Architecture

On the outskirts of the city, hidden within the folds of time, stands the house of a retired actress. Its classical architecture breathes an air of serene elegance, where every corner whispers memories of a glorious past. A profoundly feminine space, imbued with taste and sensitivity, reveals itself in an intimate living room filled with carefully curated objects. Relics of other eras, fragments of suspended stories, shape a world that is both a refuge and a stage.

But the house is not merely its interior. Within the same space, an inside and an outside coexist, seamlessly intertwined. A hanging tree marks the threshold of the external, an echo of nature gently breaking in, dissolving the boundaries of the scene. The scenography condenses into a fluid unity, a continuous whole that erases spatial limits, allowing moments to unfold without interruption.

Transitions are woven through the flickering glow of an old television. Various videos appear on its screen like windows into other times, threading the narrative without abrupt shifts in lighting, blending scenes into a natural flow. Each object has been meticulously selected to anchor the ambiance in the 1980s, yet with a subtle timelessness that distances it from the present without severing it completely.

Like a veil that suggests rather than conceals, a folding screen rises within the space. Its presence is more than decorative; it is a bridge between the visible and the implied, between the real and the evoked. It is also sound, a surface of resonances that accompanies transitions and reinforces continuity, allowing the story to flow without ruptures, like a whisper traveling through time.

Las cosas que no digo no existen menos

location Teatro El Grito , 2022
directed Julia Bozzalla
team Paula Robles & Guido Sapognikoff

Photos: Carlos Furman

The scenography is a space suspended between the present and memory, a canvas where the life of a young woman unfolds in scenes that have shaped her. Alongside her two friends, she brings these moments to life, sharing them with the audience. The proposal is simple yet deeply evocative: a flexible space where the boundaries between narration and action dissolve, drawing the audience closer, as if peering through a window into her story.

On the floor, an invisible grid, a game board that structures the different layers of representation. In the first line, near the audience, she speaks directly to them, breaking the fourth wall, inviting them into her memories. In the second, she drifts into monologues, thoughts suspended in space, echoes of her mind in dialogue with itself. And in the third, at the back, the episodes unfold: fragments of her story brought to life with the raw intensity of lived experience.

At the heart of this composition stands a carefully designed artifact,a narrative device in itself. It is a screen for images and titles, a window with its curtain, a threshold between reality and recollection. Its presence is both tangible and fluid, defining the space as much as it dissolves it, ensuring seamless transitions between memories, without abrupt cuts. Here, scenography is not merely a backdrop; it is a language of its own, a play of distance and proximity that shapes the intimacy of the story. It breathes alongside the protagonist, folding and unfolding to the rhythm of her narrative, oscillating constantly between past and present.

Rey Magnum Leopoldo

location CC Rojas, 2023
directed Naomi Stein
team Melanie Weingarten & Paula Robles

Photos: Carlos Furman

In a castle suspended between centuries, where past and future intertwine, two jesters and a chamberlain dwell, surviving under the weight of King Magnum Leopoldo’s decrees. His latest command is absolute: to banish darkness from his realm, to erase the night and with it, all traces of shadow. But unsatisfied with ruling over the visible world, he demands more: that dreams themselves be abolished, that the mind never stray beyond his dominion. Thus, Gúlerin, the palace scientist, is forced to create a machine that renders unconsciousness obsolete, turning the night into an endless state of productivity. But to wage war against shadows is no small feat, and soon the King will learn that absolute light is its own form of doom.

The scenography mirrors this distorted universe, shaping a flexible space where the castle takes form, not as a fixed structure, but as a place of shifting realities. It is a setting rooted in historical aesthetics, yet tinged with dystopian echoes, a realm where time itself has been bent and reshaped. The stage is framed by immense, flowing curtains that carve out a curved space, enclosing the performance in the solemnity of a grand medieval hall. These curtains, shifting and breathing like living walls, transform the perception of space, conjuring both the grandeur of royal chambers and the instability of a world bent to impossible whims.

Within this fluid stage, certain period objects anchor the setting in an uncertain time: thrones that seem half-ruined, lamps casting light from unseen sources, strange contraptions hinting at an impossible science. Everything is at once familiar and eerily foreign, like a dream from which one cannot wake. The castle’s atmosphere is more than a backdrop, it is a presence, a witness, and a victim of the King’s insatiable will.

[09] → Scenography

Yo lloré porque usted lloró

Las cosas que no digo no existen menos

Rey Magnum Leopoldo