Memory and Hope: Agustín Garza on Filming Yugoslavia's Forgotten Memorials as Portals to Transcendence

Interview with Agustín Garza, director of the documentary short film Memory and Hope

To begin, could you please tell us a little about yourself? How did you become interested in cinematography and photography, and where does Memory and Hope stand in your body of work—is it your first, second, or later project?

I was born in Mexico City, a vibrant and visually rich metropolis, and from a very young age I decided to become a visual storyteller. Over the past fifteen years, I have focused primarily on architectural photography and videography. In 2024, I obtained a Master’s degree in Cinematography in Berlin and subsequently decided to make this city my home. Berlin provided the ideal context to conceive Memory and Hope, in which I combined my experience capturing architectural spaces with a poetic, meditative, and contemplative vision. This short film is a fully independent one-man project.

How and where did the core idea for Memory and Hope originate? As a documentary, did you work from a detailed script, or did the film develop more organically?

In 2018, I visited the exhibition Toward a Concrete Utopia: Architecture in Yugoslavia, 1948–1980 at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York. It completely captivated me. Discovering what had been built in that country during the Cold War was deeply fascinating. From that moment, I began considering the possibility of developing a project there. However, it was not until 2024 that the idea fully materialized, when I finally shot Memory and Hope.

It is also important to mention that for many years I have been exploring themes related to death, memory, and transcendence through architectural spaces. In that sense, creating this film was a natural continuation of an ongoing creative and spiritual inquiry.

Regarding the creative process, I prepared a detailed and precise research and production plan, but the filming at each memorial was entirely spontaneous and intuitive. Each shot was captured in the moment, guided by what I perceived, felt, and experienced. Working alone, under the intense summer heat in remote and difficultto-access locations, influenced the visual and sound-related decisions I made.

Director Agustín Garza

Beyond the monologues, do you include visual elements in your scripts? How important is a written script in your process?

For a poetic documentary, I do not believe it is necessary to write or pre-visualize extensively in advance, since you cannot fully anticipate what will inspire you once you begin filming. In fact, I wrote the voice-over texts during post-production. The images I captured, together with the profound emotional and existential impressions I experienced, gave rise to those lines.

For example, the opening phrase, “I feel freedom, sunny summer, stay calm and quiet before my spread wings and open eyes,” encapsulates and introduces my emotional and perceptual state. Meanwhile, the line that closes the third part of the documentary, “Death is a transcendental voyage,” articulates a philosophical and spiritual reflection.

As a documentary filmmaker, how essential are specific locations to expressing your ideas?

Locations are fundamental to the expression of my ideas. For me, architectural spaces and the landscapes that

surround them are living presences, much like human beings. They possess character, personality, and energy. In

Memory and Hope, these sites become points of connection to the world of the dead and to the past.

What are the main themes of your film? Do you think about your target audience before beginning a project?

In my film, the memorials serve as vehicles of connection to something beyond themselves. I sought to provoke a timeless reflection on death as a journey of transformation, memory, and peace. I wanted to immerse viewers, even if only for a few minutes, in a contemplative and meditative experience. We live in a suffocating universe of linear narratives tied to action, rather than to pause and introspection.

As a short documentary, much of Memory and Hope’s appeal comes from its sound design and poetic monologues. Could you tell us more about the poetic dimension of your work?

I did not have the time or budget to hire a musician or a sound designer, so I recorded ambient sounds while shooting at each memorial and later combined them with music that not only supported the images but enhanced them, creating a unified whole. I spent many hours carefully selecting and mixing music with incidental sounds. Cinema thrives on the interaction of the senses and the convergence of different art forms. I believe that one can “see sounds” and “listen to images” as well.

Death appears as a central motif in the film. How did you approach this atmosphere?

Yes, I wanted to reflect on death and memory, partly because there is a circumstance that has marked my entire life: the death of my father when I was a child. I dedicated the film to him—not because he was connected to the former Yugoslavia, but because it is possible to construct personal narratives and meanings through architectural spaces.

Andrei Tarkovsky reflected that we carry the house of our soul like a turtle carries its shell. The memorials function as triggers of emotions and ideas beyond themselves, which is why their preservation is important. I believe death and impermanence can be understood not only as dark realities, but also as luminous thresholds.

What lessons did you gain while making Memory and Hope?

If you create a project that is honestly connected to what you believe, intuit, and truly are, it is far more likely to have a meaningful conclusion. In that sense, I concluded: keep writing the same poem.

If you were to remake Memory and Hope today, what would you change?

That is an excellent question. I would probably work with a small team of collaborators, since doing everything alone was very demanding. I might also choose to film during a cooler season, such as spring or autumn.

However, summer allowed me to create luminous and vibrant atmospheres for memorials associated with difficult histories. I would also be interested in collaborating closely with a composer and a sound designer.

Could you elaborate on the visual aspects of your film?

Each project requires imagining and constructing an aesthetic that relates to its theme. In Memory and Hope, as I mentioned earlier, summer provided a distinct visual language: intense zenithal light, strong contrasts between light and shadow, and a saturated color palette. I employed a wide range of perspectives, angles, and lenses— from expansive drone shots that situate the memorials within their broader context to close-ups that explore the

textures of the materials.

What advice would you give aspiring documentary filmmakers drawn to poetic work?

The world is saturated with objective documentary images. Anyone who wishes to create poetic cinema must honestly identify the themes that obsess them and return to them repeatedly.

Before Memory and Hope, I created projects that were, in some way, related: Leaving All Behind, a black-andwhite photographic series set in abandoned spaces, and Impermanent, an immersive photography and video project exploring the continuous flow of existence.

I would say that a creator takes a step, leaves traces behind, and then begins again.

Your film displays strong architectural sensitivity. Could you speak about the interplay between photography, documentary filmmaking, and architecture in your work?

The interaction between my architectural documentary eye and my contemplative poetic eye is constant and complete. Memory and Hope is the result of that convergence. My architectural photography often features strong graphic and geometric components, along with highly defined and sharply rendered images. In the film, I combined these with more subtle, out-of-focus shots. I alternated between different types of imagery, as well as between normal and slow motion, to soften transitions and shape the visual flow.

Does your documentary regard architecture primarily as structures shaping life, or as traces left for future generations?

Absolutely. The film presents brutalist sculptural memorials associated with those who lost their lives defending their country against fascism or as victims of genocide during World War II. Sadly, many of these memorials were later damaged or destroyed during the Balkan wars of the 1990s. However, their continued presence—and the visits of younger generations—help reduce the possibility of repeated tragedies and contribute to a culture of peace. Of course, they also resonate on a personal level, activating inner emotions and reflections on death as a timeless human condition.

Do you view architectural works as pure art or as human creations meant to teach us something about humanity?

The memorials of the former Yugoslavia are works of art that sought not only aesthetic expression but also profound metaphors. Their architects and sculptors employed symbols inspired by nature and ancient cultures.

Though not always easy to decipher, these forms communicate poetic ideas: a tunnel connecting the earthly and celestial worlds, a concrete flower raising its petals toward the sky, birds spreading their wings to carry souls.

How can filmmakers create compelling documentaries in today’s information-saturated world?

What matters most is the filmmaker’s approach to a meaningful subject, whether classic or contemporary. The depth and originality of that engagement are the true challenge. Poetry offers one way to move beyond objectivity, superficiality, and emptiness, which often dominate contemporary image culture.

Which element of the film lingers most in viewers’ memories?

Based on audience feedback, it is the union of all elements that creates the impact. However, each viewer responds differently. Some have told me that the poetry and tone of voice moved them most deeply; others were struck by the textural quality of the images. That subjectivity is part of the beauty of film.

Do you prefer short or feature-length documentaries?

I prefer short films with poetic content and feature-length formats for subjects that require extensive, detailed, or objective exploration. Poetic documentary films, I believe, naturally lend themselves to the short format.

How have festivals responded so far?

I am pleased that Memory and Hope has been officially selected at festivals where its themes resonated: Living with Buildings (Coventry, United Kingdom), the Anti-War International Independent Film Festival (Estonia), the

Roma Short Film Festival, and the Berlin Independent Film Festival. As I live in Berlin, screening it here was particularly meaningful and it received a warm and enthusiastic response from both the audience and the local film community. Cinema ultimately seeks connection—with many anonymous yet engaged viewers. I have already submitted the film to the London Independent Film Festival, and I hope it will have the opportunity to be screened there.

Could you tell us about your next project?

I do not yet have a specific project in development, but it will likely continue exploring time, memory, and aspects of human existence. I am also actively looking for projects in which I can collaborate with other directors, particularly those where architecture plays a fundamental role in the storytelling.

Finally, is there anything else you would like to add?

Thank you very much, Claudia, for this interview. I would like to invite your readers to visit www.memoryandhope.de to watch the film and discover more about my creative journey and the filming locations. They are also welcome to follow me on Instagram at @agustingarza.cine, which I recently created to share posts, reels, and stories about Memory and Hope and other projects.