In November 2017, my aunt, Nelly Édmée Brawand, passed away alone in her home in Corcelles, in the Canton of Vaud, Switzerland. My father called my brother and me as soon as he found out: he had sensed something was wrong after she hadn’t answered her phone for three days. Though I was not as close to my aunt as I would’ve liked, we shared a quiet bond. She had a deep interest in magic, and I always knew I could turn to her for guidance in my more spiritual pursuits.

The following day, we went to her house together, joined by my father’s brother, whom he hadn’t spoken to in over 30 years, and whom my brother and I had never met. My father, who had helped build that house, had not been allowed in for nearly two decades, and upon entering it, it became clear why.

Although it may initially seem like quite a harrowing premise, what the film looked to do was showcase some of the sensibility and particularities specific to my aunt. The house was adorned with paintings, sculptures, and drawings of cats, alongside pictures of my brother, and letters from my father. Amidst the chaos and grief, I chose a more contemplative approach, letting the images breathe, in the hope that they may preserve the lingering sweetness of her soul.