How did you become a filmmaker? I've always been interested in photography, and I had a little boy machine. I studied fine arts, I don't know why very well. Then I decided to dig deeper into something, and then I went to Valencia
to study photography. I got a scholarship from the Government of Navarra to study Documentary Creation, like my sister Marina Lameiro. He's younger than me, but he's been very clear that he always wanted to make movies.

Is it hard to live from
cinema? Yes, and also from photography. In addition to my artistic projects, I do other works to be able to live, such as promotional videos. I do orders and personal projects in parallel.

January and Horses are your first movies at dawn. What do they have in common? All my works stem from the desire to document a lived experience. I'm drawn to work with the close man. In both studies the idea
of legacy and the presence of death are very evident. The creative process I live as a lesson and the final work gathers everything.

Interviews with your two grandmothers are collected in January. What are you looking for? When I started with this film, I've been thinking about my origins for some time. As we cooked or walked past, I asked grandmothers
about their life. With their personal stories, I realized how those times were that I didn't live. I felt like I was broadcasting all that knowledge, and I decided to meet a camera. On the other hand, I was interested in how they were experiencing this last phase of their world. The passage of time has always interested and concerned me. How do you face the future when most of your life is past? That's what I wanted to know.

What idea has stuck in your head? In the case of staying with an idea, the Navarre grandmother told me that the important thing is to love oneself and that you do not need anyone to be happy. My two grandmothers had very different lives. The Galician grandmother belonged to a city, while the Navarre was from a small town, both raised in Franco's time. They had a lot of contrasts between them, but I looked for what I was putting together.

Are you afraid of aging? Season. Before I was quieter, but now I am worried that time escapes very quickly. That happens to me as a child. I think that thinking over time is not very normal in children, but in my life it has
always been present.

Horses came up in a very special way at dawn, right? Yes. The idea emerged when we entered a house in Barcelona
and saw everything there was. There lived three brothers and we found pictures, discs, texts, drawings and films used in their creations and games. A treasure.

It's been living as okupa for some time. Why? On the one hand, for me it is a form of survival and, on the other, a
path of struggle and protest. Access to a disused space, although temporary and precarious, is an act of claiming the right of all people to have a home.

Entering that house and recovering all those things that were abandoned seems a poetic justice… In this
sense, this film serves to dismantle the topic that the occupants destroy everything they occupy.

When we got home, we felt someone still lived. It seemed like I had gone to buy bread or something, but there were three years the house was empty.

It was a discovery, a surprise. I felt lucky, I was with the illusion of a treasure: that world of the past and lives that no longer exist.

How were the people who lived there?
Antonio was the only one who was able to dedicate himself professionally to it. He was a cartoonist in the editorial Bruguera. Rosita was a singer and gave some piano lessons, but nothing else. Juanito had no artistic profession. I had a disability, but I made the decision not to stand out for not doing different. I had that characteristic, like any other, but in the movie I don't need to insist on it. Among the three played a lot and maybe he was the most played, nothing else. They were the stars of classical cinema, the soldiers of World War II, the gangsters, the astronauts, the science fiction heroes, the solitary cowboys on an eternal journey to the west…

Did you leave that house suddenly? The last one was Rosita, and I imagine they had to take her to the hospital
and that's why she kept everything as she was, even things that were in the refrigerator. If we had not entered we would still be empty and it is easy to reproduce mice, pigeons and other animals. Empty houses are rapidly declining.

Was it a kind of colorful island in the gray city of post-war Barcelona? Yeah, and I guess people who did this kind of thing would do it at home and secretly. Another objective of the
film was to make a chronicle of the city of Barcelona. It is also a tour of Barcelona from the 1950s to the 1960s.

You and your friends also enter this story. Why? Because I didn't just want to tell the story of some people. I wanted to make an intergenerational relationship. It's a look from the present and that's why I got into it, not as a protagonist, but as a guide. It's kind of a witness crossing between people of different eras. So
I use the camera as an extension of the body, and the viewer feels inside the movie.

I wanted to make it clear, on the other hand, what I put in and what the information found was; I had the feeling that for me they were very close people, because I lived at home, and so I wouldn't feel comfortable inventing a story. There are wonderful films that make stories through the documentary material found, but I wanted to be as faithful as possible to what I found. Because there are personal files that are transmitted from generation to generation, but what about these stories when nobody receives them?

Film produced by the producer to which you belong
Hiruki Film. What is Hiruki's philosophy? I participated as an actor in the first film by my sister Marina, Young&beautiful. So we decided to make our own production company to push through our projects and help other women do their own. The Malaga filmmaker Arantza Santesteban immediately contacted us and proposed to make her 918 nights together. We liked it very much and everything has gone very well. It is a very small producer, so we have sometimes had to rule out very nice projects.

How do you get money for these kinds of documentaries? In particular, subsidies. Commercially, these films don't give money. In Navarre we are very lucky because they support us from the Generazinema programme, but it is difficult to receive many aids because it is designed for a
more commercial film.

Does the Point of View Festival help? Yes, and it especially helps young people learn. It is a kind of school where for several days high-quality works
are shown. It is very important for Pamplona, as it contributes to the construction of the quarry.

A strong generation of filmmakers, young and Basques are doing interesting things now in Navarra…

I am very happy that I admire everyone and I feel very comfortable in this community that we have been able to build aided each other.

To a large extent my references are them: 918 nights of shooting in Arantza Santesteban, Red in Maddi Barber, Underwater Earth, 592 meters onwards, Paraíso, Young&beautiful of Marina Lameiro, Darardara, Irati Gorostidi and San Simon 62 by Mirari Ecarri…

What do they have in
common? An ethics when thinking and making movies. And we agree to see life. We all start from what happens to us, from what surrounds us.

Is it the consequence of the gender gap that there are more women in this kind of film than in others? Statistics show that women in general
have much lower budgets for making movies. We do what's close because it's what we want, but it's true that we have more obstacles, and we tend to think that the cinema we make is smaller and intimate, so less value. The whole system has to be deconstructed to be on the same level.

Do you intend to make fiction? I have some ideas. I want to experiment, but getting into a project that takes time, people and a lot of money gives me a little bit of fear. So I'd rather think about it in a hybrid way, without actors, for example. One idea is the fictional story of two teenage friends who seek their place in the world from antagonistic positions. Another is a documentary
about the Anticapitalist Autonomous Commands, told from the story of a colleague. This person now lives in a nursing home. He studied film in May 68, was released at the university of Paris and has
always wanted to put in images a robbery in Lloret de Mar. He has lived in combat and now I want to spend time with him doing something fun. In this way we want to talk about the memory of that struggle.

How is film consumption changing? It makes me so sad to
see how we lose the habit of going to the movies. Losing this collective point is very sad.

What about documentaries? There are

people who still think about the report when you say the documentary. Some people find it hard to get close to this genre, but then they connect it. Fixed structures that have many commercial films are often boring, so when people start to see other things, their tastes change. They start to educate their eyes.