In Valparaiso I encountered something.

The completely other, and the hospitality that we give to it in ourselves.
I wandered, looked, listened: stories of wanderings and migrations, shared by languages ​​of uncertain mastery – from Chilean Castilian to Haitian Creole, nocturnal messages from Skype and WhatsApp that are superimposed on dreams on moonlit nights gibbous. Stories of political, digital, suffered, solitary, imaginary odysseys. Indecisive existences, intermediate, in motion, in exile, in transit – between two.

Stories of melancholy worlds, ghosts, prostheses.
Ghosts of those who remained, and whose absence radiates.
Original prosthesis of the language, maternal, irreplaceable – and yet.
Mad melancholy of mourning the abandoned world, and the unpredictable world.
I let myself be haunted by these legends, listened to all its noises, captured their images in the moving streets. Jay, Junior, Marie-Sherly, Atheney, but also Rodrigo, Nicolas, Joaquin, Nicolas, and hundreds of untameable and sensitive animals have guided my wanderings and sealed their crevices, transmitted their memories and their trajectories in inverted rhizomes.
The wandering ends here, in the paradise valley; at the end of the world.