It's about life in our time, about being a young adult woman in the early twenty first century. Conxita, in her twenties, the latest representative of a whole generation, lost her heart somewhere between Madrid and Barcelona. A 'real spitfire' according to her mother, she faces everyday events with great courage. A former student of Fine Arts, she draws her every adventure, from her apartment that she shares with a girl who's her mirror image, her household, her computer, her dreams to elsewhere, her escapes to the beach, her telephone conversations with friends, to her more or less happy dates. In this autobiographical tale in seventeen short tableaux, Conxita Herrero shakes up preconceived ideas about the transition to adulthood. In a minimalist and rigorous style, she plays with antagonisms and mixes inertia and movement, silent panels and intimate, mysterious dialogues, bare lines and pure colors. Freeing herself from the "concern for truth" specific to the autobiography, the author sheds any sentimentality and provides her sets and her characters with sketchy features, a strange and fascinating dimension oscillating between reality and dream.
It's about life in our time, about being a young adult woman in the early twenty first century. Conxita, in her twenties, the latest representative of a whole generation, lost her heart somewhere between Madrid and Barcelona. A 'real spitfire' according to her mother, she faces everyday events with great courage. A former student of Fine Arts, she draws her every adventure, from her apartment that she shares with a girl who's her mirror image, her household, her computer, her dreams to elsewhere, her escapes to the beach, her telephone conversations with friends, to her more or less happy dates. In this autobiographical tale in seventeen short tableaux, Conxita Herrero shakes up preconceived ideas about the transition to adulthood. In a minimalist and rigorous style, she plays with antagonisms and mixes inertia and movement, silent panels and intimate, mysterious dialogues, bare lines and pure colors. Freeing herself from the "concern for truth" specific to the autobiography, the author sheds any sentimentality and provides her sets and her characters with sketchy features, a strange and fascinating dimension oscillating between reality and dream.
