10 Questions with Rafael Alejandro López

Rafael Alejandro López is a Swiss-Venezuelan filmmaker and graphic designer based in Los Angeles. Raised between countries in seemingly perfect opposition, Lopez's personal work explores flawed political systems and the duality of the human condition. Through the narrative micro-lens of human experiences and dance, Lopez's aesthetic oscillates between absurdism, fiction, and realism. Heavily influenced by Nina Menkes' teaching throughout their time at CalArts, Lopez's approach to filmmaking strives to combat the pre-established patriarchal norms of mainstream visual language. Aside from filmmaking, they hold an odd passion for sandwich making, and might just end up opening a bodega in Washington Heights.

ralopez.work | @ralopez.work

ARTIST STATEMENT

Rafael A. López's work aims to interrogate the relationship between fiction and realism by crafting environments where the camera becomes an omniscient observer of reality, therefore letting go of the idea of performance. For Lopez, the microlens of human experiences opens the door to exploring the complexity of flawed political systems and the duality of the human condition. Being raised between two countries, establishing a sense of belonging has proven difficult for Lopez. When the political situation in Venezuela became too unstable, Lopez had the privilege to call Switzerland "home," yet without it ever truly feeling like such. As a result, the concepts of belonging, identity, and grief, in their many forms, inspire Lopez's work. Ultimately, they make sense of their privileges as an opportunity to redefine the visual language of cinema. 

With a history of political propaganda, filmmaking is still used today as a societal element to influence one's perception of the human experience –romanticizing violence and pernicious power dynamics– through not only story but lighting, camera angles, and framing. As a queer, non-binary filmmaker heavily influenced by Nina Menkes' mentoring, Lopez strives to combat the pre-established patriarchal norms of mainstream visual language by exploring new ways to address difficult conversations while centering humanity over entertainment.

INTERVIEW

You have an interesting story, being raised between Venezuela and Switzerland before moving to the US to study. How did your background influence your choice of becoming an artist? And when did you first realize you could use art as your primary output?

I owe a lot to my late father –former artistic director at Werner Jeker's studio in Switzerland and graphic designer– who strongly impacted my choice of pursuing a career in visual arts. Although I've had the privilege to be exposed to various forms of imagery from a very young age, at the time, I had never considered becoming an artist. It is only after working backstage in the workshops of Geneva's opera –where I met incredible artisans and creative minds who helped me shape my understanding of artistry and art– that my views changed. These interactions led me to wanting to pursue higher education. It was during my time at CalArts that I truly began to explore what labeling myself as a visual artist meant.Being surrounded by inspiring, talented, and creative individuals gave me the push needed to explore further the intersection of art and societal commentary. 

Can you discuss how Nina Menkes' teachings at CalArts influenced your approach to filmmaking and visual storytelling?

I met Nina Menkes during my first semester at CalArts, where she was my mentor and faculty for a class called "Dangerous Filmmaking." While the class didn't include putting one's physical safety at risk, it was designed to confront and produce work around three themes: Mother, Father, or Self. Each student had to choose one of these themes and translate it into an audio-visual piece by the end of the term. I've always had a hard time talking about myself –as a matter of fact, this interview is a challenge in that regard– which is what drew me to take that class in the first place: a desire to communicate uncomfortable feelings more directly rather than burying them under obscure metaphors. The class was a place of critique, exchange, and discussion where students could share their progress throughout the semester rather than a "hands-on" workshop. Nina would use this time to share insights on her creative process with the class, supported by viewings of her own work. She also happened to be in the finishing stages of her latest documentary, "Brainwashed: Sex-Camera-Power," which opened the door to many conversations not only about the story but also on the male gaze, lighting, camera angles, and how these elements can become tools of manipulation for a male-dominated industry. Every element she presented in her work spoke to me on an almost unconscious level, creating multiple opportunities for conversations outside of class. Despite my gender identity and gender expression, I am still well aware of my male-presenting appearance. As a result, this impacts my responsibility to use my privileges and voice to foster a safe space for collaborators and audience, whether it be through work ethic or visual storytelling.   

Your films often oscillate between absurdism, fiction, and realism, as you mention in your statement. What draws you to these styles, and how do you balance them in your narrative?

I find a lot of comfort in looking at life from an absurdist perspective. The works of Albert Camus and Yasmina Reza have been a large influence throughout my teens and remain so. "A Happy Death" (and "The Outsider" of course) by Albert Camus, along with "Happy Are the Happy" by Yasmina Reza, are readings that I go back to on a regular basis. I admire the simplicity of the language and the sharpness of each word used to describe mundane interactions. A part of me is dying to escape their stories and world, as it often feels a little too real (with Reza in particular), yet the rest of me wants to find out how each character will deal with their own issue, almost in a voyeuristic way. If a lot of the stories I tell are rooted in reality, I appreciate the freedom that fiction offers. It allows me to take a step back from the themes in my stories and helps me to remember that I am not making a documentary. Ultimately, as a director, I am drawn towards a certain sense of realism and aim to create environments where actors and characters can become one, therefore letting go of the idea of performance. I do not believe I am consciously balancing these styles, but somehow, they find their way into my work.  

How do you use the "narrative micro-lens of human experiences and dance" to explore complex themes in your films?

I am currently in the middle of post-production for a particular passion project of mine, "Bigote", which I began writing back in August of 2022. The short is inspired by the ongoing humanitarian crisis in Venezuela. To tackle such an intricate political problem, spanning over decades, it was crucial to downscale it and look at it from this "narrative micro-lens of human experience" to showcase the impact political systems and decisions have on an individual rather than attempting to give an in-depth history and explanation of a situation. In "Bigote," although the story revolves around a real issue, the main characters are all fictional. Meanwhile, all supporting roles are direct representations of real people (including President Nicolas Maduro). This way of scaling down a global issue helps me to center humanity over entertainment in my stories.
On the other hand, "Ghosts In You" –the previous project I co-directed– is all about grief. When I was first approached to collaborate on this, I was both terrified and excited to take on a topic like this, as it was my first project related to grief since I had lost a parent only a couple of years prior. This is not a piece of information I felt like disclosing to my co-director or to any other collaborator on this project at the time, as I wanted to focus on the feeling of grief rather than the cause. To achieve this, dance and movement seemed a more appealing approach to convey complex emotions, especially in a process that is not at all linear. Movement and dance allow a layer of abstraction in creating a world where the logic of reality doesn't apply. 
Ultimately, scaling down complex themes such as grief or Venezuela's humanitarian crisis, helps me reframe them in ways that can reach a broader audience without taking away the humanity behind the story. 

The concept of belonging and identity is a recurring theme in your work. How do your personal experiences of displacement influence these themes?

Having been raised between two countries, establishing a sense of belonging has proven difficult over the years. When the political situation in Venezuela became too unstable, I had the privilege to call Switzerland my permanent "home", yet, it never truly felt like such. Although I do not consciously think about this sense of displacement and identity when writing a new project, it ends up showing in the way characters are forced out of their comfort zone or simply struggling to be at peace with themself. 
Growing up, I faced a lot of contradictory feelings with the way I was raised. What my dad would teach me would apply to life in Ciudad Bolivar (Venezuela), such as changing direction when seeing a police officer because of corruption, learning how to defend myself, identifying gunshots from fireworks, etc. All of which would be utterly meaningless for life in Switzerland, where none of these instincts are truly necessary. Some of my earlier works, such as "Sisyphus" or "Pandora," were very much concerned with characters inadequately equipped for the world they exist in. Today, I feel a different sense of purpose with the work I do. I previously felt lost in a world away from home, with inadequate survival tools, whereas now I still feel lost, but in an environment where these tools are finally adequate, serve their purpose, and are helping me build my own definition of "home."

Can you describe your creative process when developing a new film project? What steps do you take from the initial concept to the final product?

Image in mind - drawings - research - screenplay - filming - touch grass - post-production - feedback - anxiety - more feedback - forget to drink water (optional: forget to eat) - wondering why you're exhausted - finally drink water (optional: eat) - final export - sleep. 
More seriously, every narrative film project starts with an image that pops up in my head. Sometimes it is very vivid and detailed, other times it leans more towards abstraction, where the feeling it evokes prevails over the visuals.
I dedicate one notebook (sometimes more) per project. There, I sketched the image I had in mind before looking for its symbolism and/or spiritual association. This gives me a way to intellectualize the direction given by the image before starting my research. I never truly write scenes in these notebooks. Rather, they end up being filled with drawings and keyword associations like story beats until I get a general sense of the story I want to tell. I then expand upon these beats into screenplay format. From there, the process is very straightforward, with multiple drafts, revisions, and feedback from trusted peers before jumping into production, where everything comes to life. 
While filming, I aim to create an environment where the actors and characters are free to be one. Often casting folks for their energy and how they carry themselves regardless of their acting experience. From there, I like to give them a general sense of where the scene is going and make room for improvisation to let them get out of a situation or sometimes even add conflict. Although this process can be risky, I do find it very rewarding when watching the footage back in post-production. I've recently experienced the full benefits of "touching grass" after production and giving my mind enough time to disconnect from the project before diving into post-production. This allows me to kickstart the editing process with a much fresher eye than if I were to jump into post-production only a few days after filming. With post-production, in a way, I get to rewrite the story, making use of all the elements actors brought to their characters. Finally allowing me to see what this initial sketch –made in a notebook almost a year prior– birthed. 

In what ways do you believe filmmaking can influence societal perceptions of the human experience, and how do you aim to use this power in your work?

Filmmaking has a strong history of propaganda, not only political but social as well. Camera techniques (framing, lighting and even editing) have the power to subconsciously influence the perception of a character or a situation for the audience. If we look at the way characters have been filmed and lit in relation to their perceived gender throughout film history, we can definitely see a correlation between the social inequalities of genders and their representation in movies. For example, harsh lighting and a slight tilt up (camera placed below the character's eye-line) are most often associated with male-presenting characters, whereas more feminine characters are softly lit and framed with the camera slightly above their eye-line. Although these elements might seem harmless, they constitute our collective perception of gender, therefore promoting outmoded gendered thinking. Nina Menkes used a brilliant example to illustrate this disparity in her talk "Camera, Sex and Power": the use of slow-motion. When slow motion is associated with a feminine character, the most common imagery that comes to mind has to do with sex appeal. Whereas when masculine characters are depicted in slow-motion, it most often has to do with a sense of "cool," almost action-packed military style. Therefore, only reinforcing the archaic social constructs related to gender expression.
Similarly, we can see how films romanticize violence in its many forms (either physical or verbal) as a tool to face adversity. Do we truly need to see this character getting brutalized while using epic camera angles? Is it crucial to the story to see that character having a 10-minute sex scene where the camera work objectifies the bodies? Let's not forget about the normalization of considerable age gaps between characters who fall in love or pernicious power dynamics being simply brushed off under the false pretense of "Hollywood romance". Ultimately, I am not saying that a story should be devoid of conflict, romance, love, violence, or difficult conversations, but like many things, the issue lies in its approach. How do we integrate these elements into a story while centering humanity over entertainment? –provided such depictions serve its telling, and are not simply there for shock value or because "so-and-so did it in their film and it looked cool"– I believe that, as filmmakers, it is our responsibility to be aware of the impact our medium has on society and how we perceive each other based on the images we are fed on a regular basis. We have the power to change this social perception, but it requires us to constantly question our approach as creatives. Filmmaking is a powerful tool of communication, and like any language, it holds its fair share of microaggressions. And when these pile up for too long and get normalized, it is when we see its impact on the human experience. 

Ultimately, what messages do you want to convey with your work? And what do you hope the public can experience when confronting it? 

I do not believe I have a specific message I am trying to convey through my work. Rather, I want my work to explore various questions without a need for answers. To some degree I feel the influence of the writers I mentioned earlier, where their work exposes the mundane, leaving the audience with a feeling of not being so alone on this human journey. Hopefully, my work can offer viewers a brief moment of reflection upon watching it. 

Looking ahead, what future projects or themes are you excited to explore, and how do you envision your work evolving in the coming years?

I briefly mentioned my latest short, "Bigote", which follows the story of Tía, a single aunt raising her two nephews and is forced to face the "happy anarchy of bureaucracy" after getting fired. Meanwhile, the short film is punctuated with live-action reenactments of "SuperBigote" –a propaganda cartoon released by the Venezuelan government, where President Nicolas Maduro turns himself into a superhero defending the country against the regime's opposition. The reenactments serve as counterpoints between the reality Tía is facing and the absurd utopia the regime is depicting in its propaganda cartoon. This short film works as a proof of concept for a much larger episodic work that dives deeper into the humanitarian crisis happening in Venezuela and the socio-political collapse of the country that spanned over the last two decades. I am excited to explore the intersection of what is deemed "commercial work" and experimental/political filmmaking through this piece. Just like the short film, the series borrows certain codes from documentary filmmaking (reenactment, amongst many others) and merges them seamlessly with scripted narrative filmmaking. 

Lastly, speaking of the future, where do you see yourself in five years? Will you still be making art, or do you think that the bodega project is more likely to happen? 

Looking at the state of the world right now, the bodega project seems all the more appealing. Although this started as a joke with my college roommates at the time, I have been thinking about it almost on a regular basis now. My abuelo, on my dad's side, used to own a small convenience store/bodega in Ciudad Bolivar, Venezuela. This is something that I've always looked up to, as he fostered a sense of community through this little store in our neighborhood. I sometimes find it difficult to make sense of this privilege I have, to be making art and creating on a daily basis, as it is not a direct service to the community and can easily be disregarded as "having fun," especially with the video medium being perceived as "content," ingested by an audience expecting more, and faster. But even with this bodega project, I do not see myself letting go of filmmaking or boxing. Both have an exceptional place in my heart and fill my days equally.
Funny enough, I was helping a friend move recently, and happened to mention –jokingly– my bodega project as we were making sandwiches for lunch. It turns out that this friend's roommate is in charge of deli meat and cheese distribution for Whole Foods and was just as thrilled as I am about this idea when hearing about it… To be continued I guess?

Artist’s Talk

Al-Tiba9 Interviews is a promotional platform for artists to articulate their vision and engage them with our diverse readership through a published art dialogue. The artists are interviewed by Mohamed Benhadj, the founder & curator of Al-Tiba9, to highlight their artistic careers and introduce them to the international contemporary art scene across our vast network of museums, galleries, art professionals, art dealers, collectors, and art lovers across the globe.