This short film was funded via "Histórias de Bairros de São Paulo" program.
"I grow old at Lopes Chaves Street, ashamed for not knowing who he was."
"Mother! Let me hold the moon, so I can live in the oblivion of tunes."
Have you seen a street perish?
Of course not
Neither did I.
Streets don't perish.
They don't, right?
Of course they don't.
Streets change titles.
They become avenues, or even boulevards.
If they're lucky enough, they become highways
connecting distant parts of the country.
Have you ever seen a street swim?
Of course you didn't. Neither did I.
Streets don't swim nor perish.
This...
This is something about streets I know for sure.
The city itself might change,
people might leave.
but pathways remain there, because...
well, 'cause they're not made of bricks.
Those weren't made by the people living in it, they...
They came a long time ago.
I knew I was as street
when I felt the rain choosing me as path to flow.
Then came all sorts of animals and insects.
Such as ants, armadillos, and jaguars.
And they began to give me shape
Back then, I didn't know quite well where I'd begin nor end.
But it worked for me, 'cause I'd feel a part of all which surrounded me.
Those days we filled with sun, rain, soft winds, and nothing else.
I didn't know what was like to perish, since nothing in me had had and end.
So when the first "civilized" man stepped into me,
you know, those whose streets are named after.
Well, I thought he a silly way of walking.
Each step felt as if he thought he owned the ground beneath his feet.
He then spit on the land and I...
Well, I became a city.
At first, I thought it was pretty nice to be a city.
I mean...
I was just a street, but I was also a city.
They prepared the land
and then started building their houses.
Just a handful of them at first,
but then there were a bunch of them,
with kids growing into adults who built more houses.
Then they covered me with concrete.
It felt a little too tight, but it was worth it.
Because I looked like one of those famous streets, you know?
Then they changed my name.
They changed it to something more fitting for a republic, I guess.
Eventually, no one recalled my old name, not even I.
And then...
they named me...
Aurora.
I was an important street.
Well, sort of.
Maybe important, but not that important.
To some folks, I was indeed pretty important.
All I ever dreamed of was becoming an avenue.
Perhaps a main street.
Can you imagine that? Me, "Aurora Main Street".
Or "Aurora Boulevard".
Then I'd have those fancy shops everywhere.
There'd be no kids playing sports barefoot in my corners.
But when I think about it now...
I kind of miss those kids playing barefoot.
But no!
We lived in times of progress,
and that meant less kids playing barefoot
and more tall buildings.
Right?
Have you seen a street touch the sky?
I thought I would, you know.
But I was just fooling myself.
Now, men used wheels to move around.
There were days when I'd see more cars than people around here.
Then I started missing people's feet,
maybe a pair of red sandals.
I missed the guava trees,
preás running from jaguars, rivers streaming.
The riverstream.
Have you seen a street with any friends?
Streets have passersby,
not friends.
But I had a couple of friends regardless.
Of that I'm proud.
Once in a while, I became friends with a stray cat or a baby bird.
Even people sometimes, but...
These people were hard to find, because you've got to listen closely
to hear me talk.
You need to speak the language of this city.
But it felt good when people came around.
It may not seem like that, but I do enjoy having company.
It is good to have someone to tell my stories
and share my worries.
But people started leaving, and cats were no longer around.
And those baby birds, I don't where did they go...
I don't where did they go and I...
But I'm still here.
Now I have numbers from 1 to 1038.
I have a zip code and even sewerage system.
But I feel something in me fading away.
I must keep reminding myself who I was...
so I won't cease to be myself.
But then it gets hard...
It gets hard not having anyone to count on.
Who would look to a street like that now?
Who would listen to the story of a street now?
When it rains like that
I miss being a river so badly.
I close my eyes
and imagine myself full of fishes.
So full of a newfound strenght.
A flood capable of taking over the entire city.
Have you seen a street perish?
Of course you didn't.
Neither did I.
Streets don't perish.
They become stories.
which will live on in the memories of those who remember its lines.
It'll become a path in the history of this city.
Immersion: finding the source.
Feel the river is you.
That the sun, the ground are with you.
That the sound of the sky says to you.
Feel that the water is to cross to the other shore
image imagination action.