Karina Quelín

Filmes

Mud
Assistant Director
The factory's steaming chimneys flood the reddish sky of the old port district. Under the beach there is an incognito man, lost from tired days, sunk in the infected estuary. The black sand breathes strangely and from its belly now grows an unfinished being, thrown into the matter of mud, which with its hands detaches from the shore, opening its immeasurably white eyes wide.
My house is no longer my house
Producer
María and Ale read a script that they wrote themselves. As they read, we see them go through different rooms in an apartment that seems to be completely empty. What they read seems to refer to the idea of progress as an engine of change, but deep down it only hides an impossibility (The impossibility of carrying out their dreams).
My house is no longer my house
María and Ale read a script that they wrote themselves. As they read, we see them go through different rooms in an apartment that seems to be completely empty. What they read seems to refer to the idea of progress as an engine of change, but deep down it only hides an impossibility (The impossibility of carrying out their dreams).