“Scouring powder, scraper, filler, varnish, brooms, paint...” Speaking aloud, a man enumerates a list of objects linked to the domestic world, before throwing himself, we believe, into what could at first sight resemble do-it-yourself, except it is instead, in this particular case, a question of how you deal with the commotion of an inner self. As, in the next shot, Teo Guillem transforms himself: here he becomes a ghost who writhes in a quilt cover, then an enigmatic figure dressed in cardboard, with robotic gestures. Then there are the makeshift vehicles that move into shot, driven by a mysterious force. The audience gradually understands that they are witnessing an exorcism, as if the body of the filmmaker was seeking, through a series of mutant replicas of himself, to free himself, by redirecting things from their first function, while the traces of an intimate relationship haunt a digital screen. In Mudanza contemporanea, Teo Guillem crosses swords with the present and the past, choreographing absence through a baroque, playful, ridiculous and glorious ritual.