. The contrast between the history of the building and the delicacy of Roversi's work is what makes the experience feel so specific to A Coruña. It would be easy to see an exhibition like this as something that belongs in Paris, Milan, London or New York... Instead, it is here. And that might be the part we should appreciate most. We spend a lot of time talking about how lucky we are to live in Spain and to have access to so much incredible art. Doubts is another example of that privilege, but perhaps an even more local one. You don't need to fly anywhere, buy an expensive ticket or plan a weekend around it. You can simply walk down to the port in A Coruña and spend an afternoon with the work of one of the great photographers of the last half-century. Paolo Roversi's Doubts is at the MOP Foundation until September 20. Admission is free.

DOUBTS - Paolo Roversi at the MOP Foundation

There is something slightly strange about having one of the world's most important photography foundations sitting in A Coruña. Perhaps because the city is not normally the first place that comes to mind when we think about fashion photography, or perhaps because the scale of what the MOP Foundation has created here still feels relatively new. Either way, walking into the MOP is a reminder that interesting things do not always have to happen in the places we expect them to. The Marta Ortega Pérez Foundation was established in 2022 with three ideas at its centre: A Coruña, photography and fashion. Since then, it has brought some of the most important names in the history of photography to the city, from Peter Lindbergh and Steven Meisel to Helmut Newton, Irving Penn, David Bailey and Annie Leibovitz. The exhibitions are free, and the Foundation has also developed educational initiatives and Future Stories, a program supporting young creatives at the beginning of their careers. It is an impressive program by any standard. It becomes even more impressive when you consider where it takes place. The MOP Centre occupies a former industrial space on A Coruña's Muelle de Batería, restored and reimagined by local architect Elsa Urquijo. What was once part of the working infrastructure of the port has become a place dedicated to looking, thinking and spending time with photography. The building itself is worth paying attention to. There is something particularly satisfying about seeing an old industrial structure retain its character while being given an entirely new purpose. This summer, that space belongs to Paolo Roversi. For anyone interested in photography, Roversi hardly needs an introduction, although his work deserves considerably more attention than a list of fashion clients would suggest. Born in Ravenna and based in Paris since the 1970s, Roversi has spent more than four decades developing a photographic language that is immediately recognizable: soft, atmospheric, intimate and often suspended somewhere between photography and painting. His relationship with fashion has been extraordinary. He has worked extensively with Dior, Comme des Garçons, Yohji Yamamoto, Cerruti, Yves Saint Laurent, Valentino, Armani and Chanel, among others, while his photographs have appeared in publications including Vogue Italia, Vogue America, W, Vanity Fair and i-D. His collaborators have included some of the most important designers and models of the last four decades, from Rei Kawakubo and Yohji Yamamoto to Kate Moss, Stella Tennant, Natalia Vodianova and Saskia de Brauw. But looking at Doubts simply as an exhibition of fashion photography would be missing the point. Roversi has always been much more interested in what happens between the photograph and the person in front of his camera. His images often feel as though they have been allowed to exist rather than forced into existence. There is movement, blur, imperfection and a particular softness to the light that makes even the most recognizable faces feel strangely private. His techniques are equally important. Roversi became fascinated with large-format Polaroid in the early 1980s and has continued to explore its possibilities throughout his career. He has also deliberately embraced accidents and imperfections, including an accidental processing experiment in 1990 that produced a colour negative from black-and-white Polaroid material and opened another avenue of experimentation. His work has incorporated slow exposures, movement, blurred focus, unusual lighting and, at various points, even the use of a simple flashlight to illuminate his subjects. There is a lovely contradiction in all of this. Roversi has spent his career working within an industry obsessed with perfection, yet so much of his best work seems to come from allowing things to remain unresolved... Which brings us to the title: Doubts. For Roversi, doubt isn't something to overcome. It is where the interesting part begins. He describes doubt as an open door to creativity and imagination, whereas certainty closes it. The exhibition takes that idea and turns it into the organizing principle of the entire experience. Rather than presenting his career chronologically, Doubts moves through nine interconnected spaces: Theatre, Appearances, Shadows, Doubts, People, Presence, Grace, Beauty and Fading. Each room approaches his work from a different angle, creating something closer to a journey through his way of seeing than a traditional retrospective. The exhibition brings together around 196 works, including some of his most recognizable photographs alongside images that have never previously been shown. Perhaps the most memorable thing about Doubts is how dramatically the exhibition controls it. You move through rooms that can feel almost completely dark, with the surrounding space deliberately disappearing around you. Then, seemingly suspended in that darkness, a photograph is illuminated with extraordinary precision. Nothing competes with it. There is no visual noise around the image. You are given the photograph, and almost nothing else. Roversi's photographs already depend heavily on the relationship between light and shadow, and the exhibition seems to understand that showing them requires something more than simply putting them on a white wall. The darkness becomes part of the work. It slows you down. It changes your eyes. It makes you look at the photograph differently. That is also why the MOP space works so beautifully for this exhibition. The former industrial warehouse has been transformed without losing the feeling that it once belonged to something else. Concrete, timber, darkness, open space and carefully controlled light sit alongside photographs that were created in studios, backstage rooms, fashion houses and private moments around the world. The contrast between the history of the building and the delicacy of Roversi's work is what makes the experience feel so specific to A Coruña. It would be easy to see an exhibition like this as something that belongs in Paris, Milan, London or New York... Instead, it is here. And that might be the part we should appreciate most. We spend a lot of time talking about how lucky we are to live in Spain and to have access to so much incredible art. Doubts is another example of that privilege, but perhaps an even more local one. You don't need to fly anywhere, buy an expensive ticket or plan a weekend around it. You can simply walk down to the port in A Coruña and spend an afternoon with the work of one of the great photographers of the last half-century. Paolo Roversi's Doubts is at the MOP Foundation until September 20. Admission is free.

Westside Gunn x Saucony Grid Jazz 9

There are a few artists who slowly build an entire universe around themselves and go beyond music. This is the case of Westside Gunn. Over the last decade, he has transformed Griselda from an underground label in Buffalo into one of the most respected names in contemporary hip-hop, but reducing him to "rapper" has never really done him justice. Listen to one of his records, spend five minutes on his Instagram or walk through one of the exhibitions he's put together during Art Basel and it quickly becomes obvious that music is only one part of the equation. The references never stop. Professional wrestling, Basquiat, Japanese fashion, Luxury tailoring, records, Virgil Abloh, Maison Margiela and of course... Buffalo. They all exist in the same conversation, and somehow it never feels forced. One of the things we've always admired about Westside Gunn is his ability to make people look (or listen, sometimes both) twice. His albums are full of references that don't necessarily reveal themselves on the first listen. The artwork surrounding every release is treated with the same care as the music itself, and over the years he has become just as known for commissioning painters, photographers and designers as he has for the records that accompany them. That's probably why this project with Saucony feels so natural. It doesn't feel like somebody was handed a silhouette and told to "make it artistic." It feels like another piece of Westside Gunn's world. The Grid Jazz 9 has always been one of Saucony's strongest archive silhouettes. Originally designed as a high-mileage running shoe, it has gradually found a second life outside performance, becoming one of those early-2000s models that feels just as relevant today as it did twenty years ago. Instead of stripping it back, Gunn does exactly the opposite: the entire upper becomes a canvas: pink, cream, brown and black all somehow manage to coexist without ever feeling chaotic. Like much of his work, the more time you spend looking at it, the more details begin to emerge. The packaging deserves just as much attention. Rather than another oversized collaborative box covered in logos, Saucony and Westside Gunn present the shoe inside what looks more like an object frame than a shoebox. Before you've even opened it, the message is already there. This isn't something that was designed to disappear into a stack of boxes in the wardrobe...It's something you're expected to keep. That attention to presentation says a lot about how Gunn approaches everything he creates. Whether it's an album, a vinyl pressing, an exhibition catalogue or now a sneaker, the object itself matters just as much as what's inside. There is a tendency today to separate culture into neat categories. Music over here. Fashion over there. Art somewhere else... Westside Gunn has spent years ignoring those boundaries. He's brought painters into rap, rappers into galleries, wrestling into luxury fashion and Buffalo into conversations usually dominated by New York, Paris or Milan. Somehow, it all makes sense because none of it feels calculated. They're simply the things that have shaped him. The Saucony collaboration reflects exactly that. Not because it's covered in artwork, but because it carries the same point of view that has defined everything else he's touched. The Grid Jazz 9 doesn't pretend to be minimal. It doesn't chase trends or rely on nostalgia alone. Instead, it feels like walking into someone's studio and seeing half-finished canvases leaning against the walls, books piled on tables and records playing quietly in the background. The shoe is simply another object in that room. And perhaps that's why it works so well.

Westside Gunn x Saucony Grid Jazz 9

There are a few artists who slowly build an entire universe around themselves and go beyond music. This is the case of Westside Gunn. Over the last decade, he has transformed Griselda from an underground label in Buffalo into one of the most respected names in contemporary hip-hop, but reducing him to "rapper" has never really done him justice. Listen to one of his records, spend five minutes on his Instagram or walk through one of the exhibitions he's put together during Art Basel and it quickly becomes obvious that music is only one part of the equation. The references never stop. Professional wrestling, Basquiat, Japanese fashion, Luxury tailoring, records, Virgil Abloh, Maison Margiela and of course... Buffalo. They all exist in the same conversation, and somehow it never feels forced. One of the things we've always admired about Westside Gunn is his ability to make people look (or listen, sometimes both) twice. His albums are full of references that don't necessarily reveal themselves on the first listen. The artwork surrounding every release is treated with the same care as the music itself, and over the years he has become just as known for commissioning painters, photographers and designers as he has for the records that accompany them. That's probably why this project with Saucony feels so natural. It doesn't feel like somebody was handed a silhouette and told to "make it artistic." It feels like another piece of Westside Gunn's world. The Grid Jazz 9 has always been one of Saucony's strongest archive silhouettes. Originally designed as a high-mileage running shoe, it has gradually found a second life outside performance, becoming one of those early-2000s models that feels just as relevant today as it did twenty years ago. Instead of stripping it back, Gunn does exactly the opposite: the entire upper becomes a canvas: pink, cream, brown and black all somehow manage to coexist without ever feeling chaotic. Like much of his work, the more time you spend looking at it, the more details begin to emerge. The packaging deserves just as much attention. Rather than another oversized collaborative box covered in logos, Saucony and Westside Gunn present the shoe inside what looks more like an object frame than a shoebox. Before you've even opened it, the message is already there. This isn't something that was designed to disappear into a stack of boxes in the wardrobe...It's something you're expected to keep. That attention to presentation says a lot about how Gunn approaches everything he creates. Whether it's an album, a vinyl pressing, an exhibition catalogue or now a sneaker, the object itself matters just as much as what's inside. There is a tendency today to separate culture into neat categories. Music over here. Fashion over there. Art somewhere else... Westside Gunn has spent years ignoring those boundaries. He's brought painters into rap, rappers into galleries, wrestling into luxury fashion and Buffalo into conversations usually dominated by New York, Paris or Milan. Somehow, it all makes sense because none of it feels calculated. They're simply the things that have shaped him. The Saucony collaboration reflects exactly that. Not because it's covered in artwork, but because it carries the same point of view that has defined everything else he's touched. The Grid Jazz 9 doesn't pretend to be minimal. It doesn't chase trends or rely on nostalgia alone. Instead, it feels like walking into someone's studio and seeing half-finished canvases leaning against the walls, books piled on tables and records playing quietly in the background. The shoe is simply another object in that room. And perhaps that's why it works so well.

What If Miró Designed the Jumpman?

Originally released in 2008, the shoe has always felt slightly different from the rest of the Jordan archive. It doesn't simply reference basketball. It connects basketball, the Olympics, Barcelona and modern art through the work of one of Spain's most important artists, Joan Miró. Now, almost two decades later, the “Miró” is returning. And for us, it felt like the perfect opportunity to ask a simple question: What would the Jumpman look like if Miró were interpreting it today? To understand the “Miró,” you have to go back to 1992. Michael Jordan arrived in Barcelona as part of the United States Olympic “Dream Team,” arguably the most important basketball team ever assembled. The Air Jordan 7 had been introduced that same year, designed by Tinker Hatfield, and its identity became inseparable from that moment. Jordan wore the model during the Barcelona Games, helping establish the AJ7 as a symbol of basketball's arrival on a truly global stage. Barcelona itself became part of the mythology. And it wasn't just because of basketball. The city was undergoing a cultural transformation, and at its centre was an artistic language that had been developing for decades. Joan Miró had spent much of his life connected to Barcelona, developing a visual vocabulary built around primary colours, organic forms, lines, symbols and an almost childlike sense of freedom. One of his most recognisable public works, Dona i Ocell — Woman and Bird — became an especially important reference point for the Jordan 7 “Miró.” Its red, yellow, blue, black and white palette is translated across the shoe in an intentionally irregular way, with colours appearing almost as if they have been painted onto the architecture of the sneaker. And then there are the Olympic references: the number 9 on the heel, representing Jordan's Team USA jersey number in Barcelona rather than his familiar 23, alongside details in the outsole referencing the Games. We've become accustomed to seeing sneakers treated as canvases. Collaborations between artists, designers, musicians, fashion houses and sports brands have become commonplace. But the “Miró” arrived at a very different moment. In 2008, the current obsession with constant collaborations and endless storytelling around sneakers hadn't yet reached the scale it has today. The original pair was produced in very limited quantities — reported at around 1,000 pairs worldwide — which only added to its status as one of the more unusual and elusive Jordan retros. Because Miró's work wasn't really about putting a few colours together. It was about reducing things to their most expressive forms. A line could become a person. A dot could become an entire universe. A shape didn't necessarily have to represent something recognizable to communicate something. Rather than simply photographing the returning sneaker, we wanted to take the idea behind it and move it forward. The original shoe asks: What happens when Miró's visual language meets the Air Jordan 7? We wanted to ask: What happens when Miró's visual language meets the Jumpman itself? The Jumpman is one of the most recognizable symbols in sports. It is already a piece of visual shorthand. You don't need to see the word Jordan to understand what it represents. So we imagined taking that familiar silhouette and giving it back to Miró. Iimagining how the symbol itself might have evolved if Miró had been the person asked to draw it. The result is deliberately imperfect. The proportions become more organic. The body becomes less anatomical and more symbolic. Limbs turn into lines. Movement becomes a gesture. The figure becomes something that could exist somewhere between a human, a drawing and a constellation of shapes. The colours come directly from the visual vocabulary associated with Miró: red, blue, yellow and black against an almost empty canvas. And importantly, we wanted it to feel painted, rather than digitally constructed. Canvas. Brush. Texture. Imperfection. Because if we're asking what Miró might have done with the Jumpman, it doesn't make sense for the answer to look too polished. This is ultimately what makes the “Miró” such an interesting Jordan. It's a reminder that sneakers can be more than objects. They can be cultural documents. The Air Jordan 7 represents a particular moment when basketball, sport, music, fashion and global culture were colliding. The 2008 “Miró” looked back at that history through Barcelona and one of its most important artists. And now, in 2026, the shoe gives us another opportunity to look backwards while imagining forwards.

What If Miró Designed the Jumpman?

Originally released in 2008, the shoe has always felt slightly different from the rest of the Jordan archive. It doesn't simply reference basketball. It connects basketball, the Olympics, Barcelona and modern art through the work of one of Spain's most important artists, Joan Miró. Now, almost two decades later, the “Miró” is returning. And for us, it felt like the perfect opportunity to ask a simple question: What would the Jumpman look like if Miró were interpreting it today? To understand the “Miró,” you have to go back to 1992. Michael Jordan arrived in Barcelona as part of the United States Olympic “Dream Team,” arguably the most important basketball team ever assembled. The Air Jordan 7 had been introduced that same year, designed by Tinker Hatfield, and its identity became inseparable from that moment. Jordan wore the model during the Barcelona Games, helping establish the AJ7 as a symbol of basketball's arrival on a truly global stage. Barcelona itself became part of the mythology. And it wasn't just because of basketball. The city was undergoing a cultural transformation, and at its centre was an artistic language that had been developing for decades. Joan Miró had spent much of his life connected to Barcelona, developing a visual vocabulary built around primary colours, organic forms, lines, symbols and an almost childlike sense of freedom. One of his most recognisable public works, Dona i Ocell — Woman and Bird — became an especially important reference point for the Jordan 7 “Miró.” Its red, yellow, blue, black and white palette is translated across the shoe in an intentionally irregular way, with colours appearing almost as if they have been painted onto the architecture of the sneaker. And then there are the Olympic references: the number 9 on the heel, representing Jordan's Team USA jersey number in Barcelona rather than his familiar 23, alongside details in the outsole referencing the Games. We've become accustomed to seeing sneakers treated as canvases. Collaborations between artists, designers, musicians, fashion houses and sports brands have become commonplace. But the “Miró” arrived at a very different moment. In 2008, the current obsession with constant collaborations and endless storytelling around sneakers hadn't yet reached the scale it has today. The original pair was produced in very limited quantities — reported at around 1,000 pairs worldwide — which only added to its status as one of the more unusual and elusive Jordan retros. Because Miró's work wasn't really about putting a few colours together. It was about reducing things to their most expressive forms. A line could become a person. A dot could become an entire universe. A shape didn't necessarily have to represent something recognizable to communicate something. Rather than simply photographing the returning sneaker, we wanted to take the idea behind it and move it forward. The original shoe asks: What happens when Miró's visual language meets the Air Jordan 7? We wanted to ask: What happens when Miró's visual language meets the Jumpman itself? The Jumpman is one of the most recognizable symbols in sports. It is already a piece of visual shorthand. You don't need to see the word Jordan to understand what it represents. So we imagined taking that familiar silhouette and giving it back to Miró. Iimagining how the symbol itself might have evolved if Miró had been the person asked to draw it. The result is deliberately imperfect. The proportions become more organic. The body becomes less anatomical and more symbolic. Limbs turn into lines. Movement becomes a gesture. The figure becomes something that could exist somewhere between a human, a drawing and a constellation of shapes. The colours come directly from the visual vocabulary associated with Miró: red, blue, yellow and black against an almost empty canvas. And importantly, we wanted it to feel painted, rather than digitally constructed. Canvas. Brush. Texture. Imperfection. Because if we're asking what Miró might have done with the Jumpman, it doesn't make sense for the answer to look too polished. This is ultimately what makes the “Miró” such an interesting Jordan. It's a reminder that sneakers can be more than objects. They can be cultural documents. The Air Jordan 7 represents a particular moment when basketball, sport, music, fashion and global culture were colliding. The 2008 “Miró” looked back at that history through Barcelona and one of its most important artists. And now, in 2026, the shoe gives us another opportunity to look backwards while imagining forwards.

The Privilege of Living with Miró

There is something quite extraordinary about living in Spain that, perhaps because it is so accessible to us, is very easy to take for granted. We are surrounded by an incredible amount of art, architecture and cultural history, and in many cases, you don't need to plan a trip or buy a ticket to experience it. You can simply walk through the city and come across something that people from all over the world would travel specifically to see. Joan Miró is a particularly good example of this. His work is part of the cultural landscape of Spain in a way that goes far beyond the walls of a museum, and being able to experience it so easily is something we don't think we appreciate enough. Barcelona is obviously one of the best places to understand Miró. The Fundació Joan Miró gives you the opportunity to spend an entire afternoon surrounded by his work, from paintings and sculptures to drawings, ceramics, textiles and the many studies and sketches that reveal how his ideas developed. The collection contains more than 14,000 works, including thousands of preparatory drawings, and the building itself was designed by Josep Lluís Sert with the intention of creating a place where Miró's work could be properly experienced. It is difficult to separate the artist from the city, and equally difficult to spend time with his work in Barcelona without understanding how important that relationship was. But you don't have to go into a museum to find him. You can come back to Madrid and encounter Miró simply by walking through the city. One of our favourite examples is Proalí, the sculpture located at the Museo de Escultura al Aire Libre de La Castellana, underneath the bridge connecting Juan Bravo and Eduardo Dato. The open-air museum was created to bring modern and abstract Spanish sculpture into the public space, and that idea still feels particularly relevant today. There is something very different about coming across a piece of art while going about your normal day rather than deliberately entering a museum to look for it. You can walk under the bridge, see the sculpture, stop for a few minutes, or simply continue on your way. There is no ticket, no reservation and no separation between the work and the city around it. It is just there, in Madrid. A short distance away, there is another very different example of Miró's presence in the city. On the façade of the Palacio de Congresos de Madrid, facing Paseo de la Castellana, is a huge ceramic mosaic created by Miró and produced together with ceramicist Josep Llorens Artigas. Installed in 1980, the mural covers approximately 550 square metres and occupies a substantial part of the building. It is the kind of work that should probably make you stop in your tracks, yet because it has been there for decades, it can become part of the background of the city. People walk past it every day. Cars drive past it. Thousands of people probably see it without really seeing it. That, in many ways, is what we find most interesting about the relationship between Miró and Spain. His work isn't only preserved as something from the past. It remains physically present in the places where people live, work and move around today. Barcelona has an entire foundation dedicated to his work, but Madrid also has pieces of his work integrated into the city itself. You don't necessarily need to be looking for art to find it. Sometimes you just need to pay a little more attention to what is around you. We've been thinking about this quite a lot while working around the return of the Air Jordan 7 “Miró” and our own interpretation of what the Jumpman might look like through his eyes. It is easy to look at Miró through photographs, books or a screen and immediately recognise the shapes, colours and symbols that have become so associated with him. But the more time we spend looking at his work, the more we feel that there is something important that gets lost when you only see it reproduced. The scale of a sculpture, the texture of a ceramic surface, the way a colour changes depending on the light or the way a piece interacts with the architecture around it are all things that don't really translate through a photograph. This is also why we wanted to keep the number of photographs in this story relatively small. We could have filled the page with images of Miró's work, but that would almost defeat the point. There is already an endless amount of his work available to look at online, and we don't think another collection of images is particularly useful when some of these pieces are sitting a short walk or drive away. We'd rather encourage our community to go and experience them in person. If you're in Barcelona, spend some time at the Fundació Joan Miró. If you're in Madrid, go under the Juan Bravo bridge and find Proalí, then continue down towards the Palacio de Congresos and take a proper look at the mural. Don't just photograph it and move on. Look at the scale, the materials and the relationship between the work and everything happening around it. There is something particularly fortunate about being able to experience important work in this way. People travel across the world to see Miró, often planning entire trips around museums and exhibitions dedicated to his work. In Spain, we have the opportunity to encounter him in much more casual circumstances. We can decide to spend an afternoon with his work, but we can also stumble across it on our way somewhere else. That level of access is easy to overlook because it is normal to us, but it really isn't normal in most places. Perhaps that is the real privilege of living here. Not simply having access to great art, but having so much of it become part of everyday life that we sometimes forget to stop and appreciate it. Miró is not only something to be studied in a book or recognised on a sneaker. His work is sitting in our cities, in our museums, on our buildings and in our public spaces. It has been there for decades and, if we take the time to look, it is still there waiting for us. So rather than trying to bring all of that experience to you through a screen, we'd much rather invite you to go and see it for yourselves. We are incredibly fortunate to have this much of Miró so close to us, and it feels worth taking advantage of it. Go under the bridge. Walk down Castellana. Visit the foundation in Barcelona. Stand in front of the work for a while and see what you notice when you aren't looking at it through a phone. Sometimes the best way to understand an artist is simply to stand in front of their work.

The Privilege of Living with Miró

There is something quite extraordinary about living in Spain that, perhaps because it is so accessible to us, is very easy to take for granted. We are surrounded by an incredible amount of art, architecture and cultural history, and in many cases, you don't need to plan a trip or buy a ticket to experience it. You can simply walk through the city and come across something that people from all over the world would travel specifically to see. Joan Miró is a particularly good example of this. His work is part of the cultural landscape of Spain in a way that goes far beyond the walls of a museum, and being able to experience it so easily is something we don't think we appreciate enough. Barcelona is obviously one of the best places to understand Miró. The Fundació Joan Miró gives you the opportunity to spend an entire afternoon surrounded by his work, from paintings and sculptures to drawings, ceramics, textiles and the many studies and sketches that reveal how his ideas developed. The collection contains more than 14,000 works, including thousands of preparatory drawings, and the building itself was designed by Josep Lluís Sert with the intention of creating a place where Miró's work could be properly experienced. It is difficult to separate the artist from the city, and equally difficult to spend time with his work in Barcelona without understanding how important that relationship was. But you don't have to go into a museum to find him. You can come back to Madrid and encounter Miró simply by walking through the city. One of our favourite examples is Proalí, the sculpture located at the Museo de Escultura al Aire Libre de La Castellana, underneath the bridge connecting Juan Bravo and Eduardo Dato. The open-air museum was created to bring modern and abstract Spanish sculpture into the public space, and that idea still feels particularly relevant today. There is something very different about coming across a piece of art while going about your normal day rather than deliberately entering a museum to look for it. You can walk under the bridge, see the sculpture, stop for a few minutes, or simply continue on your way. There is no ticket, no reservation and no separation between the work and the city around it. It is just there, in Madrid. A short distance away, there is another very different example of Miró's presence in the city. On the façade of the Palacio de Congresos de Madrid, facing Paseo de la Castellana, is a huge ceramic mosaic created by Miró and produced together with ceramicist Josep Llorens Artigas. Installed in 1980, the mural covers approximately 550 square metres and occupies a substantial part of the building. It is the kind of work that should probably make you stop in your tracks, yet because it has been there for decades, it can become part of the background of the city. People walk past it every day. Cars drive past it. Thousands of people probably see it without really seeing it. That, in many ways, is what we find most interesting about the relationship between Miró and Spain. His work isn't only preserved as something from the past. It remains physically present in the places where people live, work and move around today. Barcelona has an entire foundation dedicated to his work, but Madrid also has pieces of his work integrated into the city itself. You don't necessarily need to be looking for art to find it. Sometimes you just need to pay a little more attention to what is around you. We've been thinking about this quite a lot while working around the return of the Air Jordan 7 “Miró” and our own interpretation of what the Jumpman might look like through his eyes. It is easy to look at Miró through photographs, books or a screen and immediately recognise the shapes, colours and symbols that have become so associated with him. But the more time we spend looking at his work, the more we feel that there is something important that gets lost when you only see it reproduced. The scale of a sculpture, the texture of a ceramic surface, the way a colour changes depending on the light or the way a piece interacts with the architecture around it are all things that don't really translate through a photograph. This is also why we wanted to keep the number of photographs in this story relatively small. We could have filled the page with images of Miró's work, but that would almost defeat the point. There is already an endless amount of his work available to look at online, and we don't think another collection of images is particularly useful when some of these pieces are sitting a short walk or drive away. We'd rather encourage our community to go and experience them in person. If you're in Barcelona, spend some time at the Fundació Joan Miró. If you're in Madrid, go under the Juan Bravo bridge and find Proalí, then continue down towards the Palacio de Congresos and take a proper look at the mural. Don't just photograph it and move on. Look at the scale, the materials and the relationship between the work and everything happening around it. There is something particularly fortunate about being able to experience important work in this way. People travel across the world to see Miró, often planning entire trips around museums and exhibitions dedicated to his work. In Spain, we have the opportunity to encounter him in much more casual circumstances. We can decide to spend an afternoon with his work, but we can also stumble across it on our way somewhere else. That level of access is easy to overlook because it is normal to us, but it really isn't normal in most places. Perhaps that is the real privilege of living here. Not simply having access to great art, but having so much of it become part of everyday life that we sometimes forget to stop and appreciate it. Miró is not only something to be studied in a book or recognised on a sneaker. His work is sitting in our cities, in our museums, on our buildings and in our public spaces. It has been there for decades and, if we take the time to look, it is still there waiting for us. So rather than trying to bring all of that experience to you through a screen, we'd much rather invite you to go and see it for yourselves. We are incredibly fortunate to have this much of Miró so close to us, and it feels worth taking advantage of it. Go under the bridge. Walk down Castellana. Visit the foundation in Barcelona. Stand in front of the work for a while and see what you notice when you aren't looking at it through a phone. Sometimes the best way to understand an artist is simply to stand in front of their work.

Hardcore Is Having a Moment - But let's dig dee...

The obvious proof is everywhere. Most recently, Stone Island dedicated The Calm and the Chaos to the hardcore and metalcore communities, spending six months documenting the people, places and culture surrounding the scene. At the centre of the project is High Vis frontman Graham Sayle, alongside personalities from bands including Haywire, Knocked Loose and Angel Du$t. But the interesting part isn't that Stone Island is suddenly looking at Hardcore. The interesting part is that Hardcore has always been about much more than music. To understand why the current moment feels so significant, you have to go back to the Youth Crew movement of the mid-to-late '80s. Few bands were more important to that movement than Youth of Today. Formed in Connecticut in 1985 by Ray Cappo and John Porcelly, Youth of Today arrived at a moment when New York Hardcore was moving in increasingly heavy and metallic directions. Their response was almost a reset: fast, direct hardcore combined with straight-edge principles, positivity, community and a very different visual identity. Their song "Youth Crew" would ultimately give the movement its name. But Youth of Today didn't just change what Hardcore sounded like, they changed what a Hardcore kid could look like. Instead of leather jackets, combat boots and mohawks, Cappo, Porcelly and their peers looked much closer to the high-school athletes they actually were. Varsity jackets. Champion sweatshirts. Athletic shorts. Army pants. Hoodies. Crewcuts. Running shoes. High-top basketball sneakers. Nikes. Porcelly has described the look as a rejection of the idea that you needed to dress like a stereotypical punk to participate in punk. He and Cappo were athletes; they dressed like themselves. What started with a handful of kids quickly became a uniform adopted by younger people throughout the East Coast scene. The East Coast corridor was crucial to this. Connecticut, New York, New Jersey, Boston and the surrounding cities and suburbs created an incredibly dense network of bands, crews, venues, record stores, zines and kids travelling between shows. The Break Down the Walls tour that Youth of Today undertook in 1987 became an important moment in spreading that culture beyond New York, while the van, the tour and the network around it became almost as important as the individual shows themselves... And within that ecosystem, clothing became another form of communication. You could walk into a room and immediately understand something about somebody without having spoken to them. A Champion hoodie, rolled-up jeans and a pair of high-top Nikes could tell you as much about someone's place in the scene as the patch on their jacket. This was the era of Michael Jordan, and the Air Jordan revolution was happening at exactly the same time. New York Hardcore kids became early adopters of the emerging sneaker culture, wearing Jordans, Dunks, Air Max, Air Revolution and whatever else Nike was producing. Walter Schreifels has spoken about how the scene effectively tied sneakers into its own uniform, creating a relationship between Hardcore and sportswear that would become incredibly influential later on. Hardcore kids weren't necessarily trying to become fashionable. They were trying to build an identity that belonged to them. And the same thing happened with merchandise. The T-shirt stopped being simply a piece of merchandise and became part of the uniform. Band logos, slogans, crew names and graphics were designed to be worn, copied, traded and recognized. The shirt could travel further than the band ever could. That idea continued to evolve as the scene moved through the '90s and into the 2000s. The Youth Crew sound eventually returned through bands such as In My Eyes, Ten Yard Fight, Floorpunch and Bane, with Bane becoming particularly important in carrying that tradition forward. At the same time, the idea of the crew became increasingly important. Groups like DMS in New York and FSU in Boston were part of a later Hardcore culture where crews, bands and local identities overlapped in complicated ways. They weren't Youth Crew bands in the strict historical sense, and their cultures were considerably more aggressive and territorial, but they belong to the same broader East Coast lineage: the idea that Hardcore exists as a network of people, not simply a collection of bands. ...And once again, the uniform mattered. Different generations, different crews, different cities, but the same instinct to create a visual language that belonged to the community. That is what makes the current generation so interesting. Because bands like SPEED aren't simply making Hardcore records. They're building worlds around themselves. They're developing a recognizable relationship between music, merchandise, photography, sneakers and clothing. Whispers and a growing number of younger bands are doing the same, pushing the visual side of the culture forward while pulling from everything that came before them. This is why we're seeing brands increasingly interested in Hardcore. It isn't simply because the music is getting bigger. It's because the culture around the music is incredibly complete. It has its own history, its own references, its own visual codes and, most importantly, a community that actually cares about authenticity. And that relationship between Hardcore and fashion isn't new. Fashion has been inside Hardcore from the beginning. The difference is that today, the rest of the world is paying attention. We've always been fascinated by these movements and by the way communities create their own visual languages. A big part of what we've documented over the years has been exactly this relationship between music, sport, sneakers, clothing and the people who give all of those things meaning. Hardcore has been a particularly big focus for us personally, and one that we genuinely enjoy documenting. There is something about the scene that still feels incredibly authentic: the way a band can influence what a group of kids wears, the way a shirt can become a piece of history, the way a sneaker can become part of a uniform, and the way all of those things continue to evolve from one generation to the next. So yes, we're absolutely here for Hardcore having its moment. But we're even more interested in remembering that this moment didn't come from nowhere. It has been building for almost forty years. Youth of Today, Gorilla Biscuits, Bold, Judge, Bane, DMS, FSU, and the countless bands, crews and kids between them all contributed something to a culture that continues to reinvent itself without losing its identity. And now a new generation is picking up the baton. We're all for it. all pictures by Guillermo Erice.

Hardcore Is Having a Moment - But let's dig dee...

The obvious proof is everywhere. Most recently, Stone Island dedicated The Calm and the Chaos to the hardcore and metalcore communities, spending six months documenting the people, places and culture surrounding the scene. At the centre of the project is High Vis frontman Graham Sayle, alongside personalities from bands including Haywire, Knocked Loose and Angel Du$t. But the interesting part isn't that Stone Island is suddenly looking at Hardcore. The interesting part is that Hardcore has always been about much more than music. To understand why the current moment feels so significant, you have to go back to the Youth Crew movement of the mid-to-late '80s. Few bands were more important to that movement than Youth of Today. Formed in Connecticut in 1985 by Ray Cappo and John Porcelly, Youth of Today arrived at a moment when New York Hardcore was moving in increasingly heavy and metallic directions. Their response was almost a reset: fast, direct hardcore combined with straight-edge principles, positivity, community and a very different visual identity. Their song "Youth Crew" would ultimately give the movement its name. But Youth of Today didn't just change what Hardcore sounded like, they changed what a Hardcore kid could look like. Instead of leather jackets, combat boots and mohawks, Cappo, Porcelly and their peers looked much closer to the high-school athletes they actually were. Varsity jackets. Champion sweatshirts. Athletic shorts. Army pants. Hoodies. Crewcuts. Running shoes. High-top basketball sneakers. Nikes. Porcelly has described the look as a rejection of the idea that you needed to dress like a stereotypical punk to participate in punk. He and Cappo were athletes; they dressed like themselves. What started with a handful of kids quickly became a uniform adopted by younger people throughout the East Coast scene. The East Coast corridor was crucial to this. Connecticut, New York, New Jersey, Boston and the surrounding cities and suburbs created an incredibly dense network of bands, crews, venues, record stores, zines and kids travelling between shows. The Break Down the Walls tour that Youth of Today undertook in 1987 became an important moment in spreading that culture beyond New York, while the van, the tour and the network around it became almost as important as the individual shows themselves... And within that ecosystem, clothing became another form of communication. You could walk into a room and immediately understand something about somebody without having spoken to them. A Champion hoodie, rolled-up jeans and a pair of high-top Nikes could tell you as much about someone's place in the scene as the patch on their jacket. This was the era of Michael Jordan, and the Air Jordan revolution was happening at exactly the same time. New York Hardcore kids became early adopters of the emerging sneaker culture, wearing Jordans, Dunks, Air Max, Air Revolution and whatever else Nike was producing. Walter Schreifels has spoken about how the scene effectively tied sneakers into its own uniform, creating a relationship between Hardcore and sportswear that would become incredibly influential later on. Hardcore kids weren't necessarily trying to become fashionable. They were trying to build an identity that belonged to them. And the same thing happened with merchandise. The T-shirt stopped being simply a piece of merchandise and became part of the uniform. Band logos, slogans, crew names and graphics were designed to be worn, copied, traded and recognized. The shirt could travel further than the band ever could. That idea continued to evolve as the scene moved through the '90s and into the 2000s. The Youth Crew sound eventually returned through bands such as In My Eyes, Ten Yard Fight, Floorpunch and Bane, with Bane becoming particularly important in carrying that tradition forward. At the same time, the idea of the crew became increasingly important. Groups like DMS in New York and FSU in Boston were part of a later Hardcore culture where crews, bands and local identities overlapped in complicated ways. They weren't Youth Crew bands in the strict historical sense, and their cultures were considerably more aggressive and territorial, but they belong to the same broader East Coast lineage: the idea that Hardcore exists as a network of people, not simply a collection of bands. ...And once again, the uniform mattered. Different generations, different crews, different cities, but the same instinct to create a visual language that belonged to the community. That is what makes the current generation so interesting. Because bands like SPEED aren't simply making Hardcore records. They're building worlds around themselves. They're developing a recognizable relationship between music, merchandise, photography, sneakers and clothing. Whispers and a growing number of younger bands are doing the same, pushing the visual side of the culture forward while pulling from everything that came before them. This is why we're seeing brands increasingly interested in Hardcore. It isn't simply because the music is getting bigger. It's because the culture around the music is incredibly complete. It has its own history, its own references, its own visual codes and, most importantly, a community that actually cares about authenticity. And that relationship between Hardcore and fashion isn't new. Fashion has been inside Hardcore from the beginning. The difference is that today, the rest of the world is paying attention. We've always been fascinated by these movements and by the way communities create their own visual languages. A big part of what we've documented over the years has been exactly this relationship between music, sport, sneakers, clothing and the people who give all of those things meaning. Hardcore has been a particularly big focus for us personally, and one that we genuinely enjoy documenting. There is something about the scene that still feels incredibly authentic: the way a band can influence what a group of kids wears, the way a shirt can become a piece of history, the way a sneaker can become part of a uniform, and the way all of those things continue to evolve from one generation to the next. So yes, we're absolutely here for Hardcore having its moment. But we're even more interested in remembering that this moment didn't come from nowhere. It has been building for almost forty years. Youth of Today, Gorilla Biscuits, Bold, Judge, Bane, DMS, FSU, and the countless bands, crews and kids between them all contributed something to a culture that continues to reinvent itself without losing its identity. And now a new generation is picking up the baton. We're all for it. all pictures by Guillermo Erice.

Jordan 16 x Free The Youth and the places where...

The conversations held on street corners. The basketball courts that become meeting points. The independent studios that quietly shape the next generation. The cafés, workshops, record stores, and neighborhoods where culture is created long before the rest of the world notices. That is what Free The Youth has built in Accra. Far more than a creative collective, Free The Youth has become one of the defining voices of contemporary Ghanaian culture. Through fashion, photography, design, and community initiatives, they have demonstrated that the most compelling creative movements are rarely imported. They grow from within, shaped by local perspectives and shared ambition before finding a global audience. Their collaboration with Jordan Brand reflects exactly that. The Air Jordan 16 has always been something of an outlier within Michael Jordan's signature lineage. Introduced in 2001, it arrived during a period of transition—combining luxury materials with technical innovation and a removable shroud that challenged conventional sneaker design. It wasn't simply another performance shoe. It represented experimentation, individuality, and the confidence to do things differently. More than two decades later, that philosophy feels remarkably aligned with Free The Youth. Free The Youth reminds us that culture isn't something waiting to be discovered by the world. It already exists, built patiently by communities that create first and seek recognition later. Perhaps that's why this collaboration feels so honest, not because it tells the story of Ghana... but because it tells a story that could belong to many cities. Different streets. Different languages...The same energy.

Jordan 16 x Free The Youth and the places where...

The conversations held on street corners. The basketball courts that become meeting points. The independent studios that quietly shape the next generation. The cafés, workshops, record stores, and neighborhoods where culture is created long before the rest of the world notices. That is what Free The Youth has built in Accra. Far more than a creative collective, Free The Youth has become one of the defining voices of contemporary Ghanaian culture. Through fashion, photography, design, and community initiatives, they have demonstrated that the most compelling creative movements are rarely imported. They grow from within, shaped by local perspectives and shared ambition before finding a global audience. Their collaboration with Jordan Brand reflects exactly that. The Air Jordan 16 has always been something of an outlier within Michael Jordan's signature lineage. Introduced in 2001, it arrived during a period of transition—combining luxury materials with technical innovation and a removable shroud that challenged conventional sneaker design. It wasn't simply another performance shoe. It represented experimentation, individuality, and the confidence to do things differently. More than two decades later, that philosophy feels remarkably aligned with Free The Youth. Free The Youth reminds us that culture isn't something waiting to be discovered by the world. It already exists, built patiently by communities that create first and seek recognition later. Perhaps that's why this collaboration feels so honest, not because it tells the story of Ghana... but because it tells a story that could belong to many cities. Different streets. Different languages...The same energy.

O Marisquiño 2026 Vigo, Once Again

For four days in August, Vigo becomes something slightly different. The beaches, streets and squares of the city turn into one enormous meeting point for skateboarding, BMX, MTB, breaking, basketball, music and everything that exists somewhere around the edges of traditional sport. Now in its 26th edition, O Marisquiño has grown into one of Europe's most important gatherings of action sports and urban culture, bringing together around 1,500 riders from more than 30 countries alongside artists, musicians and tens of thousands of spectators. What makes Marisquiño interesting is the way it has managed to remain connected to the culture that created it while growing into something considerably bigger. Samil becomes the centre of gravity, while Vigo itself becomes part of the event, most visibly through the MTB Downtown descent that sends riders from O Castro down towards A Laxe, turning the city into a course rather than simply a backdrop. And then there are the people who have been around long enough to understand exactly what all of this means. One of them is, undeniably, Dave Duncan. For anyone who grew up around skateboarding, his presence at Marisquiño is a significant one. Duncan started skating in Southern California as a child in the late 1960s, lived through the early generations of the Californian skate scene, became a professional skater and worked alongside names including Tony Alva before moving into course building, judging, event management and commentary. He eventually became one of the defining voices of World Cup Skateboarding, a role he has held for decades. His connection with Vigo goes back even further. Duncan first came to Marisquiño in 2014 as a World Cup Skateboarding speaker and has returned year after year since, becoming almost as much a part of the festival as the ramps themselves. Seeing someone whose own career runs parallel to so much of skateboarding's history standing beside a new generation of riders is one of those details that makes Marisquiño feel different. The culture doesn't disappear as it grows. It gets passed down. On the iconic Samil Miniramp, Danny León once again found himself at the top. The Olympic skater took his eighth victory in the discipline, bringing his total number of Marisquiño titles to an extraordinary 10. His winning final run saw him float across the ramp with the kind of control that has made him one of the defining figures of Spanish skateboarding. Dutchman Jason Lijnzaat finished second, with Japan's Sota Tsuji taking third. But León's weekend wasn't limited to the official competition. Together with his own Piranha Skate Company, he hosted the first edition of the Piranha Ñam Session, an open Vert Jam built around attitude, creativity and the connection between riders and the crowd rather than a conventional ranking system. €1,000 in prize money and technical equipment were handed out, turning the session into something closer to a celebration of skateboarding than a competition. Elsewhere, Vigo's own Saúl Vilar took the BMX Pro Street title, while Colombia's Juan Caicedo won Pro Park Men and France's Lera Liubimova took the women's category. Portuguese youngster Pascal Teixeira and Valentina Krauel claimed the men's and women's Street titles, while Sietse Van Berkel repeated his BMX Flatland victory. The Big Air ramp at Samil provided one of the weekend's most spectacular sights. Riders launched more than 10 meters into the air, combining backflips, spins and increasingly complicated variations for a format built around one simple question: who can do something nobody else has done? Among the names in the mix was New Zealander Jed Mildon, one of the most accomplished BMX riders in the history of the discipline, alongside Spanish riders including Bienvenido Aguado, Alejandro Alcojor and Carolo Dirt. Adrien Loron returned to win the MTB Downtown for another year, racing 1,135 metres downhill from O Castro towards A Laxe, while Chile's Fernanda Gildemeister claimed the women's title. The route is one of Marisquiño's most distinctive ideas: take a discipline normally associated with mountains and trails and drop it directly into the middle of Vigo. The same spirit carried through the rest of the program. Poema de Mar won the men's FIBA 3x3 Lite Quest, 3G Valladolid took the women's title, and the event also included breaking, adaptive skateboarding and BMX, FMX and DJ competitions. Because music has become just as important to the identity of Marisquiño as the sports themselves. This year, more than 40 artists performed across four stages, with the program moving between rap, trap, pop, reggae, dub, electronic music and the sounds of Galicia and Portugal. L0rna, El Virtual and Fresquito y Mango were among the names leading the programme, joined by artists and projects including VVV (Trippin' You), Nusar3000, Rebeliom do Inframundo, High Paw, Lidia India and Luv Messenger Sound. The festival also hosted the Iberian final of DMC, bringing some of the best DJs from Spain and Portugal to Vigo for a competition that sits firmly within the history of hip-hop culture and turntablism. By Sunday night, Samil had become what Marisquiño does best: part competition, part concert, part skatepark, part beach party and part cultural gathering. The boundaries between the disciplines become difficult to see, which is probably the point. Vigo has given it the setting, but after 26 editions, Marisquiño has become part of the city's identity too. Massive shout out to Pity, Andrés, and the full Marisquiño team for the incredible hospitality and love. What an incredible weekend, thanks for having us.

O Marisquiño 2026 Vigo, Once Again

For four days in August, Vigo becomes something slightly different. The beaches, streets and squares of the city turn into one enormous meeting point for skateboarding, BMX, MTB, breaking, basketball, music and everything that exists somewhere around the edges of traditional sport. Now in its 26th edition, O Marisquiño has grown into one of Europe's most important gatherings of action sports and urban culture, bringing together around 1,500 riders from more than 30 countries alongside artists, musicians and tens of thousands of spectators. What makes Marisquiño interesting is the way it has managed to remain connected to the culture that created it while growing into something considerably bigger. Samil becomes the centre of gravity, while Vigo itself becomes part of the event, most visibly through the MTB Downtown descent that sends riders from O Castro down towards A Laxe, turning the city into a course rather than simply a backdrop. And then there are the people who have been around long enough to understand exactly what all of this means. One of them is, undeniably, Dave Duncan. For anyone who grew up around skateboarding, his presence at Marisquiño is a significant one. Duncan started skating in Southern California as a child in the late 1960s, lived through the early generations of the Californian skate scene, became a professional skater and worked alongside names including Tony Alva before moving into course building, judging, event management and commentary. He eventually became one of the defining voices of World Cup Skateboarding, a role he has held for decades. His connection with Vigo goes back even further. Duncan first came to Marisquiño in 2014 as a World Cup Skateboarding speaker and has returned year after year since, becoming almost as much a part of the festival as the ramps themselves. Seeing someone whose own career runs parallel to so much of skateboarding's history standing beside a new generation of riders is one of those details that makes Marisquiño feel different. The culture doesn't disappear as it grows. It gets passed down. On the iconic Samil Miniramp, Danny León once again found himself at the top. The Olympic skater took his eighth victory in the discipline, bringing his total number of Marisquiño titles to an extraordinary 10. His winning final run saw him float across the ramp with the kind of control that has made him one of the defining figures of Spanish skateboarding. Dutchman Jason Lijnzaat finished second, with Japan's Sota Tsuji taking third. But León's weekend wasn't limited to the official competition. Together with his own Piranha Skate Company, he hosted the first edition of the Piranha Ñam Session, an open Vert Jam built around attitude, creativity and the connection between riders and the crowd rather than a conventional ranking system. €1,000 in prize money and technical equipment were handed out, turning the session into something closer to a celebration of skateboarding than a competition. Elsewhere, Vigo's own Saúl Vilar took the BMX Pro Street title, while Colombia's Juan Caicedo won Pro Park Men and France's Lera Liubimova took the women's category. Portuguese youngster Pascal Teixeira and Valentina Krauel claimed the men's and women's Street titles, while Sietse Van Berkel repeated his BMX Flatland victory. The Big Air ramp at Samil provided one of the weekend's most spectacular sights. Riders launched more than 10 meters into the air, combining backflips, spins and increasingly complicated variations for a format built around one simple question: who can do something nobody else has done? Among the names in the mix was New Zealander Jed Mildon, one of the most accomplished BMX riders in the history of the discipline, alongside Spanish riders including Bienvenido Aguado, Alejandro Alcojor and Carolo Dirt. Adrien Loron returned to win the MTB Downtown for another year, racing 1,135 metres downhill from O Castro towards A Laxe, while Chile's Fernanda Gildemeister claimed the women's title. The route is one of Marisquiño's most distinctive ideas: take a discipline normally associated with mountains and trails and drop it directly into the middle of Vigo. The same spirit carried through the rest of the program. Poema de Mar won the men's FIBA 3x3 Lite Quest, 3G Valladolid took the women's title, and the event also included breaking, adaptive skateboarding and BMX, FMX and DJ competitions. Because music has become just as important to the identity of Marisquiño as the sports themselves. This year, more than 40 artists performed across four stages, with the program moving between rap, trap, pop, reggae, dub, electronic music and the sounds of Galicia and Portugal. L0rna, El Virtual and Fresquito y Mango were among the names leading the programme, joined by artists and projects including VVV (Trippin' You), Nusar3000, Rebeliom do Inframundo, High Paw, Lidia India and Luv Messenger Sound. The festival also hosted the Iberian final of DMC, bringing some of the best DJs from Spain and Portugal to Vigo for a competition that sits firmly within the history of hip-hop culture and turntablism. By Sunday night, Samil had become what Marisquiño does best: part competition, part concert, part skatepark, part beach party and part cultural gathering. The boundaries between the disciplines become difficult to see, which is probably the point. Vigo has given it the setting, but after 26 editions, Marisquiño has become part of the city's identity too. Massive shout out to Pity, Andrés, and the full Marisquiño team for the incredible hospitality and love. What an incredible weekend, thanks for having us.

adidas Terrex Agravic GTX: Built Beyond the Trail

For decades, the mountain has been where products are tested. Not inside laboratories. Not beneath bright showroom lights, but in the cold, the rain, the mud and the countless unpredictable variables that no designer can ever fully anticipate. That philosophy sits at the very heart of adidas Terrex. While the Three Stripes are often associated with football stadiums, Olympic tracks and city streets, Terrex has quietly become something altogether different: a division dedicated to understanding movement in its rawest form. Long before trail running became fashionable, Terrex was building footwear for people who measured distance in elevation rather than kilometres, designing products that had to earn their place every time they left the trailhead. The Agravic GTX embodies that philosophy better than almost anything else in the current collection. The Agravic has always occupied a unique position within the Terrex lineup. Rather than chasing extremes, it was conceived as the shoe capable of doing almost everything. Fast enough for technical trail running. Stable enough for uneven terrain. Comfortable enough to accompany long days in the mountains where conditions can change several times before reaching the summit. The addition of GORE-TEX simply expands that versatility. Wet forests, rocky ridgelines, unexpected summer storms... The kind of environments where weather forecasts quickly become suggestions rather than guarantees. The waterproof membrane allows the Agravic to remain focused on what matters most: maintaining rhythm regardless of what the mountain decides to throw back. Looking at the silhouette, it's immediately apparent that function dictates every decision. The upper balances durability with breathability through lightweight engineered textiles, while protective overlays reinforce the areas most exposed to abrasion without adding unnecessary bulk. Beneath it sits adidas' proven Lightstrike cushioning, providing enough responsiveness to encourage speed while retaining the stability demanded by unpredictable terrain. Underfoot, Continental™ Rubber continues to be one of the defining characteristics of Terrex footwear. It isn't there for branding, it's there because grip matters. For years, adidas has partnered with Continental, borrowing decades of tyre technology to develop outsoles capable of maintaining traction across wet rock, loose gravel and compact dirt alike. It's one of those collaborations that rarely receives the attention it deserves, yet quietly shapes almost every step the wearer takes. Like much of Terrex itself, it simply gets on with the job. What makes the Agravic particularly interesting, however, is that it arrives at a moment when outdoor footwear has become part of everyday wardrobes. The distinction between trail and city has gradually blurred. People no longer think twice about wearing hiking footwear through airports, cafés or daily commutes. Technical garments once reserved for alpine expeditions have become staples of contemporary dressing, valued as much for their functionality as their aesthetics. Few brands have navigated that transition as naturally as Terrex. Unlike many labels that have leaned into fashion collaborations to establish cultural credibility, Terrex has largely allowed its products to speak for themselves. The visual language has remained remarkably honest. Every lace loop, protective overlay and aggressive lug pattern exists because someone, somewhere, genuinely needed it. Nothing feels decorative. Everything feels earned. Perhaps that's why Terrex has become increasingly respected outside the outdoor community. Not because it suddenly became fashionable. Because authenticity has quietly become one of the most desirable qualities in modern design. The Agravic GTX doesn't pretend to be an everyday sneaker. It simply happens to work exceptionally well as one. Its origins remain firmly rooted in the mountains, where footwear is judged not by trends but by reliability. Every kilometre, every climb and every descent leaves its mark, rewarding products that prioritize thoughtful engineering over unnecessary complexity. The city simply benefits from that same approach. The mountain has always demanded honesty. Products either work. Or they don't. The Terrex Agravic GTX is a reminder that some of the best design doesn't emerge from trying to create the next lifestyle icon. Sometimes it begins somewhere far from the pavement, where performance still matters most. And perhaps that's exactly why it feels so relevant once it finally arrives back in the city.

adidas Terrex Agravic GTX: Built Beyond the Trail

For decades, the mountain has been where products are tested. Not inside laboratories. Not beneath bright showroom lights, but in the cold, the rain, the mud and the countless unpredictable variables that no designer can ever fully anticipate. That philosophy sits at the very heart of adidas Terrex. While the Three Stripes are often associated with football stadiums, Olympic tracks and city streets, Terrex has quietly become something altogether different: a division dedicated to understanding movement in its rawest form. Long before trail running became fashionable, Terrex was building footwear for people who measured distance in elevation rather than kilometres, designing products that had to earn their place every time they left the trailhead. The Agravic GTX embodies that philosophy better than almost anything else in the current collection. The Agravic has always occupied a unique position within the Terrex lineup. Rather than chasing extremes, it was conceived as the shoe capable of doing almost everything. Fast enough for technical trail running. Stable enough for uneven terrain. Comfortable enough to accompany long days in the mountains where conditions can change several times before reaching the summit. The addition of GORE-TEX simply expands that versatility. Wet forests, rocky ridgelines, unexpected summer storms... The kind of environments where weather forecasts quickly become suggestions rather than guarantees. The waterproof membrane allows the Agravic to remain focused on what matters most: maintaining rhythm regardless of what the mountain decides to throw back. Looking at the silhouette, it's immediately apparent that function dictates every decision. The upper balances durability with breathability through lightweight engineered textiles, while protective overlays reinforce the areas most exposed to abrasion without adding unnecessary bulk. Beneath it sits adidas' proven Lightstrike cushioning, providing enough responsiveness to encourage speed while retaining the stability demanded by unpredictable terrain. Underfoot, Continental™ Rubber continues to be one of the defining characteristics of Terrex footwear. It isn't there for branding, it's there because grip matters. For years, adidas has partnered with Continental, borrowing decades of tyre technology to develop outsoles capable of maintaining traction across wet rock, loose gravel and compact dirt alike. It's one of those collaborations that rarely receives the attention it deserves, yet quietly shapes almost every step the wearer takes. Like much of Terrex itself, it simply gets on with the job. What makes the Agravic particularly interesting, however, is that it arrives at a moment when outdoor footwear has become part of everyday wardrobes. The distinction between trail and city has gradually blurred. People no longer think twice about wearing hiking footwear through airports, cafés or daily commutes. Technical garments once reserved for alpine expeditions have become staples of contemporary dressing, valued as much for their functionality as their aesthetics. Few brands have navigated that transition as naturally as Terrex. Unlike many labels that have leaned into fashion collaborations to establish cultural credibility, Terrex has largely allowed its products to speak for themselves. The visual language has remained remarkably honest. Every lace loop, protective overlay and aggressive lug pattern exists because someone, somewhere, genuinely needed it. Nothing feels decorative. Everything feels earned. Perhaps that's why Terrex has become increasingly respected outside the outdoor community. Not because it suddenly became fashionable. Because authenticity has quietly become one of the most desirable qualities in modern design. The Agravic GTX doesn't pretend to be an everyday sneaker. It simply happens to work exceptionally well as one. Its origins remain firmly rooted in the mountains, where footwear is judged not by trends but by reliability. Every kilometre, every climb and every descent leaves its mark, rewarding products that prioritize thoughtful engineering over unnecessary complexity. The city simply benefits from that same approach. The mountain has always demanded honesty. Products either work. Or they don't. The Terrex Agravic GTX is a reminder that some of the best design doesn't emerge from trying to create the next lifestyle icon. Sometimes it begins somewhere far from the pavement, where performance still matters most. And perhaps that's exactly why it feels so relevant once it finally arrives back in the city.

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