I Can Remember Two Hundred and Fifty Doors, Approximately

The curtains from Marina’s bar that we opened on a holiday. The sound of the crowd waiting to enter. Inside, silence waiting for the signal to exit that never arrived. Seen from the outside, we looked like a small, expectant crowd. Teresa opened the door and we disappeared.
(1)

The door to my workshop that I closed during the open studies. And the paper on which I described the space behind the door and announced its future opening. And the six times the door opened for you. And how we locked ourselves in the next room with Ferran before you arrived.
The door to the neighboring patio, always closed, that we opened that day to let Rosario, dragging a long hose, in.
(3)

The doors between rooms that Jaume opened during his night shift in that hostel in Barceloneta.
(7)

The service doors that bothered Edu and which I left ajar so you could redirect yourself from the exhibition into a dark forest.
(9)

The old front door, behind which an old poster stuck to the wall with yellowed tape: “Important. Always double lock the door. Thank you.” The poster substituted for the work that the concierge did centuries ago.
Nearby, on the door to the schoolyard, another sign: “Always close the door.” And a handwritten sign: “This door must always be closed!!” How that meeting persisted in much of what followed.
The door to the patio open for two months. The wind, the afternoon sun and lost passersby came in.
The little triangular door to the roof where we went with Esther.
The hatch that we couldn’t leave open.
The cat’s garden door that we couldn’t leave open.
When we uncovered the office door and saw the door-handle hole.
The door to the school’s attic that Joel used to climbed to the roof. He walked amongst the seagulls.
Finally arriving at the door to Andrés’ house in L’Hospitalet as he told me he didn’t recall being the person I was looking for.
(20)

The entrance to somewhere you were about to walk out of. And how Gloria and Antoni stayed inside for more than two minutes.
(21)

All the doors Jeanette showed me during my first visit. The signs on the doors: Vorsicht Stromleitungen! and Ausser Bertieb. The names of the patrons on the door to the main room. And the legend in gold on the outside door: Der Zeit Ihre Kunst, Der Kunst Ihere Freiheit.
(36)

Remote-controlled doors, security guards, waiting rooms, elevators, all the way up to the off-limits rooftops
with Dudu, Daniel S and Martín.
with Daniel G.
with Santiago.
with Gleice.
with Rafael.
with Daniela C.
with Daniela M.
(48)

The window we used as a door to enter the warehouse where we spent the night with Luiso, Carlos, Maria, Alvaro, Petrit and Yael. The euphoria of the moment.
(49)

The day they opened the door to the stands and it filled up with people. What an annoying moment.
(50)

The window we entered with the tree to get to the fireplace. And the hundred hours it remained open while we watched the fire in Sinead and Alberto’s house.
(51)

The hatch that Toni and Angels opened with a ladder peeking out.
(52)

The doors we opened with Quim. People circulating inside the theater, the arrows, the noise of closing doors. How you arrived the end of the tour between 9:05 pm and 9:25 pm. Pep waiting for them to open the front door.
(75)

The gallery door and the window in the background. The rope that extended up four stories to the roof. I tied a knot in it and cut the rest. Jorge kept some of the rope and Joaquin the rest.
(76)

The gallery´s closed door and Olga’s handwritten sign: “Enter through the main entrance.” The intercom. And when I entered through the emergency door, Susana was working in the office, her back to me.
The two signs: “Don’t block the emergency exits” and “Emergency exit, do not block.”
(80)

And then so many more doors with handwritten orders:
“Close the door all the way!” “Close the door when you leave.” “Stand back to let people out.” “Do not remove the key.” “Keep this door closed.” “Push hard!” “No entry!!” “Knock on the door.” “Do not ring the bell.” “Do not block.” “Do not close the door.” “Make sure the back door is closed (before you go out).” “Do not leave the door open.”
(93)

The doors to your seventy-two houses. Just as you describe them in your scripts, and the instructions to open them.
The door of the school that day. You were hoping that some other father, mother, neighbor or unknown friend would pick you up.
(166)

The door to the apartment where we lived for a week, with the paper stuck to the wall on which I wrote “Do not.”
The door to Room 10 where Pol and his friends were waiting for something to happen.
(168)

The entrance door to the bridge that connected the two rooftops which we did not finish building with Omar and Aureli.
(169)

The door to the apartment building. The moment when Marcos cut the padlock and we put another one on so we could have the key.
(170)

The door to the building where Cecilia lived. The little key to her room, where I spent that night as her.
(171)

The keys to the apartments of strangers where we would sleep that night. The doors that opened with those keys.
The two that remained of the fifteen that were on the table.
The four that remained of the twenty-five that were on the second table.
The excitement of exchanging keys.
Trying to sleep in a hammock on Garazi’s terrace. It was quite hot.
Jose Luis telling Mikel that it had been the best concert of his life.
(211)

The idea of ​​making a copy of each house key, for the thirty of us, after having spent the afternoon on the street, each with the other’s things. Discovering months later a note from Eva hidden in a drawer in my kitchen.
(212)

The museum doors wide open at night and the museum lights turned off. Cesar’s reports: “No problems” and “All quiet.”
The window of the neighbors across the street from where they could see the museum doors.(216)
The idea of ​​a door that is always accessible and that opens onto an empty space that is always available. Like “a gym but without machines,” Caterina said that day to Jose and Marc. Our attempts to carry it out.
(217)

The door of the school still closed. Groups of students arrive. They wait nervously. At 9:00 am, the door opens. They enter. There are no teachers in the classrooms that morning. The camera remains outside.
(218)

The choice you made when you entered the library, whether to go right or left of the red line.
(219)

The three doors closing two minutes earlier each day in order to resemble Lalo’s door, more distant and less traveled.
(223)

The doors of the classrooms behind which we wait, having said “I’ll be right back.”
(224)

The doors of unknown houses in San Felipe whose bells I rang that afternoon. The three you opened for me so we could go in. The preparations with Linet and Daniela. We met later, and you told me how you went through other people’s doors.
(232)

The door that Rodrigo, Cecilia and Juan’s mother and father finally opened for me, after buzzing the intercom several times, writing them a letter, and sending them a cable by means of a drone.
The door frame that withstood the tension of the cable. Her bedroom window open at night, the taut cable running through it.
(234)

The door to Warehouse 14. The six months, from winter to summer, when Pedro, Katy, Diego and Sil and I had the key. The attempt to collectivize it and then the decision to let it go.
(235)

The emergency door open. Roger wanted the exhibition to continue through it.
(236)

We are in front of the same door, nine years later, once again with Oriol and Esther. To pull out the locks seems like a small thing to them, they joke about taking the whole door off.
(238)

The secondary door right in front of the main door. Pedro managed to get it open so that we could cross in a straight line and change sides.
(240)

The first attempt to unhook the hinges on the heavy glass doors of the showroom. Two years later, the second attempt by Nacho and Juli. Now reading about walls, keyholes and hinges in the book Berta gave me a few days ago. Finding her note in the chapter titled “The bellhop is on strike. For the love of God, close the door.” Another message on a door-sign.
(244)

The three doors of Jorge’s gallery and the circulation between them.
(247)

Finding the front door wide open at five in the morning and today at two in the afternoon. The article that Helena gave me and which Stephan gave her thinking about what we are writing: “Why Walking through a Doorway Makes You Forget.”
(248)

At home, next to the refrigerators, there is a door boarded up. On the other side, the neighbors covered it with paper and white paint. Realizing that we could open it up and make both sides a common house, we plan to do it this summer.
(249)