– “JACINTO” – John Sayas & David Botero by Jesús Cabrita.

EXCLUSIVE

JACINTO

MODELS: John Sayas and David Botero
PHOTOGRAPHER: Jesús Cabrita
RETOUCHING: John Sayas
STYLIST: Juan Pablo Vélez Espinosa
MAKEUP: Felipe Parra and Andrés De Los Rios
ATTENDANDE: Daniel Martínez

INSPIRATION: APOLO AND JACINTO MYTH

Jacinto, the young son of the king of Sparta, as beautiful as the gods of Mount Olympus himself, enjoyed the love of Apollo, archer. The god used to go down the banks of the river Eurotas, leaving his sanctuary in Delphi desert, to spend time with his young friend and enjoy the pleasures of the young. Tired of his music and his great arc, Apollo found rest in simple pastimes. Ora took Jacinto to hunt the forests and calveros on the slopes of the mountains, now they practiced gymnastics (a discipline that Jacinto would later teach his friends and for which the Spartans were famous). The simple life awakened Apollo’s appetites, to whom the curly-haired boy was more charming than ever. Apollo gave his love without restrictions, forgetting that it was a mere mortal.

Once, during a hot summer afternoon, the lovers undressed, smeared themselves with olive oil and tried their luck at the disc throwing, each of them trying to overcome the other. The bronze disk flew higher and higher. Finally, gathering all his strength, he turned on himself until he released the brilliant disk, which rose quickly, which bird, cutting the clouds in two until, shining as if it were a star, began to fall.

Jacinto ran to catch it, so much was the rush he had to throw it, to prove to Apollo that, however young he was, he was no less skilled than the god in this sport. The disc finally fell to the ground but it was so strong that it bounced and violently hit Jacinto in the head. He groaned in pain and fell to the ground. Blood flowed in large quantities for his wound, dyeing the dark hair of the beautiful young man with deep crimson.

Horrified, Apollo ran to his friend, leaned over him, let his head rest on his own knees and desperately tried to cut off the torrent of blood coming out of the wound, but it was all in vain. Hyacinth was getting paler and his eyes, always so alive, lost their brightness as his head fell to the side, as if it were a flower of the field that withered under the rays of the midday sun. With a broken heart, Apollo shouted: “They took you the claws of death, beloved friend! Woe to me, because of my fault you have died. Or should I blame my love? Oh, blame for a love you love too much. If only I could atone for my guilt by joining you on the journey to the desolate realms of death! Why have I been punished with the curse of eternal life? Why can’t I follow you?

Apollo held his dying friend by his chest, while his tears spurted on his blood-stained hair. Hyacinth died and his soul flew to the kingdom of Hades. The god crouched down and whispered softly next to the head of the dead young man: “You will always live in my heart, beautiful Jacinto. May your memory also live among men.” And, at an order from Apollo from Jacinto’s blood, a red flower sprouted, which we call hyacinth, and whose petals can still read “Oh,” the sob of grief that emerged from Apollo’s chest.

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