Deborah Viegas

Antonio runs away from home and tries to spend the night at his ex-girlfriend's apartment. There he finds a brazilian girl, an unexpected guest. Johnny is struggling to stage his first theater play in Lisbon. His friendship with the young light technician will make him face his real problems. Débora is passing by, finally returning home. When she goes to the theater, she falls asleep, and is awaken by the protagonist. Three dimensions of the same story.

Made for Somewhere From Here to Heaven, exhibition at Askuna Zentroa, Bilbao.

In Brasília, the modern capital of Brazil, an anteater is found dead by the side of a road, a boa constrictor wanders across the suburbs, and foxes prowl vacant streets. Meanwhile, in the city zoo—home to hundreds of displaced and rescued wild species—the animals look back at us humans.

In the wake of a dream, João Vieira Torres sets off to find the children that his grandmother Aurora, a midwife, helped deliver. Through encounters with the living and the dead, he uncovers tragic destinies which reflect a structural history of violence against women. A curse dispelled by the means of cinema, resulting in a film of exceptionally rare beauty.

Sofia was forced to leave her home and is now homeless. The young woman spends her days wandering the alleys of the University of São Paulo campus, where she offers her services as a tattoo artist. One ethereal night, her wanderings mingle with memories of an unfulfilled love. Wrapped in a dark, melancholy atmosphere, the film contemplates the fragility of a youth left behind. In a story that transcends borders, the life of an impenetrable fictional Sofia is imbued with the experiences of the actress of the same name who plays her. As enigmatic as an oracle, the original Portuguese title evokes the impermanence and ambiguity that haunt Sofia. She is carried away by perpetual motion, her future forever unknown.

Apiyemiyekî? addresses the genocide of the Waimiri-Atroari people in 1970s, when during the Brazilian dictatorship indigenous lands in the mid-west were invaded for the construction of the national road BR-174 and the installation of a mining company. Illustrations about the period, created by the indigenous population, including children, reveal a traumatic history, referring us to the present day.

Jair’s courtship is over.

After nights of heavy partying, a trans performer goes to the Botanical Garden of Lisbon to sober up again.

"My father told me I was ill."

Declared dead by accident, Iolanda Bambirra lives like a ghost between life and death in Belo Horizonte, Brazil, a town in ruins and with no trace of time.

Taking its title from the poem by Wallace Stevens, the film is composed of a series of attempts at looking and being looked at. Beginning as a city state commission under the name and attitude of “Unschool”, the film became a kaleidoscope of the experiences, questions and wonders of a couple of high school students after a year of experiences with filmmaker Ana Vaz questioning what cinema can be. Here, the camera becomes an instrument of inquiry, a pencil, a song.

Obstinate Daniel’s grumpiness is evident. He really doesn’t want to accompany his mother to an oncology conference. However, an unexpected meeting makes it an interesting weekend after all. Shot on grainy film stock, with camera work as uncompromising as Daniel is.

 “Look closely at the mountains!”: the phrase was coined by artist Manfredo de Souzanetto during Brazil’s years of dictatorhsip. Mining activities were destroying the environment in the state of Minas Gerais in the south west of the country. Through editing, Ana Vaz draws parallels between this region and the very distant Nord-Pas-de-Calais in northern France, also marked by over three centuries of mining. On one side, eroded mountains plague its inhabitants with deadly landslides. Hollow and gutted, these mountains become the receptacles of a ghostly memory. On the other side, in France, mining waste stacks become mountains and reservoirs of biodiversity, where the frontier between nature and technology is now indiscernible.

For Dreaming the Dark: hands that see, eyes that touch, Ana Vaz invited artists and filmmakers whose work trust cinema’s capacity to transform relationships between the body and the camera to propose works that will engage with both perception and embodiment. Could cinema be an art of embodiment? By what rituals and actions could vision become tactile?

Abílio visits his family in Jundiaí, an inland city in Brazil. His sister, Gisele, is quadriplegic and dreams about doing a postgraduate course in order to become an English teacher. However, in this city, promises seem like ghosts and hope echoes like resignation.

Among ruptures of memories, geographical and affective displacements, we revisited with Bruno the incursion into a city full of noise but that still emits a minimal murmur of love.