"Look for the part that's missing from this book; there, somewhere in your house it's kept. I've tried to walk as far as halfway between you and I; I can't carry on. The respect I bear for what's yours does not let me go any further." Joxean Artze
This is a film in which we hear and read poems by Joxean Artze. This film is also a poem itself. A short poem made up of poems, of sounds, of images of the past and images of the present. A poem made from the magic of film called editing, that makes it possible to put together things that in reality can't go together. A film that puts together, in a flash, two times on the same terrace, a film that superimposes the sound of the sea and the image of a metro tunnel. A film that puts together two birds that have lived far apart for decades, two birds that are unique but at the same time are the same bird. Perhaps this is the magic of editing: the magic of "at the same time". As in dreams, there where time and space become confused. This film could be a dream dreamed by those children we see in pictures sleeping and suddenly become adults but still sleeping. One of those dreams that on waking you don't know whether you really remember it or whether you're reinventing it when you try to explain it. One of those dreams that are totally meaningful but at the same time slippery. Once of those dreams whose memory you want to cling to even though that memory is uncertain and changing, because you know it's telling you something, something important.
Pablo García Canga