What happens if your dad spends the rest of what he has on a telescope to look at the moon?
His 27 year old daughter will travel with him to his past. Being in the salt bed of the Cumaraguas, in the peninsula of Paraguaná, Carlos receives a pink saline rock from a child, and it is there that he makes a connection with an event in the middle of a Nazca necropolis in Peru, when he grabbed a small child bone from the ground, and so began, what he supposes, would be the reason for that series of unfortunate events that he has called “La Sinrazón”
I realized life consisted of two contradictory elements. One was words wich could change the world; the other was world itself, wish had nothing to do with words.
The first event of this series was when 50 year old Carlos entered bankruptcy in his country (Colombia) and decides to take a leap of fate migrating to Venezuela to find a way to the Netherland Antilles, where they said, there was building under construction and without windows, waiting for him to place them. After crossing the frontier and finally arriving to Venezuela, the possibility of getting to the islands disappeared little by little, and every time he saw himself more wrapped up in situations in which every decision and every movement seemed to take him further from his goal. Carlos then travels to Tiraya, inhabited by a desolated air looking for exits, and from there he jumps from one place to the other bordering the Venezuelan coast waiting for some boat to get him out of there, waiting for some job offer or some prosper possibility; what Carlos found and received on his trip wasn’t money, but instead a mountain of new lessons, homes that embraced him, dinners caught by his own self at sea, kilometers walked under the sun, prejudices about his nationality, trips as a stowaway, and honest encounters with that part of him which urged so much for a voice that would speak, that would tell, that would help him escape and understand the nature of his experiences; that voice that gathered his life as a castaway together until arriving in sporadic e-mails to his youngest daughter, who will now reinterpret her father’s narrations, accompanying him and travelling beside him, in the journey of la sinrazón, to illustrate and understand that after all, the incidents weren’t that bad and that they are now endowed with incredible beauty, value and nostalgia.
Technical information Colombia-China Spanish 80 minutes HD / Final Master DCP Documentary / Fiction
Produced by Stalker Coproducer by Les Concerto Image With the support of Ministerio De Cultura de Colombia y Cinescope
Ronin Hsu, Tomรกs Campuzano, Daniel Preciado
Executive producer Tomรกs Campuzano
Coproducer Ma Lin Feng
Carlos Mario Posada
Art team Andrea Posada, Eliana Beltrรกn, Daniel Bustamante, Francisco Fuenmayor, with the advice of Gabriel Botero and Daniel Preciado
Sinrazón Definition according to the Royal Spanish Academy (RAE):
Action done against justice and outside of what is reasonable or proper. Carlos’ Definition: La Sinrazón is a series of unfortunate, disastrous and uncomfortable events which would mark the beginning and the trip of my journey to Aruba.
The sea dissolves the pink crystal. The sun continues setting but we do not see it in the horizon, we are sitting with our back to the sunset. After a small walk we find a big installation which contains the image of a desert of white sand and a mountain surrounded by a very blue sky. Dad is in front of this image lying face down on the sand, and above him, in the center, a small bone expelling a black aura is floating. Now we listen to the narration of “The Chauchilla Necropolis”, in which a grey and deserted place full of white objects which turn out to be bones spread by the tomb looters is described; there, and at dad’s feet, is a small piece of child bone, that he then grabs and keeps as a souvenir, without realizing that taking it would start the chain of adverse events that would mark the story of his life and his trip toward The Antilles.
treatment La Sinrazón
-D: I am going to Aruba
He said that, packed his suitcase, and got on a bus. I wondered what luggage my dad was carrying. I know that not more than a few changes of clothes, some borrowed money, and the illusion of emerging from the rough bankruptcy that he had fallen into. At his 50 years of age, dad had the hopes of a young man set on a more prosper place, where, they said, there was a building under construction in the middle of a Caribbean island, a building without windows, waiting for him to place them. As I was on the bus to the university, dad was crossing the frontier, he was taking a leap of fate, and how uncomfortable it must have been, how strange it is to start over when you have already had so much, how brave that small step on the edge of the map can be, the small step that would give an uncomfortable, strange and brave start to this sinrazón.
“Beside me, a child holds a big crystal of a beautiful pink, it’s a gift for me, clearly, in exchange for some money; his dirty face shows the pride of having recited in detail the story of his peninsula. The difference between crouching and grabbing some saline rock and the crystal that he is displaying is in the select and great size. I am alert once I seal the deal and leave behind this fisherman’s son and merchant apprentice; I walk towards a heap of foam and place the saline rock there, which tends to dissolve as the memories of another distant arid location grow which stuns me before the possibility of conserving this object, fearing, how it has already happened, that the action of taking what nature and men leave as proof can be the sinrazón of my destiny and misfortunes.”
… my dad would write to me about his trip…
The Cumaraguas and the Chauchilla Necropolis The twilight begins to tinge the salty waters of the Paraguaná peninsula in Venezuela with red; in the back, the uninhabited towers of an old touristic complex, inserted and abandoned in the arid landscape, can be seen; on the sand, floating on porcelain white the title “The Cumaraguas and the Chauchilla Necropolis” is displayed. The salt bed’s pink water has dense salty foam, and near it there are rows of shells and mollusks. We go across the seemingly uninhabited beach as the voice of Andrea, his daughter, reads the first narration written by dad, “The Cumaraguas”. In a heap of foam, a salt crystal begins to slowly dissolve;
the narration continues…
Near the end of the narration, dad, still face down, kneels to remove the sand from his face and clothes, he stands, the floating bone locates itself above his head and follows him (during all the interventions). Dad exits the frame and in the center of the screen the title “La Sinrazón” appears. We begin our route down the map of La Sinrazón; Punto Fijo is the first location, the city of the person that invited dad and that for an unknown motive got his hopes up about a promising future in The Antilles.
-A: dad, what happened here? -D: what happened was that maybe there would be a trip to Aruba, but for several reasons, always unknown, I ended up only as Ospina’s (his friend) carpentry assistant, breaking my back and earning only a couple of bolos (bolivarscurrency) a week… -A: Ospina deserves a visit. Now, after almost a decade, with 58 years and in long strides, dad guides us through the streets of Punto Fijo, a warm, free trade zone city, full of stores with cheap electrical appliances, bottles of whiskey and American chocolate bars. Dad has confirmed years back that Ospina and his family no longer live in the same place, and that carpentry also doesn’t exist anymore; but old friends are easy to track down and we will meet up with him again to listen to his side of the story, to understand how it was that thanks to him, dad ended up involved an unfulfilled promise and hope.
SSecond month in Venezuela, first day in Tiraya
There is a place in the peninsula of Paraguaná, full of houses but so deserted that it can’t even be called a village. It was there, in that ghost place, where dad landed alongside a new travelling partner, a Colombian man with whom he decided to get to the border of the peninsula, looking for an exit to Aruba all on their own.
-D: That same day we arrived with the light… We say goodbye to Ospina and his family and we leave down the road before the sunrise from Punto Fijo, the landscape eventually borders the sea, and it varies between arid and green; we get to Tiraya along with the sun, and in the entrance of the town there is a sign indicating the arrival to its territory.
-D: the day we arrived was the same day that they installed the last power pole and Tiraya was illuminated. It is night, we walk down the final stretch of Tiraya’s small main street, until we reach its last power pole; we begin to move away, to go inland to blend in with the darkness; on the sand, floating, in porcelain white, the title “Second month in Venezuela, first day in Tiraya” appears. The image continues until we enter a denser darkness and we hear the narration. In it he describes his travelling partner and the arrival to Tiraya with all his possessions: 3 changes of clothes, 10 pounds of flour and 2 watermelons. They didn’t know anyone in town, only Argenis, the taxi driver that took them and who in the end felt bad for them, installing them in a semi-abandoned house (although hut would describe it better); they also meet Ezno, the fisherman who in exchange for flour lent them hammocks and promised to connect their light the following morning. As we hear the narration, we reach an installation in an open desert zone located in the back part of town. There, we see a roofless glass cube which, in an instant, collapses, and out of its center multiple of explosions of small fireworks begin.
It continues… “The kitchen is a 3x4mts room; there is only a concrete counter, there is no sink for water; I walk towards the door and in the clarity of the night I see a car with polarized windows approaching, I am ashamed of my dwelling and I blow out the candle. As if it were replying to a signal, the car turns off its lights, slams the breaks, and six men quickly get out. When they get near, I distinguish their blue local police uniforms. They make me feel important, coming from some close by town, given that there is no police headquarters here; four of them run and stealthily surround the house. One watches the front and approaches, brandishing his small machine gun. I come to my senses and understand that I must not move, I’ve been here 8 hours and I’m already being seized, it’s a raid and I have to obey the orders to separate my legs and go in front of the wall. They are very nervous and attentive to any reactions, one of them is yelling, asking where “the others” are, I tell him there are no others, well there is one but he’s watching TV at a friend’s place. The flashlight shines on my face and the questions begin: what do I do, what do I have with me, and over and over again
the question about the others. They are 15 eternal minutes, my clothes flies, every object, every document or writing demands and explanation, they take a medallion with an engraved virgin on it out of my pocket; then they inquire about my money, I have to explain how I’m a tourist and without money, I mutter that all I know is that I don’t have money, that I am in order and also I am a guest. Once they see my up to date papers and once they don’t find the supposed drugs I should have, one of them says “I’m sorry but you must know how your fellow countrymen are”. They cram themselves in the car again, reverse and leave. I am left as desolated and calm as this town. I remember Andrea, my youngest daughter, I take two steps and face the full moon, remembering also my friend from the internet, I have warned them that I don’t know what awaits me…”
-D: Since we arrived it was pure uncertainty, and then it was very hard, I went from a desk in Medellin to cutting weeds with a machete, painting houses, parking cars, selling fish… and I was already a little old. In Tiraya there is a lot to walk through and understand. We’ll look for the fishermen, dad’s temporary families, for his friends who didn’t think twice to share the little they had and innocently taught him to live austerely, they hugged him like a poor lost soul and gave him moments of simple happiness. How did those fishermen see dad? How did they understand an adult man who came from a distant place without anything but who seemed to understand what it was to have it all? How have their lives evolved in this time of absence? We will live there until finding out how those days were, and how amidst so much difficulty and fatigue, dad found the most honest, simple and carefree happiness.
-D: after some time I already had a routine in Tiraya… Before dawn, we went out with dad and Enzo, the second local that he met and who would soon open his house to him and share his fishing ritual which we will relive and share; to begin the tour in which the west coast of the peninsula is bordered, we pass by Piedras Negras, we reach the lighthouse where, normally, immigrants from Colombia and Peru are seen, waiting to set sail towards Aruba, and we continue through Puerto Escondido until the white sand dunes where the hunt finally begins; first they catch sardines which they later use as bait. We return down the same path, following and jumping with the currents of fish… fishing, the sea and the fisherman are slowly covered in light as the sun rises, under that pink and orange sky, dad’s passionate but clumsy silhouette is seen at work. After fishing, we accompany dad to the bay, the same one he got to running ten years ago, the same one to which he was a few minutes late to set sail in along with other stowaways towards Aruba, in that moment he only felt that he lost his only chance to finally travel to Aruba, he felt depression and loss without knowing that that very loss would be the best stroke of luck during his trip.
Travelling with the chickens
-D: to have a sailor identification, I passed all the tests, among those throwing ourselves in the sea to swim… when I finally passed everything, the laws were changed and without the Venezuelan nationality they couldn’t give me the paper, so I took a sample, made some copies of it, and made my own I.D. -A: Did you use it? -P: I got them to take me to Curacao, the boat was carrying fish, in it, there was a mysterious ex-paramilitary and the crew. The captain felt bad for me and let me on without charging me any money… and we set sail from Tiraya to Curacao, like 11 hours against the tide. We arrived, and they left me hidden next to the motor and the mountain of fish, I didn’t understand why, but in the day I had the freedom to leave the boat and I went around the port selling fish and uchuvas (tropical fruit), to come back every night to sleep in the same boat. We found the route to travel with dad towards Curacao… how is it to repeat the same and difficult trip? How does he feel under the different circumstances of this new trip? In Curacao dad went seeing the light, money flowed more easily and despite living in a beat-up boat, life seemed to be going better. We go around the beautiful and touristic island where dad wanted to stay.
-P: But after two weeks… once again… Ospina called me and said “brother, this time the trip does go to Aruba”, so taking advantage of the boat returning with a load of chickens, I went back… In an installation, the rusty boat is now running aground the sand of Tiraya; it’s night but you can clearly recognize its silhouette, on the sea the title “Travelling with the chickens” appears. We hear the narration which tells us about the arrival to Tiraya, that bad incident as a continuation of la sinrazón; this time the guards arrived once again by surprise, waiting for the load. Dad arrived accompanied by featherless, contraband chickens. The guards surprise was not pleasant at all, and among the fear and confusion dad found no option other than to jump into the sea towards the front part of the boat and stay there, holding on with difficultly: the incident took a few hours, or maybe that was dad’s temporary emotion, who with strength resisted the power of the sea which tried to pull him away; from down there, wrapped in the sea, he saw the guards’ boots and the violent movements of the seizure; the weight of his own clothes became unbearable and he saw himself uncomfortable fighting against the water, against fear and hiding from power. During the narration we see dad energetically taking buckets of water out of the boat, on earth, as an effort to unsink an already stranded boat. From the cracks of the boat beams of light emerge, pointing directly to the camera. -D: first I saw death and became part of that sea… After that I went back to zero.
When dad returned from Curacao to Punto Fijo (the zero) nine years back, he found two things: 1. the promise of a good job in The Antilles once again as an illusion 2. A new travelling partner to set out on the trip towards the east of Venezuela with, now with the ideal of at least getting to Trinidad y Tobago. We will travel on the road with dad from Falcón to the other end of the country, Guiria; a small and jungle-like city where he had immediately found a job in a window shop and where everything finally seemed to not go so badly, he only had to gather some money and wait for the next Wednesday that a ferry to Trinidad would set sail. It is night and we get close to the central square of Guiria, in the middle the title “Contagious schizophrenia” falls. In the middle of the park we find dad sitting in the center and everything around him seems to light up and expand to the rhythm of his breathing. We hear the narration… “She had said textually wherever you are tomorrow at 6 in the afternoon or rather at 12 at night from where I am I will send you a signal that will make you remember this moment. And wow did she accomplish it!! Sitting, I waited on a bench in the Bolivar square of Guiria; I got there early and saw as it slowly got darker, soon the street lights lit up, a few minutes before the agreed time I closed my eyes concentrated (on the infected craziness) waiting for the dogs to bark to know that I too kept walking, kept riding and it happened! A sparkling twinkle made me open my eyes and I saw how among all the street lights the one that was a meter away from me was making an effort to keep its light, then, I reckon that at the precise and agreed time it ended its agonizing shine, letting go of its light and leaving part of me in the shadows while the rest of the street lights stayed unchanged (with I think a smiling intensity).”
-A: coming back to reality… -D: I worked a lot… and every week I hoped to be able to gather enough for the next week, but I never had enough to live and buy the ferry to Trinidad. -A: How did you imagine Trinidad? -D: Humid, jungle-like, confusing because of the language, Palenque-like, party-ish. Being there would be like being in the blender without a helix and in slow motion. Like arriving from the desert to the market place with many metallic drums.
-D: I looked like a little mouse, like when you open a door and see the mouse running from one side to the other without knowing where to go. That is how I was, bordering the Venezuelan coast without finding the door. -A: it didn’t get near the exit? -D: No, but it found a passageway to Isla Margarita
We continue moving along the map of La sinrazón and we travel to the Isla Margarita by ferry, like dad did years before. When he travelled to the island, he settled in another small window shop where he lived and worked, there, in an act of jealousy from his boss towards his wife and dad, he lost his job and ended up working in a brothel serving drinks at night, to later be hired in another place on New Year’s Eve. It is night, we’re in a small street in Porlamar, we see the title “New year’s” and an installation; it’s a reduced, out of the way place, fireworks are heard, the reflections of the lights are seen; dad is inside, lying face down on a table, only his arm sways in the air as we hear the narration in which the day that he was hired to watch over a small workshop in the island is narrated, the same day the owner of the place thought he should protect himself from everything, even his new employee, and he decided to lock dad up on new year’s, leave him with some food and leave him under lock and key for a couple of days so that nothing would escape from his workshop, not a single object, not even its own “care-taker”.
-A: After such bitter situations, what feeling do you have towards that island? -D: the feeling of wanting to live there, for the rest of my life. -A: could it be that we’ll go for the rest of our life? We curiously go along Isla Margarita following dad’s steps, we find bad bosses, bad jobs, good landscapes, and some other accomplices of the time. We have to discover what colonized dad’s heart, what keeps him tied there. It must be the emotional weight that a place carries when after a tough welcome, it allowed the decline of the weight of this sinrazón, of this long, very long, and slow series of unfortunate evens, bad decisions, of going back and forth to the edge of the sea with an evil little bone over his head, the island where the low peaks finally began to calm down and the sinrazón began fading like the saline rock in the foam of the Cumaraguas, and at last dad visualized the end from the island, a spot in the continent that would be his home, that would hug him with the smell of a house, food, work, deserved serenity.
Santana di cacho
Santana di cacho is the name of the canine cemetery in Aruba. The landscape is sinister and beautiful, there are crosses, flowers and wild vegetation in front of the sea of blue’s and green’s. Dad is sitting there, with his back turned, next to a dog; the bodies of men drift onto the shore, they all have different elements over their heads, similar to the bone that dad had, all black and withered. Dad doesn’t have the bone over his head anymore. We hear the narration which tells the incident of the boat that he almost got on in Tiraya and which ended in a dramatic event. The crew members, all of them stowaways from Colombia, were thrown into the sea at such a distance that they couldn’t swim to arrive safely to the beaches of Aruba. Hours later their bodies arrived, dragged onto the lands of the canine cemetery. Dad begins to speak and summarizes about the impression he had when finding out that he was so close to being part of that list of people in a fatal night full cruelty at sea, and he describes how during la sinrazón he never found the way to get to Aruba.
-D: I was blinded by the idea of arriving. And I knew how my travelling companions got to the goal. That makes me think about how necessity can imprison you, and what seems like tracks towards what you wish can be just narrow roads that don’t let you see more. But it also made me think, that it doesn’t matter how bad my decision and paths were, this has been the most valuable journey of my life. Being 50 years old does not mean that it’s late to understand fate and start over, being wrong does not mean losing. Losing does not mean dying, it is often living.
VII We hear the drums, we see the jungle, the market, the neighborhoods, and dad finally sitting on the Trinidad beach, we have to contemplate, because after keeping a promise, a doubt with one’s own life, it’s nothing more than sitting for a good while to look at what is being lived and in what moment it felt so far away.
-D: It’s like watching a centipede cross the road…
that is sinrazón.
This part of the documentary corresponds to the journey, to present time, through new experiences which arise in the same already marked path, recognizing how places have changed, if friends and acquaintances still live in those places, the reencounter with them, and the transformation of a character who now, from his stability, relives an intense moment in his life. The trip searches for the tracks, for the remains, for what is left after 9 years of finishing the journey. This line develops as Carlos and his daughter go through the places that he lived in until finally arriving to those destinations which in that time were unachievable and which even today Carlos hasn’t visited: Aruba and Trinidad and Tobago.
La Sinrazón (The Past)
This narrative thread is constructed from the story that Carlos tells through reminiscence, memories, nostalgia. It is a description directly from Carlos of what happened in the places we arrive to.
This is a documentary exercise which has illustrated interventions in different key points of the trip/story of the protagonist, to accentuate the emotional and surreal nature of said places and moments. Eight places constitute the route to be travelled; some full of stories like Punto Fijo, Tiraya, Curacao, Guiria and Isla Margarita, and others that come up like goals that Carlos could not reach: Aruba and Trinidad & Tobago. This route will be in charge of marking the beginning and end of the documentary while we move along three principal narrative threads; the most adequate structure to articulate all these elements is a framed structure constructed with metanarratives: stories inside the story. Thus, there are different dimensions to this project which we will now explain:
This thread merges the past with the present, through the mises-en-scène and interventions in the landscape in central points of the journey; they are literary narrations and reflections written by Carlos and illustrated by the director, which constitute timeless and emotional moments within the documentary. These narrations are Carlos’ other voice, the one that doesn’t have to explain itself, the one that isn’t family, immigrant, wandering or in its fifties, it’s the essence that travels on the road or by foot, and that tells with great sensibility its eventualities and emotions. The way to approach these narrations, which get strung together throughout the documentary frame, is by means of installations or interventions of la sinrazón, and which have an immense value in the documentary at a narrative and visual level. Because of this, we have decided to do a particular exercise in the artistic area for this project in which we opted for conforming a small but solid work team under the leadership of our director, and the advice of visual and audiovisual artists, and an architect, all familiar with the project and with different artistic languages, to, in this way, reach collaborative agreements about the best way to intervene the spaces in accordance with their own essence and that of the illustrated narrations.
“La sinrazón is ‘saudade’ and nostalgia, it has the color of a sunset… of twilight in life.” La sinrazón is warm, tropical, soft, sometimes pink with sky blue and sea; it’s contemplative, it stays still looking at places and adapts to their rhythm, to the rhythm of the protagonist, slow and engrossed, to the rhythm of its villages, serene, facing the sea, under a cují, or in the middle of the frenzy of fishing boat or a mulatto carnival. The installations occur during dawn and twilight and they accommodate themselves to the anatomy of the places and their colors. The general frames are open and give space to the character so that he transits through the landscapes and cities, blending in with a more private account, where we observe and accompany the expressions/gestures and jobs of our characters through the use of close-ups.
what is heard in a Sinrazón v
“Every day the sea sounded; even more in the silent nights without talking to anyone and with the waves in the background. Margarita sounded like drilling and sea… Guiria like drilling and sea and Curacao… like sea and sea…” In the nature of this route what we hear is the honest sound of the sea, of fishing, of the desert, of the jungle, of work and of its inhabitants. Existing inside la sinrazón a clear feeling of nostalgia and calmness. The ambient sound will mix with the slow rhythm music based on guitars with the sounds of Venezuelan joropos and the rhythms belonging to each place on our map. Music is what will help us identify every point in the map but it will also accentuate the emotions of the protagonist. We know that describing what a journey sounds like is complex, but accompanying a trip with good music is to harmonize and detail the concerns that emerge from it.
Investigating parts of la sinrazón
Seeing the pink salt bed, the quite village, the immigrants’ lighthouse, the hut, the fisherman and the other fisherman. We had to see, on our own accounts, how a cuji (tropical plant) is, how a pink saline rock is, and how shrimps in the soft sand of Paraguaná and Tiraya are fished. We also had to make a teaser and meet at least part of the friends that dad left in the state of Falcon and confirm that they still remembered him, and that those places have some of that magic which is latent in dad’s emails and narrations. To do all of this we had to cross a frontier, seal a passport, take a taxi from the 60’s, be on the road for 11 hours until arriving to Punto Fijo and then crossing the peninsula to Adícora, the town near Tiraya. The arrival to Tiraya seemed desolated, like my dad often described it, the road is long, plain, and surrounded by vast spaces covered in puddles and crystalized salt. This time we arrived with the Virgin, we coincided with the celebration of the welcoming of Maria and among all the commotion, only once in a year, the fishermen quickly recognized dad and threw themselves to hug him and say hello “Mister Carlos, where have you been?!” Carlos! Said others, Carlos Mario! Others and others while dad tried to remember the name of whoever was hugging him. Tiraya, the principal location of this story, is located on the east coast of the peninsula of Falcon, it has approximately 150 inhabitants which belong mostly to two big combined families. Tiraya is populated by fishermen and is also a strategic point for immigrants, mostly Colombians and Peruvians who plan on getting to the Antilles. Like many steps in the world, on this route of illegal migration to Aruba there is the intermediary and the stowaway; the stowaways first arrive to the city of Punto Fijo and get together in the “laborer park”, they are then taken to Tiraya or to the light house with the white sand dunes, so close to Aruba that at night you can see the lights of the cars that pass by, and the signals of the island’s airport. Waiting, in such uninhabited places, many of the stowaways wait in brushes, without food, until the moment a boat can pick them up to take them in the night and leave them a few kilometers from the beach of Aruba (They can spend even various days waiting). This has turned out to be the migration “model” for non-Venezuelan immigrants towards the Antilles, very frequented one decade ago, the trip having a cost of 1 million bolivars when the currency was even with the Colombian peso; dad never had that money, but he managed to make enough contacts to be accepted in one of the boardings, the one which arrived late, when the others had already sailed and the one in which he got saved from death. This event, related to sacrifice and death, in the middle of a disastrous trip filled with fellow countrymen, was a shock of reality, susceptibility and a strange stroke of “luck”, unique in dad’s trip: and even though this event was only one of many that Carlos saw himself involved in around the Venezuelan coast, seeing and visiting these locations and part of its characters allowed us to assimilate and capture the essence of these villages and the essence of our protagonist and story.
In this story, there is a strong link between my father and me. When he migrated from Colombia to Venezuela, he constantly wrote to me, narrating the series of simple or dramatic events that would come up like never-ending jabs to strengthen his already experienced history. I think about the route that my dad took as an effect of despair and the difficulty of maintaining enough stability in his territory, and I think that in his path in his familiar face, the faces of thousands of other people who continue to leave their body up to fate are represented. This project will be the result of various columns supporting an idea; the result of thankfulness, of the honest conversation with my father with the intention of perpetuating his world, of telling his story, and reflecting upon him so many other personas that have gone through the same situations between frontiers and inquiries. Of the trip, the exploration, the stripping of fear towards the unknown, the ambition to conquer new places, the value of travelling, the openness, the understanding of other territories. Of artistic curiosity, the search for the best language to illustrate these already written stories, to reinterpret them and transfer them to a visual account that takes this journey and testimony to more people. La sinrazón is an honest documentary that tackles a personal/human thematic about family ties and the resulting distance of the search for new territories to improve the quality of life; I hope then, that in this project, the value of the taken decision and the ups and downs lived by our immigrants who have left here to delve into new (and sometimes hard) surroundings, is read. That is how, contrary to its name, la sinrazón brings with it an abundance of causes and heart.
That is how, contrary to its name,
brings with it an abundance of causes and heart.
STALKER is a company created by a group of audiovisual artists from the city of Medellin with the objective of promoting different visually artistic and cinematographic expressions, to ease the cultural exchange between our city and the world. In its first year Stalker has produces two full-length fiction films, and is in the preproduction stage of its first documentary “La Sinrazón” firstname.lastname@example.org stalker.com.co
Production Plan Date
1, Project research a, 1º Draft script b, 1º Draft director’s statement c, Story and subject concept design d, Artistic concept design 2, Project promotion
1, International development a, European co-producer presentation b, International cinema found applications 2, Colombian local sponsor and support 3, Final production plan and final budget design 4, Installations desing 5, Crew visa applications process 6, Crew traveling plan 7, Location confirm, shooting presmissions and agreements
1 month *Priority: 1,5,7
1, Script and director’s statement development a, shooting script, storyboard b, Final draft director’s statement 2, Technical department proposal 3, Installations set up 4, Equipments text 5, Final crew traveling preparation 6, Working days shooting plan
Shooting Leave Medellín Back to Medellín
Born on January 29, 1986 in Itagüí, Colombia. With audiovisual languages bases, Andrea has established a career in illustration and visual design, participating in multiple international publications, exhibitions, and art residencies in Austria, China and South Korea. email@example.com andreaposada.com
Ronin Hsu Born on October 23, 1984. Obtained his Directing and Film Writing degree in the Central Academy of Drama in Beijing, China. His movie “THE ANNUNCIATION” (86 min) was officially selected in various international film festivals in 2010. Ronin was also selected in the 21st edition of the Cannes festival residency in Paris, France. firstname.lastname@example.org
Daniel Preciado Born on June 21, 1986 in Santa Rosa de Osos, Colombia. Audiovisual languages communicator from the University of Medellin, interested essentially in fiction contents and experimentation with narrative structures. Teacher of a Script class in the university of Medellin. email@example.com
Tomás Campuzano Born on November 4, 1986 in Medellin, Colombia. Audiovisual Languages communicator from the University of Medellin, mainly performs in the areas of directing, staging and producing of projects; he has special interest in the experimentation of new production and audiovisual development techniques. firstname.lastname@example.org
Production Oct. 19 Nov. 9 Post-Production Nov. 10 Dic.
1, Editing (Dic 15, first cut) 2, International promotion a, Post-production financing b, Presentation to major international film festivals 3, Exhibition *Preparación from november 5