When I received the invitation from my friend Gonçalo Leandro to develop a Video Art project at the Jiùxiàn residency in China, I felt worried. I thought: this is it; I’ll have to wake up a little more. And so it was.

In the following days, I researched the area where I would be working. I thought it would be ideal to stay for some time so I could settle in and get to know a broader area of Chinese territory. I didn’t yet have a clear idea of what I would develop in terms of work, but that didn’t concern me because I knew that when I arrived, I would know what to do. There’s always something that naturally imposes itself, something that presents itself to us, and that’s what we need to talk about. I’ve always believed that through the work of observing the confrontation between our particularities and reality, we can reach the level of Universal language; a bit like Aristotle, who claimed to have found the Universal in the Particular, in the essence of things.

I entered and left through Shanghai. About 30 days passed between November and December. In between was the Southwest of China: the mountains, Dàli, Lìjiāng, the Black Dragon Pool, the commerce of Yángshuò, Tai Chi, and of course, Jiùxiàn—the residency.

I arrived on an icy day. Contrary to the weather forecasts that made me buy malaria pills, the temperature was far from tropical, barely reaching 10 degrees Celsius. The residency was well underway, with the artists working in the fields, in areas designated for Land Art projects. Everyone wore warm checkered pants that they had bought at a village market. They were a kind of all-purpose pants: they were worn for work and trips to town; worn over other clothes, they became part of the residency’s dress code, and any local could distinguish a residency artist from any other foreigner. I didn’t arrive in time to buy the checkered pants, but when the cold got worse, Maria Coustols, an artist and friend anyone would love to have, lent me hers, which I wore promptly, although I later learned they were pajama pants.

By choice, my stay at the residency would last about 10 days. I felt I had no time to lose and wanted to quickly start filming that place that inspired me with its enigma. The next day, I asked a guide to take me to the top of a mountain, and I prepared the camera, tripod, and memory cards.

The earth had a warm color, and there were giant bamboos swaying with the energy of the wind. I, influenced by the power of the collective subconscious, imagined myself at the tops of the trees, swaying in the sky’s emptiness, with my feet resting on thin, flexible branches, oscillating through the mist, through the white, humid, and silent vapor.

It smelled like late afternoon, with smoke rising from the village. The sun had begun its descent, and I was already nearing my destination. A new spectrum of light connected the mountains into a single silhouette. At the base, I could still distinguish the contours of the Ming rooftops.

At the top, there was only silence. Silence against me, who remained perplexed, my gaze fixed on the view before me.

I made this entire journey in the company of my husband Vasco, who, besides being an excellent assistant director, was the perfect travel companion. I’m grateful for his support. I also thank Gonçalo Leandro for the invitation and Maria and Frederic Coustols for the initiative. I would also like to say that in all the artists who participated in this residency, I recognize the spirit of teamwork, camaraderie, and great dedication to the project.