Protecting and presenting the tangible and intangible Cultural Heritage of peoples is a demanding venture. It sits in places where communities live and where a wrong turn can sever connections to history. In the Comanche region, for instance, there is a real risk that heritage could be cut off if care is not taken to safeguard it thoughtfully and inclusively.
This field is deeply nuanced, marked by subjective interpretations and a history of gatekeeping that sometimes favors insiders over the communities most affected. Critics argue that decisions are often funded or driven by intermediaries who do not bear the consequences of their choices, leaving communities without a voice in the outcome and sometimes suffering the unintended harms that follow.
With that in mind, one observer expresses a strong affinity for inherited heritage and a lifelong fascination with Spain’s cultural assets. They have traveled, photographed, and studied the material culture at their own pace for more than two decades. The belief is clear: what is truly valuable deserves protection beyond walls and boundaries. Yet the debate remains about what counts as built heritage, which elements should be preserved, and how preservation should be implemented. An example that surfaces in conversations is the fate of projects around historic plazas and public spaces, including proposals connected to the Plaza de la Antigua and the Blue Section, which illustrate the tensions between preservation and modern use.
Another illustrative case concerns a parking area on a castle slope intended to preserve a single square meter of an ancient wall in Alicante. Critics describe the method as overly cautious, even metaphorically placing a rare fragment of the past in a cage, where it has been concealed under a heavy tarp for years. The result, according to observers, is not only the loss of surrounding space but also a sense of detachment from the living city and its residents, who may not understand what lies within the enclosure. In contrast, a magnificent 15th‑century monastery in Cáceres, Garrovillas, teeters on collapse, with its cloister, vaults, and Gothic church at risk due to limited resources and an approach that feels more like a makeshift shelter than a lasting protection. This juxtaposition is emblematic of a broader national conversation about priorities and resources in Spain’s cultural projects. The discussion then arrives at Fuente de Los Luceros, a focal point for reflection on preservation strategy and public memory.
The core value of fountain sculptures, some argue, lies in the preparatory drawings and molds created in 1930 by Daniel Bañuls. Everything else is considered less essential, as it has been left to workers who may not fully appreciate their significance. The original molds were filled with a porous mortar of modest quality, a material that failed to safeguard the internal iron supports from oxidation. Over time, carbon dioxide in the air, along with fluctuations in temperature and humidity, enabled oxidation to advance. When metal oxidizes, its volume expands dramatically, which stresses the surrounding mortar, leading to cracking and the gradual deterioration of the sculptures. From the outset, small cracks were seen as precursors to more serious damage to the monument. Repairing the metal inside presents a daunting challenge: many steels in this condition require replacement, a process that is both technically demanding and costly. The practical path forward involves working with existing patterns whenever possible, and when those are not available, developing reliable, material solutions becomes essential. A plausible approach could involve substituting stainless steel, fiberglass, or carbon rods within the molds and re‑casting with a resin‑rich mortar that includes hydrophobic additives. Such a method, paired with proper fibers and reinforcement, could preserve the sculptures for more than a century, with or without the original casing. This is a vision that might guide the restoration, recognizing that some prior efforts favored aesthetics over durability and thus yielded disappointing results. The risks associated with any large-scale restoration require careful study, especially when similar interventions might be contemplated in other major events or sites. For instance, if analogous techniques were proposed for public celebrations in cities like Valencia during Fallas or Pamplona during San Fermín, the implications would demand thorough evaluation. The author acknowledges that later criticism may arise, but contends that speaking frankly—driven by experience and a dose of practical sense—remains essential for progress. The hope is to encourage thoughtful dialogue rather than silence or denial, even when the viewpoints diverge.