The journey begins. Behind, an accumulation of sounds and images, where things are losing their name. A train takes us far away. To Mongolia. On the way, unknown faces, new melodies, gestures that fuse with the landscape. Being in a strange land, moving with it. With each step, our destination vanishes and pushes us forward, revealling the sense, that has always been there, that emerges through the mere existence: A land that, by undressing itself, fills up and inhabitates us. And from here, maybe, recover that place from which to look again.
The journey begins. Behind, an accumulation of sounds and images, where things are losing their name. A train takes us far away. To Mongolia. On the way, unknown faces, new melodies, gestures that fuse with the landscape. Being in a strange land, moving with it. With each step, our destination vanishes and pushes us forward, revealling the sense, that has always been there, that emerges through the mere existence: A land that, by undressing itself, fills up and inhabitates us. And from here, maybe, recover that place from which to look again.
Anna SanMartí
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