Jacques Léonard and the Gitanos of Montjuïc: A Love Story Through the Lens

In 1952, Jacques Léonard—born in 1909 in Paris—left behind a life of artistic opportunity and familiarity to settle in Barcelona, Spain. The decision may have seemed abrupt to those around him, but it was a move rooted in both love and heritage.

Léonard came from a mixed background: his father was a Romany horse dealer, while his mother ran a needlework workshop in the French capital. These early influences no doubt gave him a dual perspective on life—one grounded in the itinerant, deeply traditional world of the Romany people, and another shaped by the structured, commercial elegance of bourgeois Parisian life.

Although he had lived in France for most of his early life and had even worked in the film industry, it was a chance encounter with a woman named Rosario Amaya that set his life on a dramatically different course. Rosario was a Gitana (the Spanish term for a Romani woman), originally from Montjuïc, a steep hill overlooking Barcelona’s port.

The hill’s name, Montjuïc, literally translates to “Jewish Mountain,” a reference to its medieval Jewish cemetery. Over centuries, the area evolved into a culturally diverse and economically marginalised space—eventually becoming home to a large and vibrant Romani community.

Falling in Love with Rosario—and a Culture

Léonard’s romance with Rosario was more than personal; it opened a doorway to a world he felt innately connected to but had never fully explored. Their union granted him a unique position—one that straddled insider knowledge and an outsider’s visual curiosity. He was accepted into the Gitano community not just as Rosario’s husband, but as someone who understood their rhythms and respected their traditions.

By the time he moved to Barcelona permanently, he had begun to photograph the daily lives of the Romani people. He did so not as a journalist chasing stories or an artist in search of the exotic, but as a participant. He wasn’t documenting them—he was photographing us, as he might have seen it.

Everyday Life Through the Lens

Léonard’s photography is notable not for grand gestures, but for its intimacy. He captured wedding celebrations, religious processions, children in alleyways, women braiding each other’s hair, men tuning guitars, and elders sharing stories. Horses were a common motif—central to the Romani lifestyle and to Léonard’s own paternal lineage.

In these photographs, there’s an authenticity that resists sensationalism. The light is often natural, the framing casual, the subjects unposed. There’s a human warmth that suggests trust, and a consistency that hints at long-term involvement rather than fleeting curiosity.

While much of post-war Europe looked down on its Romani communities—often displacing them or ignoring them entirely—Léonard saw beauty, dignity, and complexity. His lens gave visibility to lives lived outside the mainstream, at a time when few photographers had the access or inclination to do so.

A Visual Record of a Disappearing World

By the 1970s, the landscape of Barcelona was changing. The Franco regime, which had long marginalised ethnic minorities and enforced homogeneity, began to make room for urban renewal projects that would eventually dismantle the Montjuïc Romani settlements. The city’s informal housing communities—often referred to as chabolas—were cleared to make way for modern developments and international events.

As the bulldozers arrived and the families dispersed, Léonard’s camera captured the last traces of a community already under strain. His photos became not only personal mementos but historical documents of a culture under threat.

Had Léonard not taken these photographs, it is likely that much of the day-to-day existence of the Gitanos of Montjuïc would have faded from public memory. His archive, consisting of thousands of negatives and prints, now serves as one of the most complete visual histories of Spain’s Romani community during the mid-20th century.

Rediscovery and Legacy

Jacques Léonard passed away in 1994, and for a while, his work lay in relative obscurity. It wasn’t until the early 2000s that renewed interest in his photography emerged, thanks in large part to efforts by his stepson, filmmaker Daniel Gasol, and cultural institutions like the Fundació Photographic Social Vision and the Arxiu Fotogràfic de Barcelona.

His photographs have since been featured in solo exhibitions, books, and documentaries. In these, his work is rightly recognised for its ethnographic importance, its artistic merit, and its quiet defiance of the stereotypes that plagued Romani representation in the media.

Léonard’s story is more than a tale of an artist finding inspiration. It’s a narrative about love—romantic, cultural, and creative. It’s about crossing borders not only geographically but socially, and using photography as a bridge between communities.

Why Jacques Léonard’s Work Still Matters

In the modern age of fast media and digital photography, it can be easy to forget the patience and presence required to create work like Léonard’s. His images remain deeply relevant today, particularly in discussions about minority rights, representation, and historical memory.

For those interested in Romani culture in Spain, Barcelona’s 20th-century urban history, or documentary photography from a socially embedded perspective, Léonard’s archive offers an unparalleled visual chronicle.

His legacy is one of empathy and endurance—qualities that remind us of the human stories so often left untold in official histories. Through his lens, Jacques Léonard captured not only the fading moments of a disappearing world, but also the spirit of a people who have long defied erasure.

---