Rafael Ruiz, the man who painted the cinemas of Palma

PalmPalma's cinemas haven't always been promoted with digitally printed posters or illuminated screens. For decades, large hand-painted posters announcing the week's new releases adorned the facades of many theaters. Behind many of those monumental images was the same name: Rafael Ruiz. Now, his work is being brought back to mind with the exhibition Palma, city of cinemaswhich can be seen at the Misericordia cultural center. Among other historical documents, the exhibition includes original material from the poster artist and the documentary The ephemeral dreamDirected by Toni Bestard.

Ruiz, who was born in Palma on March 2, 1938, began in the profession almost by chance. A friend of his father, the poster artist Gabriel Palmer, was urgently seeking help to finish a large poster. "I'm in a hurry because I can't find anyone," he said. Ruiz's father, who worked at the Mare Nostrum clinic—now the Rotger clinic—replied that he knew the right person: his son, who had always had a "good hand" for drawing.

Thus, in 1957 – at 19 years old and just after finishing his military service – Ruiz showed up at the now-demolished Borne cinema – where there is a Zara store today – to finish a fragment of the film poster Napoleonby Sacha Guitry. He had to paint an enormous cape, almost three meters long, and the protagonist's characteristic bicorn hat. The next day, Palmer saw the result and was impressed. That moment would mark the beginning of a career that would end up being linked for almost fifty years to the image of Palma's cinemas.

Without charging

Ruiz learned the trade without pay for the first few years. "I worked like that for two years," Rafael recalls. It wasn't until he told his mentor he wanted to get married that the terms were renegotiated and he began to receive a salary. Poster design was artisanal in every sense. Before painting, it was necessary to prepare the paints. The pigments arrived in powder form and had to be mixed with vegetable glue to achieve the desired color. "There was more work preparing the paint than painting the poster," he explains with a laugh. The key to those images was perspective. They didn't have to be perfect up close, but convincing from a distance. From the street, several meters away, the faces had to be immediately recognizable. Stars like Ava Gardner, Humphrey Bogart, and Marilyn Monroe had to closely resemble the real thing so that the public would identify them at first glance.

The official film documentation didn't always arrive on time, and Ruiz often resorted to his personal archive of photographs. If he knew Marilyn Monroe was in the film, for example, he would start painting her face using his images and then adapt the composition to the final poster. His work system was almost itinerant. Ruiz would go from one cinema to another while the layers of paint dried. He would paint the background in one cinema; then he would go to another to do the figures or the lettering. The process was done in successive layers and usually involved several cinemas in a single day. His work wasn't limited to cinemas. For years, he also painted posters for the Auditorium in Palma, designed the mural on the walls of the legendary El Click restaurant on the Passeig de Mallorca, and painted for video rental stores, bingo halls, and nightclubs in Calvià, such as BCM. He also did the interior posters for the Portopí multiplex and even the barrier for the store of the historic Norma Comics.

Despite his constant presence on the streets, Ruiz never placed much importance on his work. "It was a job," he says. But interviews and public recognition made him realize over the years that this work also had creative value. "I never considered myself an artist, but over time I've felt recognized as one," he admits.

Emmanuelle

A particularly noteworthy anecdote from his career occurred in 1975, after Franco's death, when erotic films—known as "S-movies"—began to appear on Spanish screens. A businessman commissioned him to design the poster forEmmanuelleWith clear instructions: "Breasts and thighs out, make sure it's clearly visible." The film was a phenomenon in Palma and stayed in theaters for three or four months, much longer than other classic titles. But scandal soon followed. The censor visited the cinema and issued an ultimatum: within 24 hours, the leading lady had to appear "well-dressed." Ruiz climbed a ladder and painted the clothes on her.

Most of the posters Ruiz painted were destined to disappear. Many were only displayed for a week before being erased to make room for the next release. Aware of this fragility, he and a friend, a professional photographer, would photograph the ones they liked best. Thanks to these images, his work can be reconstructed today.

Over time, technical changes also arrived. The introduction of acrylic paint greatly simplified the work: it was no longer necessary to prepare the pigments manually. "You just opened the pot and you could start," he recalls.

The decline of single-screen cinemas and the arrival of the internet, DVDs, and new advertising systems increasingly reduced the work of poster artists. Ruiz retired in 2003, after witnessing the closure of many cinemas. One of his last projects was for the Metropolitan cinema in Palma. He was commissioned to create a series of posters representing different decades of cinema, intended to be displayed for one or two years. Ultimately, fourteen remained. "I'm still amazed that the paint lasted so long," he says.

Those ephemeral works are once again on display at the Misericordia—until April 11. They serve as a reminder, as filmmaker Toni Bestard says, that before the internet, rumors, leaks, and the teasers And the trailers, those big handmade posters, "were the only attraction" to go see a movie at the cinema.