día de trabajo de un poeta

Preparing for a role, an actress holds conversations with pregnant young girls. Throughout the process, the girls lay out the stories of their own lives on camera, changing the course of the production of the film.

Voices that take shape in memory, an empty house, a piano that is now missing. Vivian Forrester said that for Duras, the act of speech to achieve was love in its whole or absolute desire. The one that can be silence, or singing, or screaming. It is what governs memory and forgetfulness, suffering and hope. This video essay proposes a dialogue between two films: Morir... Dormir... Tal Vez Soñar (Manuel Mur Oti, 1976) & India Song (Marguerite Duras, 1975). On the one hand, to claim a beautiful forgotten rarity of Spanish cinema and on the other, to claim that cinema, after all, is a house with many voices.

From Frank O’Hara to Bayaguana, an agitated season with good friends.

This piece was inspired by the album Fantasmagórico (2017) by dominican experimental musician Boundary. An attempt to make music criticism in an audiovisual medium.

Twenty men crossing a bridge, into a village, are twenty men crossing twenty bridges, into twenty villages, or one man crossing a single bridge into a village. This is old song that will not declare itself... (Wallace Stevens)

16mm. A film with 20 shots.

For example: there is no word corresponding to the word "moon,", but there is a verb which in English would be "to moon" or "to moonate." "The moon rose above the river" is hlor u fang axaxaxas mlo, or literally: "upward behind the onstreaming it mooned." (Jorge Luis Borges)

I filmed for several weeks the small ritual of opening and closing the window shutters, the result is a sequence of shots that open and close each other.

Unarchiving a territory. On the verge of disappearing due to industrial extractivism, we begin to glimpse what still subsists in the forest of Hornopirén, in the south of Chile. Not only do we observe it, but it also looks back at us.

A video essay dialogue between bodies and emotions in the work of John Cassavetes (Love Streams, 1984) and David Lynch (Inland Empire, 2006).

I don't have a very good memory, however, I discovered that three days after my birth, my father took a camera and decided to film what would be my home for the rest of my childhood in Santo Domingo. 25 years later, being far from home, I decided to re-photograph it in response.

This work arises from the random encounter of two titles having a tie in the 50th place on the Sight & Sound list in 2012, curiously enough, when considering a dialogue between these two films, we see how cinema can generate its own ghosts: in both films the dead and the living coexist; in La Jeteé thanks to time (insubordinate of movement) and in Ugetsu Monogatari thanks to movement (a panoramic view within a sequence shot, which refers to a deceptive narrative continuity). What would happen if we stripped both films of their construction?

In a poem, one line may hide another line, as at a crossing, one train may hide another train. That is, if you are waiting to cross the tracks, wait to do it for one moment at least after the first train is gone. And so when you read, wait until you have read the next line— (Kenneth Koch)

Notes on a trip.