For those who haven’t seen ‘Hamalau gau’ yet, how would you describe the film?

It’s a journey through fourteen nights into the ideas and philosophy of Basque artist Jorge Oteiza.

‘Hamalau gau’ isn’t a conventional biography of Jorge Oteiza. What did you want to explore about him, and what kind of portrait did you want to create?

The thing is, a biopic already exists, and it was very well made. His artistic portrait has also already been explored on film, and very well. What was still missing was a portrait that showed us Oteiza’s mask, rather than his face. That’s why he doesn’t appear in the film, and neither does his work. All you see are the fourteen apostles and, above all, the elements. I think that’s the mask that best reveals the Oteiza who remained hidden. It’s the same exposure to the elements that his apostles endured when they were banned and left by the roadside. That lack of shelter, that exposure to harsh conditions, is what made them greater.

What does ‘Hamalau gau’ mean, and why did you choose that title?

The title refers to the number of his apostles. Night falls fourteen times in the film, and each night follows on from the previous one and connects with the next, like one continuous frieze. And there are fourteen because, as Oteiza himself said of his apostles: “There was no room for any more.”

The film will premiere in Zabaltegi-Tabakalera at the San Sebastian International Film Festival. What does it mean to you to present it there?

I’d almost say it’s the film’s natural home. Oteiza, Arantzazu and, if you’ll let me take it a step further, a Navarrese bringing the spirit of the artist from Orio back to his natural home. It’s like a journey back. Oteiza is always that: a journey back.

This isn’t your first time at the San Sebastian Festival. How does it feel to be coming back, and what makes this return different from your previous visits?

I’m really excited, and there’s a real sense of celebration. Look at how everything comes back to the numbers. Exactly fourteen years ago, I presented my first film at the same Zabaltegi section: ‘Emak Bakia baita’. Back then, Man Ray was my co-pilot on the journey. Now it’s Oteiza. Both of them abandoned cinema for the same reason: they wanted to make films that looked like sculptures, but they realised that wasn’t possible. For me, the challenge has been to make a film shaped like a frieze — a frieze made up of nights.

What do you hope audiences will take away from ‘Hamalau gau’? Is there a particular feeling or question you’d like them to leave the cinema with?

I don’t think you should think about that. For me, Oteiza is always a mystery, a door that opens only to reveal another closed door. If this film manages to make that mystery even greater, then I think we’ll have achieved something worthwhile.

After San Sebastian, what kind of journey do you hope the film will have?

It’s already started travelling. A couple of festivals have selected it for their official sections, straight out of the oven. What I’m curious about is whether it will find an audience beyond our own borders. One of those festivals, for example, is in Italy. And Italy is always a good wish.

Will the film be available to the general public outside the festival circuit?

The film came out of a commission from EITB, and they gave us complete freedom to make it. After its festival run and screenings at cultural and arts centres, they’ll decide how to broadcast it and how to make it available through their usual channels.

Looking ahead, are you working on any new projects?

Perhaps “de-Oteiza-ing” myself, in the best possible sense. I made a book about his notes in the margins of the books in his library, then a series and a study of his cinema, and now this feature film. It’s true that Oteiza is inexhaustible — besarkaezina, as Bernardo Atxaga puts it — and that every step you take with him brings new wonder and surprise. But, honestly, I feel that with this final “waltz”, it’s time to dance alone again. Like spiders during an eclipse — something that’s mentioned in the film. A strange, curious night comes when, without knowing why, they unravel their own webs.