From whispered prayers in the chapel to the golden dust of the arena, a matador walks the thin line between grace and mortality. He carries the Virgin’s image sewn into the lining of his hat, a talisman against the beast that waits. The bull. The man. The gleam of sequins in the sun. The dance of fate measured to the rhythm of the pasodoble. It is the deep Spain immersed in this ancestral ritual of the fight for life and death is particularly closely linked to religion here. Is a liturgy of death, beauty and eroticism.