Playing with silences we slide images of forgotten smells in the viewfinder of our camera. Video fragments bring us closer to the olfactory memory as a fragile witness turned into windows, in many cases beautiful.

That silence is the smell of mist, the essence of the drilled earth, a primitive nature that stretches out like a landscape saturated with silent flavors.

Quietly we slide towards a happy ending. How are we going to retain the colours from which the smells of mist, of old earth, are made, when the canes and trees are different, yet similar?

Almalé Bondía

Zaragoza, January 2012