A summer in the Basque Country.

July-August, barefoot in the sand, the scent of wax and sunscreen, fingertips wrinkled from the salty water. Olatua carries the naïveté of adolescence, marked by the impatience for the next summer. It’s the feeling of those trapped in this wonderful place where others come on vacation but never stay.

Olatua is a concentrate of suspended memories. The memories of a brief story, with no future but unforgettable. Those of a wave of overwhelming euphoria that recedes in September, as if nothing had ever existed. It sticks to the skin, its trail lingers. Yet, one must turn the page. Though innocence fades with the passing summers, Olatua allows one not to forget, to be reminded by the wave.