how he feels most comfortable in the world when he is
making art. I recognized that there was a more compli-
cated story that I wanted to tell.
I began to film his daily life — Abe
eating breakfast and reading the
newspaper and talking on the
phone with his parents. I was in
his basement filming his fastidi-
ously organized collection of
chemistry bottles. We sat to-
gether and waited for the shutter
release of a long exposure. I saw
him carefully examining tiny de-
tails around him. Sometimes he
took all day to transform what he
saw to make one photograph. I
came to understand that these
observations were what kept
Abe going day after day. It was
by watching Abe that I realized
that I needed to be patient and
let the meaning of moments accumulate in order to
make this film. I allowed myself to mirror Abe’s process.
In some ways Abe became my “excuse” to film. Because
I was filming Abe, I found myself in a gallery in Barcelona
watching people walking through the market stalls. But, I
was not looking out the window; I was watching their re-
flections on one of Abe’s framed images. On his still black
and white image, I saw color and people moving. I filmed
it.
During the period of time that I was making this film, Abe
returns to Cuba for the first time since his escape at the
age of 14. He visits the house where he grew up. The scale
is wrong, the details have changed, but he is finally there
to witness what had been “home.”
I made a film about an artist whose work and methods I
admire and whom I admire as a person. His life story gives
rise to important questions about identity, commitment to
family, and cultural politics. In Shadow of the House, the
viewer sees the un-glamorous work behind Morell’s ele-
gant images. And for 7 years, I was learning things about
myself, framing my way though my own life as an artist,
letting time unfold as I crafted my observations into a film.
More information on his publications, upcoming exhibi-
tions, articles and representation can be viewed at
www.abelardomorell.net.
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