One morning where nothing starts. I discover the rubble of a recent past : an old foundry completely ripped open on the edge of a small village in Brittany. Over the course of a passage, a crossing, I draw the contours of this space. This is a film about oblivion, about modern ruins, a political film in which the foundry comes to symbolize the upheavals of the working world, the society that stirs us, and the unceasing acceleration of progress...

The Little Tools

We are somewhere in the north of Spain. After crossing a town, in the rain, at the end of a tunnel, the valley of Solana opens up. The grain and the flickering of the film add a dreamlike quality to the journey that begins in the deserted mountains. For thirty years now, the villages have been emptied of their inhabitants, who were snatched by the towns, as a shepherd tells Emmanuel Piton.