My first time in New York turned out to be a fiasco — staying in an apartment on the Upper East Side, I had a Venetian blind fall on my head, and the ferry service to Staten Island was under construction. And since my love life was already spoken for at the time, I played it straight — a decision that, in retrospect, disappoints me, given my inaction and my laziness in remaining good, kind, and unhappy, in a concrete jungle of lights, propagandistic cinema, and missed encounters around the Aventura... To cope with my frustration, art appeared to me, as always, as the perfect refuge for those who couldn’t do it all — or say it all.

“Cheaper than therapy” — my plane ticket would beg to differ. That said, these 42 deceptively analog-looking photographs, along with jazz, the faithful companion to my misadventures, become a cinematic response, a hybrid object narrated by yours truly, your ever-helpful and far-too-serious narrator.

The film is yours.