critical texts


Eladio Rivadulla
Alfredo Guevara
There is magic in Time’s chisel. It sculpts either in diamond or sand. It eternizes an instant’s traits if an artist helps it to turn them into a novel, a statue, a painting, a melody and, in more recent times, into a film, which sometimes covers the total work, the opera that was an aspiration of synthesis. Time eternizes when it touches, because its path can be history, more or less important: that of a hero or a wise man or a crustacean which, turned into stone, shelters us in palaces and houses that are man’s shell, his shelter; eternizing time also decomposes; becomes a fascinating face wrinkled; gets cellulite in the most solid buttocks and osteoporosis in the upright skeleton. Because time, in its omnipresent magic, takes command of life and death, of what is alive because is dying; and while it dies, is reborn and lives new lives. Their fragments are today a child, a teenager, a young man, a mature man, an elderly man and even older. If what is comes goes, something remains; and the always surprising eternal magician creates —to surprise those who watch and judge—, new surprises, so surprising, that what you once spurned, haughtily judging, recovers or reaches with its passing —a stroke of that magic that is called, sometimes, the patina of time.

I am in the presence of posters that come to life again; that come to give us funny messages, with the deep laugh of those who do not give up, of those who are in us, because they were before us. I look at them affectionately, lovingly, I get fascinated and I ask myself, my fiends, whether it is because I have already entered that phase in which delusions have the indescribable charm of the memories they call nostalgia.

Alfredo Guevara. Founder of the ICAIC and the International Festival of New Latin-American Cinema of Havana.