This film was born out of silence.
It wasn't a choice, but a prolonged absence - a void from the past that turned into cinematic material. I became fascinated by that moment when a director no longer films, no longer writes, but simply tries to breathe.
In fact, creative block can become a way of returning to yourself.
The main character is less of an author and more a man in search of a meaning that refuses to be spoken.
Yet the true driving force of the film is the feminine presence - warm, discreet, never imposing, but quietly holding everything together.
I deliberately avoided classical conflict. The action is reduced to its essence.
I'm more interested in the invisible tension between silence and word, between gesture and absence.
The quiet sequences, charged with the music of the past, are brought back to life by dialogues that unfold as inner soliloquies, circling a script that continues to remain silent.
This is a film about cinema - but without direct references.
It explores that uncertain space where you no longer know whether what you're living is life or documentary.
I don't know if this film is a self-portrait. But I do know that right now, I couldn't have made any other.
It is a form of mute confession.
Not to explain anything - but to remember what it feels like to look at life as at a blank screen, and to wait for the first frame of the film.