The most useless trip. There were times when the Moon was good for something. Times in which the lovers looked at it, the madmen suffered it, the worst poets sang it, the astronomers tried to scrutinize it with polished crystals: those times, that form of melancholy. Then, half a century ago, he changed roles and became the flag of progress: the almighty man had been able to do the impossible. It's been so long and a little longer: another form of melancholy. Text by Martín Caparrós. Art direction by Melody Newcomb.