Foley
The piece, an experiment that begins on the skin, in the skins of a family that spoke in silence about a tropical dictatorship in the 1980s, the dictatorship of a house. The skins whispered silently and their voices were heard in the corners, on the walls, in the cooking pot, on the soupspoon, on the wet beans. As the soldiers marched in the streets, the echo of their footsteps resonated in the walls of the home of a military man’s family, a house where the words were forgotten. With few oral resources, some photographs and some stolen confessions, the director proposes an exploration that goes from the personal to the political through a fictionalized experience of the family story related to the dictatorship of Panama.
Sound
A man, that animal which shapes its environment, which also shapes its brain. A fog, a bit harder than the air – the dust of stones. A hexagonal structure, like a monolith of which one dare not ask questions. Two hundred kilometres from Beijing I found a sculpture factory where men lived amidst rocks that were waiting to be broken, cut, polished. The same gestures come back again and again to write a history of deterioration and repair. This history is obliterated in the making of monuments. With the wind that inexorably scatters the traces of these actions.
Foley Artist
Every year, during the summer solstice, the Bay transforms into desert sands, and the tides stop. Michel, a hunter, is charged with battling the forces of Nature. This year, however, nothing goes as planned.
Foley Artist
There is a special brigade dedicated to camera thefts in Lisbon. Few cameras are found, although sometimes tapes are thrown in the gutter like lost memories. Policemen watch these tapes hoping to find clues in this flow of touristic and intimate video recordings. One image leads the investigation to France.
