Categories
Photography/Fotografía Projects/Proyectos

Content for the Chilean Delegation in the Ship for World Youth Leaders

I was chosen to be part of the Chilean Delegation in The Ship for World Leaders a program of the Japanese Government for young leaders around the World to encourage intercultural collaboration.

I was the Assistant National Leader of the Delegation and as a journalist and photographer I created the media content of the delegation and registered the journey. I also lead the process of presenting Chile through a National Presentation creating a narrative, audiovisual material, lighting, sound and stage direction.

Here is part of the work I did.

Creation and administration of the Facebook page of the delegation: https://www.facebook.com/swy28/

Official photos for each member of the Delegation used in presentations and business cards.

12391267_495366167291327_8063134117097618803_n

Photographic record of the preparation for the experience and of the journey, published in this Facebook Album. (The images in this post are in Facebook quality).

10286853_528254747335802_3016318524653306457_o 12795113_528254797335797_3318465775687124358_o 12841298_528255617335715_829303692118666926_o 10338574_528247904003153_4761752975815974389_o 12771541_528247657336511_1510030709520544059_o

I made this short documentary that presents the whole experience of the Delegation, presented at the Embassy of Japan in Chile.

English subtitles available as CC.

Categories
Domingo El Mercurio Magazine and newspaper articles/Artículos en revistas y diarios

An encounter with Santa Claus/ Un encuentro con el Viejo Pascuero

Picture by Peé Annett/2008.

A travel article on my visit to Santa Claus in Rovaniemi, Finland, published in Domingo the Travel Magazine of El Mercurio newspaper/ Un artículo de viajes sobre mi visita al Viejo Pascuero en Rovaniemi, Finlandia, publicado en Domingo, la Revista de Viajes de El Mercurio.

Santa Claus (spanish) Domingo Magazine Enrique Núñez Mussa (PDF)

Categories
Ministry for Foreign Affairs of Finland Web articles/Artículos en la web

Finland

I had the opportunity to share with the most incredible people in august of 2010 in the Foreign Correspondents’ Programme (FCP) in Finland, a journalistic experience that became a collage of wonderful memories. As part of the programme I had to write an articl for Finland’s Ministry for Foreign Affairs web page. This is what I wrote.
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Tuve la oportunidad de compartir con personas increibles en agosto de 2010 en Finlandia en el Foreign Correspondent’s Programme, una experiencia periodítica que se convirtió en un collage de memorias maravillosas. Como parte del programa debíamos escribir un artículo para el sitiodel Ministerio de Relaciones Exteriores de Finlandia. El artículo lo escribí directamente en inglés, por lo tanto, lo posteo tal cual acá abajo. En este link hay una nota en el sitio de la embajada de Finlandia en Chile, sobre mi participación en el programa.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Goodbye Finland – till next time!
By Enrique Núñez Mussa (Chile) 
Foreign Correspondents’ Programme (FCP) in Finland in August 2010 

Pictures/Fotos: Enrique Núñez Mussa.
Pictures/Fotos: Enrique Núñez Mussa.

And they were there. Since the first moment, when our shoes step over Finnish land, leaving the airplanes. They were silent and respectful, they knew exactly what was going to happen, so they just decided to wait and observe.
They saw our first smiles, when everyone said his name to each other, and faces from Facebook started to become real. They also saw when days started to advance and the faces began to become complex and full of details to each other, and that names stop representing only a country, but more important, they started representing human beings, very significant human beings in each other’s life.But they knew something; we were not still able to understand: we were living memories.
That’s why they enjoyed so much some moments they knew were going to become unforgettable. The silence in the middle of nature while a tree was thanking us for a hug he needed in Nuuksio park, sailing again and again in all the possible ships you can imagine over the Baltic Sea, while the wind was joking with us, and Helsinki, appeared at the distance, as a new idea of home, with a sun that was tired as us, after a day of new sensations.
At every lecture, when our faces with a coffee in front became interested or at some moments our imagination flew to another planets while we check the programme for the next days, they were with us, observing behind the window, trying to understand some of our new and fresh Finnish language knowledge, or they became nervous and anxious to be part of the discussion when questions appeared.

When CIMO House became a land without nationality to let in the flavor and traditions of different countries kitchen, they just wanted to jump inside the window, and share the dinner and the conversation where English in different accents, got mixed with our stories and with our ideas of this new place called Finland.
Even, they were watching at us, when we exposed our bodies to the heat of sauna and then to the cold water, with our lungs becoming small and our hearts huge. They laughed with us when we hugged Moomins, and they smiled when they saw our faces in the bus looking through the windows when landscapes or cities as Turku and Naantali passed in front of us.And also, they were there in that moments no one noticed, when we got a sleep in the bus, when we just sit down in front of a landscape in silence, when that song in that particular moment came out of our mp3 player, when we had doubts and expectations travelling alone to the Finnish family that will receive us for a weekend, and when we were alone in our rooms, just realizing at the end of the day that we were not lost in translation anymore and that this life full of new experiences was becoming normal.That’s the reason why they started crying some days before the end. A lot of people told to us that the weather in Finland was particularly good the days of our visit. Here is the explanation, they: The Clouds, were living this experience with us. They were just the same as us: all different, growing, changing, moving to one place to another, mixing themselves, aware that they will never feel the same and be in the same places in that particular moment again. That’s why it started raining. They knew since the first moment that we were going to cry when this experience finished. The last night came and the sky next day was cloudy.
Maybe someday, the sun clears the sky and clouds come together again in the same way in Finland’s sky.

Categories
Magazine and newspaper articles/Artículos en revistas y diarios Qué pasa en Antigua

Antigua una ciudad Kafka/Antigua a Kafka city

Fui invitado por la Revista Guatemlateca Qué Pasa en Antigua a inaugurar la sección de columnas en su edición de julio 2009, con un texto en español e inglés con fotos. La idea era pensar Antigua. Acá va el resultado con las fotos que aparecieron en el papel./ I was invited by the Guatemalan Magazine Qué Pasa en Antigua in their july 2009 edition, to start their column section with a text in spanish and english with pictures. The idea was to think Antigua. Here is the result with the pictures that appeared in the paper.

La versión impresa en estos links/ The print version in this links:

Español.
English.

EN CONSTRUCCIÓN

Las ruinas son heridas que no han terminado de sanar, advertencias sobre la piel que han convertido a Antigua en una ciudad en permanente construcción. Las visito, las observo y no veo más que vida, jardines verdes manchados con flores de colores donde juegan niños, parejas de enamorados que emiten vibraciones de pura energía en cada beso, estudiantes forjándose a sí mismos y elementos de construcción de diversa índole repartidos por doquier, andamios, cubetas para el agua, martillos. Instrumentos de curación que en lugar de sanar mantienen las heridas abiertas para preservar las ruinas.
Las mismas ruinas que en las tardes, cuando se han cerrado las puertas y sus visitantes se han ido, lloran en silencio, se ha acabado la distracción y están obligadas a ver sus cuerpos deformados, destruidos unos sobre otros, pilares desmembrados que finalmente se han vuelto la base para conformar lo que la ciudad es hoy. Con su llanto contagian a Antigua completa y quizás por eso en la tarde comienza a llover, son lágrimas de terror de una ciudad que un día perdió su identidad. El fantasma del terremoto de 1773 aparece como sinónimo de abandono.
Por ese motivo necesita tanto de sus visitantes, para volver a existir. Los turistas llegan a Antigua como víctimas de una corriente magnética; es un llamado subterráneo, desesperado. Ellos arriban y la tiñen con sus acentos y paseos por el Parque Central. Los morados, amarillos y verdes de las tiendas de artesanías se confunden con los caquis de los pantalones y shorts, con las mochilas sucias y las botas gastadas. Algunos regresan hasta por segunda, tercera y más veces, otros se quedan para siempre, pero muchos no vuelven más. Y es este grupo el que finamente se llevará por el resto de sus días una sola imagen, un fragmento de tiempo encapsulado en fotografías digitales que ayudan a refrescar la memoria.
Finalmente ese lapso espacio temporal arbitrario y único será Antigua para ellos, sólo esos olores, sonidos, sabores. Ese es uno de los principales encantos de la ciudad, que nunca es la misma, porque la constante renovación de sus visitantes la convierte en una ciudad en permanente construcción.
Dos turistas entran a un bar, no se conocen, ambos son jóvenes y de nacionalidades diferentes; él habla algo de español y decide acercarse a ella, la invita a un trago, ella está sola y de pasada, en dos días más continuará viajando por Centroamérica: El Salvador, Honduras y volver a casa. Él, en cambio, estará por un mes en Antigua, vino a perfeccionar su español, sus padres son latinos, pero creció en los Estados Unidos. La conversación fluye como todo en la ciudad, agradable, gentil, sonríen sin esfuerzo, toman más de un trago. Ambos están solteros y tienen dos días más para definir el final de esta historia. Independientemente de la decisión que tomen, para cada uno de ellos Antigua será esa noche, esa conversación, las risas, aún cuando es posible que ninguno de los dos vuelva a pisar la ciudad, ellos se convirtieron en la ciudad el uno para el otro.
Al momento de definir Antigua, dejando de lado los adjetivos que merece su bella arquitectura colonial o la palpable fe que transmiten sus iglesias, tratando de buscar esa esencia que conforma la identidad. Me atrevo a decir que Antigua es una ciudad Samsa.
Al comienzo me extrañó que uno de sus restaurantes se llamara Kafka, desentonaba con la estética centroamericana, sin embargo, cuando descubrí que este lugar también ofrecía hospedaje y cuando más de una vez pasé por su fachada y vi a turistas reunidos frente a un guía, lo comprendí todo.
Kafka escribió sobre Antigua sin saberlo, esta ciudad es Gregorio Samsa. Trata de entenderse a sí misma, busca permanentemente saber quién es, está traumada, marcada por el abandono y la soledad. Por lo tanto, necesita de la visión externa para autoafirmarse y comprender su identidad. Es a través de sus visitantes que es posible definir Antigua. Porque ellos con sus pasadas esporádicas también son la ciudad. Una ciudad Gregorio Samsa. Una ciudad en permanente metamorfosis.

UNDER CONSTRUCTION

The ruins are wounds that have not stopped recovering, warnings on the skin that turned Antigua into a city in permanent construction. I visit them. I observe them and do not see any more than life: green gardens stained with the colors of flowers where children play, lovers who emit vibrations of pure energy in every kiss, students building themselves, and construction elements of diverse nature distributed all over, scaffoldings, buckets of water, hammers. Instruments of healing that instead of re
cover, preserve the open wounds to keep the ruins alive.
The same ruins that in the evenings, when the doors have been closed and the visitors have gone away, cry silently; the distraction has ended and they are forced to see their deformed bodies destroyed one on top of other; dismembered props that finally have become the base to shape what the city is today. With their weeping they alter Antigua completely, and probably because of it, in the evening it begins to rain; they are tears of terror of a city that one day lost its identity. The ghost of the earthquake of 1773 turns out to be synonymous with abandonment.
For this reason, she needs her visitors so much, to exist again. The tourists come to Antigua as victims of a magnetic current; it is an underground call of desperation. They arrive and dye her with their accents and walks though Central Park. The purple, yellow and green of the craft shops get confused with the khakis of trousers and shorts, with the dirty backpacks and worn-out boots. Some of them return for a second, a third, or more times. Others remain forever, but many people do not return again. And, it is this group, the ones that will take with themselves, for the rest of their days, only one image of the city; a fragment of time encased in digital photographs, which helps the memory to be refreshed.
Finally, this arbitrary and unique temporary space will be Antigua for them–only these smells, sounds, and flavors. This is one of the principal captivations of the city, which is never the same, because the constant renovation of her visitors turned her into a city in permanent construction.
Two tourists go into a bar. They don’t know each other. Both are young and of different nationalities. He speaks some Spanish and decides to approach her. He invites her for a drink. She is alone and in town for a small time. In two more days, she will continue traveling through Central America: El Salvador, Honduras, then back home. He will be in Antigua for one month. He came to work on his Spanish. His parents are Latinos, but he grew-up in the United States. The conversation flows as everything in the city: gently. They smile without effort and have more than one drink. Both are single and have two more days to define the end of this story. Independent of the decisions they make, for each of them, Antigua will be that night, that conversation, those laughs. Even when it is possible that neither of them will return to the city, they became the city for each other.
To define Antigua, leaving out the adjectives that the beautiful colonial architecture deserves or the palpable faith which her churches transmit, by trying to look for the essence that shapes its identity, I dare to say that Antigua is a city Samsa.
At the beginning it surprised me that one of her restaurants was called Kafka; it seemed out of tune with the Central American aesthetics. Nevertheless, when I discovered that this place also was offering accommodations, and when more than once I passed in front of it and saw groups of tourists with a guide, I understood everything.
Kafka wrote about Antigua without knowing it; this city is Gregorio Samsa. She tries to be self understood, permanently seeking who she is, still in shock because of abandonment and loneliness. Therefore, she needs the external vision to understand her identity. It is through her visitors that it is possible to define Antigua. Because with their sporadic visits, they become the city. A Gregorio Samsa city. A city in permanent metamorphosis.