Francesco Rosso

Hukule määratud

Francesco Rosso

Triin Tasuja

There, where there are no tracks anymore and the fallen trees embrace the rubble, someone sits; in the Indian summer’s crispy grass, and says peace unto himself. Things felt can not be erased, but they fade into wisdom for the future. Maybe it is not earthly this road i have to walk, but how can i know if i am subjected to gravitation.

Must seeme

Francesco Rosso

A strange guest changes a middle-aged Siberian man’s life. Absurdity and realism are combined together into a small wooden cabin where there’s no room for hope.