CLIO, THE MUSE OF HISTORY, IS AS THOROUGHLY INFECTED WITH LIES
AS A STREET WHORE WITH SYPHILIS. ARTHUR SCHOPENHAUER
I know a magic formula to get everyone to look at you
while staying completely invisible.
You just have to take off your clothes,
lie on some sharp stones,
force a wry smile
as if to say: "Ooh, how comfortable!",
then suspend yourself on the wall
of one of the most iconic museums in your city.
And do that for centuries.
Until now.
Okay, Yaiza, I'm...
Here.
Yai, is that good?
Try positioning yourself on that column.
- Okay. - Like Juno.
Here.
That's better.
Yeah? Okay.
Okay, let me explain.
Do you remember what we said the other day?
I'm thinking that we could change the protagonist's name.
- Okay. - Right?
I think... Well, I've been researching
and there's one of the muses from Greek mythology,
there are like nine of them.
One is the muse of history.
Well, of history and epic poetry,
and her name is Clio, okay?
But what caught my attention a bit is that...
Her job inspired
those who wrote history, right?
So we wouldn't forget
the important facts and characters, right?
- The ones worthy of being remembered. - Okay.
Does that convince you?
- I'm convinced. - Yes.
I think...
He will understand our idea a bit.
Born in Barcelona.
What a surprise. I thought she was from Madrid. Okay.
She was in an artistic environment from a very young age
and her vocation as an actress flourished early.
Could you...
Read it, right?
Or could you take part?
- Yeah. - Yeah.
As...
The leading actress and protagonist of our movie.
Yes, as the protagonist.
- Here it is. - Yeah.
The light is beautiful.
- I like it. - Thank you.
Okay.
Ah.
By the way... This was at the door.
Thanks.
Okay...
Hey, before we start,
let's chat a bit before my intern arrives.
- Sure. - Come here.
Come here.
Sit by my side, honey.
- I sense you're a bit nervous. - No.
I think you are.
- No. - Look.
I have to confess something.
Art is not easy for everyone to understand.
I called you specifically because...
I had a model.
But she was kind of shy. I mean she looked like a goddess.
- A true muse. - Yeah.
A beauty, but what can you do? She was...
Dry.
And very shy.
I did what I could to get her out of that orthodox mentality,
but I didn't succeed.
- Oh well. - And now I need someone...
Who isn't bound by those conventions.
Yeah.
I know many girls like you, Clio.
And it seems...
You're doing quite well.
- Yes, I can't complain. - You...
Have something.
- I don't know... - Maybe it's your blue hair.
You remind me of a puffer fish.
Guys, when I say action, we start.
What we talked about, remember? Platonic onanism.
I need you to immerse yourself in his being.
Is that clear?
Perfect.
Action.
- Everything okay? - Yes.
- If you need anything, let me know. - Same.
Anything is possible in the world of art
and anyone who thinks otherwise is wrong.
Where else would they pay for your work
with a chocolate milk?
Having a drink with a friend, I explained that we were making a movie
where Picasso came back to life in the 21st century.
"That's not fair. You'll judge him with your modern perspective."
We don't treat women that way now.
"You're overdoing it, right?"
I felt awful,
like a bad person or worse, a bad filmmaker.
Until one amazing day,
a man came by who I made my personal Pablo.
The story goes like this:
One day, my Pablo sees my Instagram and sends me a message,
because he is an artist
and is working on something, obviously artistic,
very very artistic,
and thinks I could be a good fit.
His new project is called Platonic Onanism,
and he thinks pleasuring myself in front of a camera
will be nice and easy for me.
He kindly invites me to work for free
and asks to talk further over a chocolate milk,
a joint, a glass of wine or whatever.
I said no, very kindly, of course.
And that's how I realized that my friend was wrong
and that, like Franco,
Picasso is still alive.
Art needs you to look, not talk.
Enjoy, ladies and gentlemen,
and let the art be.
Clio!
You didn't tell me you were coming! What a blue delight to have you here!
That's what I wanted to talk about. Yes, and me.
I'm taking you to Paris.
This life is for living. Say yes.
What? No! I've come to talk about the videos.
Light installation, darling.
- Light installation. - Whatever.
I don't see my name anywhere
and you haven't tagged me on Instagram.
No, thanks.
Look. We agreed this would be a collaboration,
but you're the only one benefiting.
Since you didn't pay me.
No, now is not the time. Come on, what about the trip?
I think yes.
Then that's great!
No, I mean it is time to talk.
Clio, don't you realize that there's no one like you here?
Excuse me?
What the fuck do you mean?
I mean that only important people come here.
If I wanted to do my exhibition in a brothel,
then I would have called you.
Or do you think you're the only woman who knows how to undress?
No. No, I didn't mean to offend you.
You...
Are a very special little animal.
- Pablo? - Excuse me.
Ah, Pablo is there.
Boomer asshole.
I don't know if it's boomer,
but there was once a young man named Charles Baudelaire
who, upon seeing Apollonie Sabatier, went mad with love.
She rejected him more than once,
but he knew that when women say no,
they sometimes mean yes.
He didn't give up. In fact, he turned her into his muse.
In his defense, I will say that Charles was very very poor
and wrote during a time known as mal du siècle.
A century of depression, boredom,
the uselessness of existence and heavy use of drugs.
In short, he was a young man in a society
with no means of developing himself.
I even pity him.
In the middle of the night
and loneliness, or through the streets, surrounded by crowds,
her ghost dances like a flaming torch in the air.
Sometimes she speaks and says:
"I am beautiful and command that for love of me"
you love only the beautiful part;
"I am the guardian angel, the muse and the Madonna."
CHAPTER ONE APOLLONIE SABATIER
One night of love with Apollonie,
with his muse, his ideal.
Charles had done it.
But, a few days later, he wrote a letter.
What the hell is this?
- You've got a cheek! - Clio, what are you doing here?
My dear: I have hateful prejudices towards women.
I don't trust them. You have a beautiful soul,
but it's the soul of a woman.
A few days ago you were a deity,
so sure, so beautiful, so untouchable,
and now you are a woman.
- In the end you let... - It is what it is.
- I knew it, wait... - Wait, there's more.
Goodbye, dear. I'm a bit mad at you
because you are too attractive.
Where are you going?
Stay and get me a drink. It's the least you can do.
Okay, okay.
Okay.
A...
A brewski.
Is that a beer?
- Yes. - Okay...
One draft beer, please.
Listen to me.
I promise redemption.
Uh... Here.
I've written a new poem,
that talks about you and Jeanne,
my muses, the good and the bad.
It starts like this...
You, who stabbed your way into my aching heart,
who in a rush, like a herd of demons...
- Charles, please. - From my humiliated soul
- and your dominion... - No, no.
No, what?
Sorry, line?
Okay, cut.
- Okay, cut. - I don't want any more of your poetry.
- Stop writing to me. - Okay, yes.
- Okay? Do we have it? - Yes.
Okay, great.
The only thing is that at the moment...
Let's try at the moment when you are reciting the poem
and she stops you.
Hold her hands to restrain her, okay?
- When she interrupts me. - Yes.
Let's go back to when you recite the poem.
- Okay. - Okay. I get it.
- Okay. - From when I pull out...
Silence, please.
- Sound? - Come on.
Ready?
- 14-2, fifth. - Come on.
- Noted. - It seems...
- Frame? - Let's go.
Pablo.
Go, go.
And... Action!
Listen to me.
I have a surprise for you.
I've written a new poem,
that talks about you and Jeanne,
my muses, the good and the bad.
And it starts like this.
You...
You, who stabbed your way into my aching heart,
who in a rush, like a herd of demons...
Charles, please!
- From my humiliated soul you come... - No!
- No, what? - No.
No, what? What's wrong?
- Sorry, can we cut for a moment? - Yes.
Cut, okay. One second.
Cut.
María...
Oh, sorry. Oops!
Nothing. Sorry!
- Are you okay? - Yes, sorry,
I just don't understand...
Clio is the muse of Baudelaire, of Picasso,
- of all these people, right? - Yes.
But I don't understand why it bothers her so much
what this kid writes about her, I mean...
Shouldn't she not care at this point?
Violeta, the truth is, I don't know if Apollonie cared
what they might write about her
or if it bothered her
to have helped others make an artistic career
with her existence and personality
or that her life ended up in fictional stories.
Maybe that only matters to me
and maybe I'm here making a movie about the avenging aunt
and, if Apollonie came out of her grave, she'd say:
"Hey, girl, what are you doing? There's no need".
It's like when you break up with your partner
and the narrative loses its truth
and you end up being the villain of the movie.
When I still knew nothing about Apollonie Sabatier,
I typed her name into Wikipedia.
She is defined as a courtesan or Demi-monde.
EUPHEMISM MEANING LOVER OR PROSTITUTE "MAINTAINED" BY A WEALTHY MAN.
I spoke with Art historians, former professors of mine,
and there's no evidence of her being that.
A CERTAIN KIND OF COQUETTISH WOMAN.
THE MOST ELEGANT PROSTITUTES OF THE 1860S.
Her legacy has remained somewhat small,
behind a slippery curtain that is difficult to pull aside.
It is believed that Apollonie modeled for this sculpture
in a very interesting way, which, in contrast to the norm,
the sculptor made the mold over her naked body.
It's in the Orsay museum,
right at the entrance.
You can sit next to it,
move around it,
freely.
You can smell it,
fix your eyes on it until you see
that skin structure.
Like now.
Do you see it?
Frame?
Frame.
And...
- Action. - From my humiliated soul...
No!
- No, what? - I don't want any more poetry.
I want you to stop writing to me and stop writing about me.
What are you saying? How am I supposed to write then?
I don't know. You're very brave on paper,
but in real life you're a loser.
A what? What's that?
It's over, we won't see each other anymore, okay?
C'est fini. That's it.
No.
Yes.
No, no.
Yes, I'm afraid so.
Hello.
Thanks.
You... You're a whore.
You're... You're a whore.
Wow!
Well...
Thank you.
Are you okay?
- Yes? - Yes.
Okay.
And that guy?
What are you doing?
- No... - It's a joke.
- Alright.
No, it's a joke! Sit down.
- Oh. - How are you?
CHAPTER TWO VERÓNICA FRANCO
Artists like Titian and Tintoretto were lucky to have
the most desired and well-paid honest courtesan of their time.
I know that if Veronica Franco had been of my generation,
she would be just as famous today, but as a basic Gen-Z bimbo.
In 16th-century Venice, they had poetry instead of TikTok dances,
without the boom-boom,
that shakes those butts in ways that seem impossible.
Veronica chose her clients herself.
It is said that once she rejected a nobleman
and the guy, all spurned, wrote a poem that he circulated
throughout Venice, which insulted her, saying:
Veronica, ver unica puttana, a special kind of slut.
But she, knowing she was a whore,
responded to these verses with others, starting a contest
of literary quality, from which she emerged as the undisputed winner.
I think there was something about...
As prostitutes, they had greater value
than others at that time
and were a bit more respected by those who held power at that time,
uh...
Precisely because of their level of culture and education.
And I think what ultimately reaches us
are things that come through powerful men.
Maybe these powerful men, because they respected them a bit more,
felt they were more... obviously not at their level,
but it was like "I pay for their services,
but I can also talk to her about poetry, philosophy.
She is a cultured woman."
So, I think that raised a bit
who these women were
and that's why we remember Veronica Franco
and not just any girl from Barcelona's Raval neighborhood.
Exactly.
And they also had like...
The fact that they were... they had some culture
- or some knowledge that... - Yes.
It surprises us a bit because they had access
to that world of men that women,
the wives of those men or the daughters who were going to get married,
didn't have, right?
I think that, by dedicating themselves to prostitution,
in Veronica's case, escaping from an abusive marriage,
gave her the...
The...
The freedom to study music, read,
a lot of things that in the 16th century
women couldn't...
They didn't have access to.
And, if you call me harlot,
or want to infer that I'm not
or that among them there are none to be praised,
what harlots have of good, graceful, and kind
expresses in me your speaking sound.
If this was understood by your sharp style,
to make no noise I am content
and to bow to you devoted, humble.
You will have no refuge against me,
for I am ready to face all trials
and impatiently I rush to work,
whether in the daily spoken tongue or in whatever language you prefer,
for I am practiced in them all.
And if later you do not respond,
I will say of you that you are greatly afraid of me
although you think yourself so brave.
I hate hairs. And I have a cat.
Maybe that mix makes me do some weird things.
How is life when you work with your body?
Quite normal, to be honest.
I've never had much of a problem.
If I did, I suppose,
I wouldn't be doing it, right?
For example, with my friend Gerda, who is an artist and paints,
whenever we collaborate, I have a great time.
And I have a good relationship with some clients
that has gone on for ages and I honestly enjoy it.
Some are super nice
and others are a bit more arrogant
and everything is a bit more tedious.
Pablo is... Yes.
He is one of them.
He also has a very bad temper and I think that's
kind of shitty, because you either adore him
or he gets mad at you and that's almost worse.
He asked me to work exclusively for him,
which I refused, and then something more group-orientated,
one of these videos he's making.
I don't know what it's going to be called, but the idea was...
With all the girls from Avignon, since he knows them all, so...
It was something with them.
REGULATIONS SURVEILLANCE AND SANITARY SERVICE
The repugnant vice of prostitution in this capital
has come to the attention of this local government
and, with the aim of reducing the sad consequences
it causes to public health, as much as possible
I have decreed the following provisions.
It says authorities do not tolerate prostitutes of the first kind
or vagabonds.
Prostitutes of the first kind who are not natives of Madrid
will be taken by judicial order to their hometowns.
When a prostitute wishes to be removed
from the prostitution registry,
she must direct a request
to the honorable civil governor,
offering proof
that she has been separated from the life of prostitution for some time.
She observes a good manners and customs. I love this.
The tolerated prostitute must not be accompanied
by children over seven years old.
To keep them, she must give up her amoral life
and under no circumstances will exceptions be made
to what is provided in this article.
Jeez, this is strong stuff!
The tolerated prostitute will only reside in areas of the capital
where she is expressly authorized.
Jeez, it's all
wonderful.
Clio.
Your era is a real disaster.
If only...
CHAPTER THREE LAURE
Laura waits at the school exit
to pick up two siblings
while pushing a baby stroller.
Sometimes the days are very long.
Taking care of children who aren't yours
is very poorly paid.
And it's not like she has much choice.
Just 15 years ago,
slavery was abolished in France.
Raising the next generation of Paris' bourgeoisie.
They arrive at Place de Clichy and she sits for a while.
She watches the older two with one eye
and with the other, the little one dressed in immaculate white.
January 10th, 1863:
Today a painter stopped me in the street.
He introduced himself as Édouard Manet.
He is looking for models and offered me the job.
I'll say yes. Finally something different.
I have known Manet's Olympia for a long time
and I always saw only the naked girl, Victorine.
What fascinated me about her was the look of a prostitute,
with nothing to add humanity to her,
such as, for example, calling her "Venus" and thus justifying her.
She is not a goddess.
She is a whore waiting for the next client.
She supports herself without seeking your empathy or your judgment.
She just exists, nothing more.
But I admit that I only saw her.
Laure escaped my vision
and of all those who taught me to look at art.
They asked me about you, you know.
That's scary.
A bunch of stiff guys from the University of Paris.
They say they are writing a study about our Olympia.
- Oh, God! - They hate it!
They spend all day comparing it with that kitsch wave thing.
My God!
The thing is, they asked me about you.
They didn't know if you were, and I quote verbatim:
Let's hear it.
An alcoholic prostitute
or an excellent artist with great ambitions.
Wow!
- Did they really ask you that? - Uh-huh.
And what did you say?
What was I going to say? The truth.
Both.
And what did they say?
Nothing. They just made this expression.
Anyway.
What did they say about you, Laure?
About me?
They didn't say anything.
They're more interested in the damn cat.
Laure is a name that doesn't exist.
Rehearsal!
Focus, please.
Listen, Pablo...
We start in a moment. Do you need anything?
María. María, María.
- Tell me. - I don't like it.
It's going to cause a moiré effect.
- What? - The shirt.
- What? - Look, look.
Oh. Okay, one second.
See the stripes?
It causes a moiré effect.
- See? - Oh, okay.
Pablo, we need to do a wardrobe change, okay?
Clapperboard.
- Frame? - Frame.
Action!
One moment. María...
What?
Yes, I see it, I see it.
The guy has nothing without damn stripes.
Okay, Pablo. The problem is the stripes.
Do you have something else?
I like stripes.
Yes, I know...
- Ready? - Ready.
Action.
I am Pablo Ruiz and I am an artist.
PABLO'S WORKSHOP
I can only
draw what I feel.
I cannot paint, sculpt, or film something
if I haven't seen it, if I haven't... felt it.
Oh, here it is, yes.
This woman.
I drew her three times.
The third time, I dominated her. It was clearly the best.
The other two, she dominated me.
Women devour you.
You have worked a lot with sex workers, right?
What?
- Prostitutes? - Oh!
Les filles publiques.
The public girls, as my wife says.
Yes, yes. I know a few, yes.
- Of course. - Why of course?
I mean, I can see it through your work.
Oh, okay.
How is it to work with Clio, for example?
With who?
Clio.
The girl in the videos at the exhibition.
Lighting installation.
They aren't videos.
I mean, yeah.
One more.
Would you work with her again?
No, I don't think so.
She prefers to work with impressionists.
Édouard, I can't be here all day.
Some of us have things to do.
You must already have it.
Are you tired?
Man! We've been here for a while.
And you must already have it.
You're done, right?
Well, they are there, finishing.
Yes, but we have to put up with it.
Oh! I'm shaking, you know?
Of course!
I'm not used to it anymore.
Oh, my God!
CHAPTER FOUR MADDALENA ANTOGNETTI
Amen.
Have you missed me, monsignor?
How could I not?
Do you want to confess to me?
What is this blasphemy?
For these matters, I have the Almighty
and our immaculate Mary.
Are you laughing at me?
- What's so funny? - Nothing.
It's just that I thought this was your thing.
You pray to all these women, right?
It's true.
Well, here there are only women like me.
The yellow light falls
on the most prominent buildings from past centuries.
Lena strolls through the streets of Rome
just as the last rays of the sun fade.
She heads to Caravaggio's workshop, trying not to be seen.
Lena observes each of the most domestic scenes of my life.
But the original work was meant
to witness, no more no less,
the most impenetrable scenes of the Vatican.
This painting caused a scandal
among those in the Roman Curia.
It was then when Lena, with her Baby Jesus,
ended up in the hands of Cardinal Scipione Borghese,
the Pope's nephew and art collector,
who managed to buy it for less than half the amount
that had been promised to the unfortunate artist.
Good evening. I am Juno
and this is Midnight Confessions.
Today we have with us a very special guest,
named Maddalena Antognetti, a courtesan based in Rome.
Thank you, you can call me Lena, Juno. Everyone calls me that.
For those who don't know, Lena is Caravaggio's muse.
She has appeared in many of his works
and the latest was The Madonna of Loreto.
It caused quite a scandal, right?
Yes, to be honest. Let me explain:
The Madonna of Loreto represents the moment
when the Madonna arrives with the child and the contents of her house
in the town of Loreto.
Anyway, what annoys me
is that they've used a model like me, I suppose.
It's not that I am unknown
in ecclesiastical circles.
Sorry to cut you off, it has nothing to do with it,
but I have seen through the confessional
that you have drawn a mustache on.
- Yes. Do I suit it? - Yes.
Excellent. I like it too.
Well, in fact, I draw it on
because they don't let me go out at night.
So, I have to disguise myself as a man
to be able to come,
since your show is so late.
Who doesn't let you go out?
Well, if they caught me, they could fine me.
But funniest
is that the money would go to the convents.
What are you saying? That's outrageous!
It's just like the taxes I pay.
That's not all these honest people do.
There is more. For example...
Uh... what was it? I can't be in front of a church.
I can't be at the city gates
and during the day I have to wear a yellow scarf
to distinguish me from other women.
I hate yellow, Juno.
But I prefer it to a bell.
Before I had to wear a bell and I looked like a cat.
Do you find it funny?
Well, it's not funny, obviously. It's serious and hard,
but it's funny the fact
that those who set these rules are the same who... Well...
Well, yes. Say no more,
because they'll close the show for the slightest insult.
If we know anything, it's how to stay silent.
If whores spoke, right?
Exactly, you said it, Juno.
Well, thank you very much for coming.
Unfortunately, our time is up.
Thank you.
And I hope to have you here again some other night
at some point.
Whenever you want, really.
Okay. How about if we listen to Gregorian chants now?
Damn devil's device!
Sorry, sorry.
Don't cut it short again. Sorry, I'll turn it off now.
- Damn it, Pablo. - Hey!
Sorry, sorry.
Pablo, I can't talk now, okay? I'm working.
If you could just stop calling me, for...
For God's sake.
If you want to work with me, it's very easy.
You just have to pay me.
That's it. I don't want trips or Paris or drinks or any of that,
do you understand?
Clio, honey, first of all, calm down.
Look, I left a lens at your house
- and I have to go get it. - A lens?
No, it's not at my house. I haven't seen anything, sorry.
I know, I know what I have and I left it there.
If you want, I'll take a look later and tell you,
but I haven't seen anything.
I'm sure it's in your house
because I know what I have and I need it to work.
- Well. - I have to go to your house today.
Today? No. No, today is impossible.
- You can't come today. Impossible. - Why?
I just... I just can't.
I need to go.
Fuck.
Okay, um...
If you come today, it has to be before eight, okay?
Just a minute.
Okay, but seriously. Before eight, not after.
I'll try, darling.
Okay, bye.
God!
Where were we?
- Here, smoke. - Okay.
You know what will get this party started?
What?
Don't play dumb, we already know.
Let's get this party going!
- Let's get wild! - Come on.
Oh, it's foamy!
Let's see.
I like to share it out.
- For you. - Thank you.
- For you. - Wow!
Amazing. Don't tell the others.
I'll see if Abierta poses for me.
- Good luck. - Here, spread a little love.
Sure thing.
It's hard to say no to that girl.
No, no. She's amazing.
CHAPTER FIVE GERDA WEGENER & LILI ELBE
Someone once said: "When pigs fly"
to let us know
that there are impossible things that will never change.
But some pigs have always flown,
although very few have dared to say it.
Gerda and Lili lived in a time
when being like them complicated things.
Even so, they never lost the passion
for parties, masks and costumes,
playing at being other people,
painting...
Gerda paints women flirting with other women
in celebrations under the sea
or with swans as witnesses to wild desires.
That's crazy.
My God!
Come on, Lili, Clio! Jeez!
- Let's go, my love! - Okay, I'm coming.
That girl drives me crazy!
But first I have to pee.
I want...
That's so nice!
Okay, what's the plan?
Hey, get off.
There is no plan, right?
- I like it! - Yes!
Let's see your pussy! It's so wet!
You know how much I love it.
They moved to Paris in the roaring '20s.
They were looking for a less corseting place
so that Lili could be more corseted
and where Gerda could immortalize her most irresistible muse.
Lili is almost always in the center of Gerda's paintings,
looking majestically at those who will suddenly appear to her later.
The muse and the artist.
Sketches that blur on the same canvas
to become one work.
A fusion between these two women that's so organic and natural
that it's hard to say which one is which.
Hey, babe, let me.
Oh, wow, you're getting high.
Okay, let's get serious, okay?
Hello.
- Hi! - Who are you?
Who are you?
I am Pablo, Pablo Ruiz. I am an artist.
Ah, okay. I don't know you.
Where is Clio?
Oh, Pablo, hey!
- Babe! Pablo, the artist! - Oh!
The super trendy one with the cubism and all that.
- Hey, a pleasure, nice to meet you. - Intern?
Intern! But...
- Oh, do you know Mateo? - Of course, he's my intern.
I adore him, we met him tonight.
We're have a great party.
Hey, where is Clio?
Uh... She was around here, right?
I don't know. Let's find her. Do you want a drink?
Come on. Of course!
Is the artist joining?
What do you think you are doing?
What do you think?
God help me!
Girls who look like you aren't artists!
- Who are you to say that? - Drink more, please, Pablo.
What's wrong with him? Are we not enough for you?
You don't know who you are talking to.
Should I get you a drink? Maybe it will relax you a bit.
- Can I call you Pab? - Don't even think about it.
- Sorry. - I'm looking for Clio.
Will someone tell me where she is?
Sure, yes, I'll go with you to look for her.
Look at the flamingos over there!
Hey.
I, all things considered...
This party is way too much for me.
Listen, once, I...
Was...
At a party.
And...
That eccentric Dalí...
Went into the bathroom...
With a duck!
Anyway, I... I'll tell you.
In my last exhibition,
I explore...
The essence...
Of... of the first act, you know?
The essential act, the sexual act.
So, people say that Dalí
does it better than me,
but what would that fascist know about making love to a woman?
You make porn, nothing else.
Hey! But it's fine.
I do too.
Long live porn and sex
and women with umbrellas!
Look.
Porn?
- What? - No, listen.
You have clients, right?
Of course! Do you think I'm a nobody or something?
You have clients and you work in the field of sex.
Right? Those clients buy sex and you
- give it to them. - Yes.
You're right!
I make porn!
Now... Now I get it!
Maybe that makes you are a sex worker!
- A what? - A sex worker.
Right? Think about it for a moment.
- A... - You're a sex worker!
- Sex worker? - Yes!
What do you mean a sex worker?
Of course.
No, no, Gema, no.
Gerda.
Clio, you're here.
I said before eight.
It must be fate!
- Clio. - What?
I'm a sex worker.
Come on then.
EPILOGUE
This story is like many others.
An illusion hidden in a big house called a museum.
To go in, you need a curious mind.
Each of these muses lives there.
But you have to know
that you will only find imaginary lives.
The real one belongs only to them.
Honestly... Damn it!
Mom?
No, I haven't forgotten. How could I forget?
No, no, I...
- Where...? - Well...
I'm getting out of the shower, as long as it takes.
Mom, I'm out already, I'm not going to call you under water.
Seriously. Damn it, I haven't forgotten, I swear.
Uh... Yes.
Yes. Is it that weird that I have a gift for my brother?
Well, I do have one.
There was a time, a world,
that looked back at its history with its eyes closed
and a girl who, as a result, lived the past in the present.
Time passes and few things change.
They really don't change. I'm naked again, lying on stones.
Anyway. Sorry.
Let's keep going.
Time passes and few things change.
Everything has always been there,
you just have to look.
But really look.
- Done? - Okay.
Okay, clapperboard.
Clapperboard.
I'll help you. The flip-flops. One second.
Come on...
- Thank you. - You're welcome.
Why?
Is that it? Is it over?
THE MUSES' REVOLUTION
OR HOW TO POSE NAKED ON STONES
ALL CHARACTERS ARE FICTIONAL.
ANY RESEMBLANCE TO REALITY IS NOT COINCIDENTAL.