The window of my house frames the façade of a nineteenth century building with a date in large numbers: “1900”. Since I moved to my place 10 years ago, I started to record images of the changing seasons over the tree that interferes between the two buildings. Sometimes, through the autumn leaves or the bare branches, I discover some movement in the windows. These observations of the neighborhood through the tree had the accompaniment of a dissonant violin notes. The violinist neighbor, who doggedly rehearsing in the front window, it was becoming an everyday presence. On the morning of January 21st, 2008 he committed suicide by jumping naked from his window. He was my age and the only think that I have known about him, is that recently prepared a new translation of “Werther” by Goethe, the main story of my adolescence. That date “1900” does not refer here to the origin of a century –mine, the cinema’s one- but the end of the previous century.