Rafael Torres and Jordi Bru publish a thorough analysis of the Spanish Armada’s revolution in the 18th century, including 28 historical photo compositions

It was glorious to see that colossus of golden and tanned hues sailing to the sound of crashing waves. Pride and vanguard of the fleet, the San Ildefonso was crowned in a heartbeat as the king of the seas. Not because it was the largest or the best armed, but because, according to reports of the time, its handling “was extremely fine both for luffing and bearing away” and it outperformed its predecessors “by more than a knot when sailing close-hauled”. For Rafael Torres, Professor of History, this 74-gun ship of the line still represents the zenith of naval technology of its era; but he reminds us that it is only the figurehead of a complex framework – he calls it a “virtuous circle” – that transformed the Spanish Navy into one of the most powerful on the planet in less than a century: the 18th.

This is the concept he repeats most during the interview, and he does so with a perfect cocktail of emotion and pride: “This virtuous circle was not achieved only thanks to the great sailors we all remember in museums, though they played a part, but to four generations of Spaniards from the peninsula, Mexico, the Philippines…” On the other end of the phone, he recites like a prayer the long list of “anonymous characters” who pushed the Navy in this Herculean task: shipyard workers, sail weavers, carpenters, surgeons… An entire society united to the sound of the same melody, which indeed sounded good. “This is a narrative that hasn’t been reflected until now, and we wanted to bring it to photography. To capture everything from the felling of trees used to build the ships, to the arrival of sailors after the hard journey,” he states.

The professor is referring to the new historical essay he has produced together with photographer Jordi Bru: La Armada Real (Desperta Ferro, 2024). One with the pen; the other, with the camera and flash. “The work features 28 snapshots representing different key moments of this period. Or rather, photo compositions, because each one can have up to three hundred layers,” the photojournalist tells ABC. From the Basque Country, he insists that neither Artificial Intelligence nor graphic design passes through his works. His is a craftsmanship – a kind of ‘collage’ – that hides an advantage that machines cannot provide: deep documentation. And he offers us a case: “One of them recreates the Arsenal of Cartagena. The reader can be sure that everything that appears there, from the hats to the sails, is historically rigorous.”

We Are One

Hand in hand, photography and text, the authors go back to the dawn of the 17th century; an era of imperial glories, no doubt, but also of some confusion. “There was a decentralized system. When the monarch ordered ships to be built, each master did it in a different way,” explains Torres. There was no unification in equipment; nor in the design of vessels. And, as a culmination, each fleet struggled in a specific territory. The arrival of the Bourbons, the professor maintains, shook up this sort of taifa kingdoms: “A single navy was created, the Royal Navy, and all areas related to it were centralized: officer training, supplies, logistics…” We ask for an example, and here it goes: “If two different ships sailed from Cádiz to Veracruz, they were sure that the calibers of their ammunition were the same and that they carried the same medicines.”

That masterful move opened the dreamed book of the Navy; one formed by hundreds of chapters without which the best ships of that era could not have been forged. What was the main one? The professor finds it hard to decide, but he emphasizes the arrival of the blueprint: “Thanks to something so cheap, construction was standardized. Based on those parameters, they could also implement improvements for the following designs.” The paradigm of evolution was the San Ildefonso. After its launch, the 74-gun ship battled it out in a series of speed, endurance, and maneuverability tests with the San Juan Nepomuceno, the maximum representative of the previous era of ships. And the reports were clear: “The King has made a discovery of infinite value in the construction of this ship.”

Centralization and standardization offered another advantage to the Monarchy: assembling their ships anywhere in the world; and all clones, like a McDonald’s hamburger. “Spain implemented its own construction method and was at the forefront in this regard. It hardly imported ships because 90% were made in Spanish arsenals, whether in Ferrol, Cádiz, Cartagena or Havana,” adds Torres. And that, in turn, multiplied job positions by thousands and allowed wealth to remain within the limits of the Empire. It was a golden age; that glorious era in which Spain reached its maximum territorial expansion. Does it seem like a perfect puzzle?, we ask him. And he lets out a laugh before answering: “A virtuous circle, rather!” The expert had hinted at it, and he wasn’t lying…

Enriching the Empire

All layers of society were economically boosted by the needs of the fleets. Although there was one guild on which the authors wanted to put emphasis: that of the loggers. Because, according to Torres, it was one of the most benefited: “If you have to go to Holland to buy trees, you spend more money and need a lot of time to bring them to Spain. It was much better to have local suppliers to enrich.” The inhabitants of Quintanar de la Sierra, in Burgos, or a handful of towns in Jaén worked and lived comfortably by the stroke of a saw for decades. “The way they take care of their forests today is a direct inheritance from the Navy. This communion between past and present is spectacular,” the expert adds.

But behind them were many other cases. Carpenters, apothecaries, bakers… “Everyone worked for the Armada. And thousands gathered in the arsenals, which I like to define as factories of factories. They were perpetual bases, outposts located throughout the Empire that served the fleets for supplies. And that’s why they had to have factories for sails, pencils, flags, buttons…” Torres maintains. In the shipyards, for example, there was always a shortage of specialized civilian personnel to build and repair the ships. Once again, this translated into more wages. “It was a lot of people who produced, but also consumed, which also improved the local economy,” he insists. It’s a pity that that virtuous circle came to an end with Napoleon’s arrival in Spain. But that, as they say, is another story.

Photographer with History

Jordi Bru is the artist behind the snapshots. A sharpshooter who has changed the precision rifle for the camera. Although, to forge his works, he needs many accurate shots. “I make photo compositions. This implies that I first photograph all the elements and then put them together in successive layers,” he explains in statements to ABC.

Typically, the photographer starts with a background to which he gradually adds all the elements, previously immortalized. He neither uses Artificial Intelligence (AI) nor wants it. His work is craftsmanship.

“What do I contribute? Historical rigor. I seek that the uniforms, hats, weapons… that everything is exact,” he explains. And he adds that, at least for now, images made by computer, using Artificial Intelligence, “have a different texture” and are not very realistic, which makes him prefer a “more manual method.”

The 28 photo compositions he presents in the work have taken him a year and a half of work. “And it hasn’t been much,” he jokes. As he speaks, he reviews some of them. “For the Arsenal one, I traveled to Cartagena.” That complex gave him the canvas on which, eventually, he added everything; from sailboats to soldiers and children. “I’ve collected the ships over these years for other projects. I even traveled to France, to the Normandy area, to immortalize four historic ships during an event,” he says.

For the shipyard, he did the same, but with facilities in Gipuzkoa where a group of experts is bringing a 16th-century whaling ship back to life.

But 90% of his photo compositions, he admits, have been born thanks to the historical reenactment groups that help him. The snapshot in which they replicate the amputation of Blas de Lezo‘s leg, he says, is the clearest example: “The protagonists are members of the ‘Volunteers of Madrid’ association. One of them is a real surgeon and collects medical utensils. He offered me all the material.”

Although there are also other types of volunteers. “There’s an image that shows soldiers from the Africa Regiment. The models are real soldiers from the Tercio Viejo de Sicilia Regiment No. 67, its heir,” he concludes.