Rafael Spínola

Retelling the story of my father’s death is an attempt to fill a space full of gaps, to perceive life in inanimate things, to embody a disembodied figure, to populate an irreplaceable place, to speak the unspeakable.

Ana is surrounded. In the apartment below, the ghosts of the past and on the terrace, the ghosts of the future. But she resists

As Zulma heard the first noise, Mariano had been digging through a pyle of records, there was this one Beethoven sonata he hadn't yet heard that summer.

When you go back home and see that it all seemed much bigger.

On a family video, the image and memory of a grandfather.