“By pure chance, twenty-four years ago, I found myself dropping vertically by aeroplane towards the southern edge of the west, to Buenos Aires. Now, after so long, I cross back over the border of memory and open again the boxes of negatives and contact sheets from that journey. On a rainy night the crater of my memories opens wide: the places, the dates, the faces. Yes, it was me — with my nightmares and my visions inside the emulsion of a frame, collecting fragments.”