I never knew Carlos; I knew Efraín.

He was my father’s brother.

Throughout my childhood, that was the only name that existed. Much later, I discovered there was another: Carlos. A name under which he had built a different life, a filmography, an archive, and a character that seemed to change depending on whom the story was meant for. He invented versions of himself with the same ease with which he directed his films.

Over time, I came to understand that perhaps there had never been a single story. That Carlos was not merely a pseudonym, but a way of constructing and inhabiting a fiction.

This exhibition does not attempt to reconstruct his life, nor to verify its truth. What interests me is what remains when a biography begins to unravel among contradictory accounts, fragmented images, and memories we can no longer tell apart from the films he produced.

Throughout this process, I returned again and again to Infrasexum, the first film he directed. In it, the protagonist abandons a life…