Breathe
By Barbara Anderson
Mute. Roll audio. Three, two, one. Mark.
(clapperboard)
Action !
On a pair of large screens a woman watches a scene inside a room in an apartment. She is the director, Mariana Chenillo.
Next to her a man obsessively observes the four corners of a painting where there is a woman and a man. He is the head of photography, Serguei Saldívar Tanaka .
Those monitors are like magician's boxes that enclose a story.
A couple begins a dialogue.
She protests, he gives her his points of view.
It is a dance of phrases that I hear in the voice of others but that I know perfectly well.
She is me.
He is Andrés, my husband.
It seems like a story by Julio Cortázar: there we are watching how 'other us' live today the life we lived a few years ago.
We are the same, but in a parallel world enclosed in a screen surrounded by numbers and data, where our real life is interpreted by actors, where we can repeat without error the dialogues that occur in a room, where we see ourselves being today who we were.
