unea iritsi arte ez diogu ekingo

A sunlight that burns everything, as if in Cordoba but it’s Ea, streams through the window and chars the figures. Irantzu’s head of hair transforms into threads of silk, crowning her tired face. That face and the other one smudged by the mirror’s grit, flattening the image and breaking the illusion. We won’t linger too long on the idea of the mirror. Leire’s neon green clip introduces us to a quick diagonal, taking us to the forefront and relegating the other information to a short sequence: an ear on a shoulder, a hand on hips, a hidden camera, lights, wood.

The image does not have a depth of field, as Ea does. You arrive, start walking, and the churches, bridges, river, and sand overlap each other in quick succession, without time to understand the town between mountains and the open sea that you find yourself in. The same goes for the image; without understanding too much, here we are between two heads, amongst hair: Llúcia, Mainahj, Irantzu, and Leire. Unea iritsi arte ez diogu ekingo, and another typical festival saying that was left out:somos un grupo de payasas, pero payasas guapas (‘we’re a bunch of clowns, but we’re good-looking clowns’). Let’s give it our all.