Didi Domenech | Film direction & creative direction
Didi Domenech | Film direction & creative direction

This sequence is a visual poem representing the inner conflict of personal evolution, driven by uncertainty but also by self-love and courage. 

It’s 5 a.m. In two hours, the plane that will take me back home departs. A grayish dawn light. Naked. Cold skin. Freshly showered, still under the effects, I hurriedly stuff my belongings into the suitcase, which, in light of my thinness and exhaustion, takes on disproportionate dimensions. It transforms into the slope of a giant mountain or an endless plain (the incline doesn’t matter; what’s important is the vastness).

I begin to throw in dirty clothes, clean clothes, all mixed without any mercy or self-respect. Others lie in limbo, simply wrinkled. A book I never opened on this trip. A pair of Après-ski boots, still stiff from little use. I leave out a single change of clothes to cover myself later. In a hurry, I unlock my phone to check the minutes. The artificial light imposes itself on the blurred nature of the morning. The whitish reflections of the snow on the windows are nothing compared to the LED lights that now strike my already tired eyes, interrupting the warm atmosphere generated by the little lamps that have held what was my bed these past fifteen days. I push both sides of the suitcase against each other, trying to fit the two pieces of the contraption together so that all my belongings are safeguarded inside, encapsulated at least for a few hours. Designed to store and transport, I strain to ensure the object fulfills its function. I fold my limbs, embracing the hard plastic pieces. My skin, which was already completely dry, begins to moisten again from the effort. I feel it in my nape and behind my knees. The scent of body wash and fresh cologne fades away. I shift my weight, which teeters in my favor, and twist my body into absurd shapes without making much progress. Downstairs, at the entrance of the establishment, there are frozen 

Downstairs, at the entrance of the establishment, there are frozen floors and remnants of snow that are renewed almost every night. A man waits to pick me up and take me to the airport… 

 

This sequence is a visual poem representing the inner conflict of personal evolution, driven by uncertainty but also by self-love and courage. 

It’s 5 a.m. In two hours, the plane that will take me back home departs. A grayish dawn light. Naked. Cold skin. Freshly showered, still under the effects, I hurriedly stuff my belongings into the suitcase, which, in light of my thinness and exhaustion, takes on disproportionate dimensions. It transforms into the slope of a giant mountain or an endless plain (the incline doesn’t matter; what’s important is the vastness).

I begin to throw in dirty clothes, clean clothes, all mixed without any mercy or self-respect. Others lie in limbo, simply wrinkled. A book I never opened on this trip. A pair of Après-ski boots, still stiff from little use. I leave out a single change of clothes to cover myself later. In a hurry, I unlock my phone to check the minutes. The artificial light imposes itself on the blurred nature of the morning. The whitish reflections of the snow on the windows are nothing compared to the LED lights that now strike my already tired eyes, interrupting the warm atmosphere generated by the little lamps that have held what was my bed these past fifteen days. I push both sides of the suitcase against each other, trying to fit the two pieces of the contraption together so that all my belongings are safeguarded inside, encapsulated at least for a few hours. Designed to store and transport, I strain to ensure the object fulfills its function. I fold my limbs, embracing the hard plastic pieces. My skin, which was already completely dry, begins to moisten again from the effort. I feel it in my nape and behind my knees. The scent of body wash and fresh cologne fades away. I shift my weight, which teeters in my favor, and twist my body into absurd shapes without making much progress. Downstairs, at the entrance of the establishment, there are frozen 

Downstairs, at the entrance of the establishment, there are frozen floors and remnants of snow that are renewed almost every night. A man waits to pick me up and take me to the airport…