2016
Documentary
Digital
Selado a muros no meu quarto, a luz trémula do candeeiro esboça o frémito que alastra pelo meu corpo. A casa fica num quintal de oliveiras que um instante me lembram, refolhadas de agouro, redondas de mistério, negras do sopro agreste do Inverno. Endurece-as um implacável questionar de raízes, solidifica-as uma obstinação contra os ventos e as geadas, contra a plácida violência da montanha. Aí me escuto, me reconheço. (Vergílio Ferreira, Invocação ao Meu Corpo)
The omnipresent pulsing of the water, the mist on the horizon mountains, the dark night: Melo (where he was born), Gouveia and Sintra (where he lived) make Vergílio’s writing even more present. Because a writer does not dissociate himself from the landscapes he transports. And there, in the face of accidental evidence, I had an image imprinted somewhere microscopic in the body, in a suspended time that opens space for the dimension of the eternal. Then I hear myself, I recognize myself. Homage to the writer Vergílio Ferreira. Because the distance that goes from absence to oblivion is great.
