I was dying when I arrived in Spain.

Eight weeks earlier, I had unknowingly contracted a severe liver infection in South America. And when the wheels of my plane touched down in Barcelona, the collapse of my liver function was at its peak.

With dark yellow eyes and sickness that caused me to faint several times in the street, I traversed the dark and narrow corridors that snaked together the Gothic Quarter.

I didn’t eat for days. My vision was hazy and in a fever of surrealism, I photographed the streets. Catalonian architecture is pulled straight from a Dr. Seuss story. And to see it in a feverish trip was a hell that I can’t entirely allow myself to remember without getting nauseous.

But the city, in all my infectious and ill vision, still held a beauty. It felt organic. It felt unique.

Upon uploading and editing these images, I had to pull the color from them. Looking at them made me feel ill. And the end result, this off-colored accented neutral, perfectly embodies how I felt while walking these streets.

Half alive. Dying. Fixating on and trying to grip that last bit of color. My life had faded to gray. And I was just trying to capture the last few scenes of my life; before my own shutter closed and everything as I knew it faded to a permanent black.