Pere Anglas: "It worries me to think if I have been a good enough father"

I didn't have it easy when, at eighteen, I dropped out of university to study dramatic art at the Institut del Teatre. My father opposed it and tried to make me change my mind, but I carried on regardless. Over the years, he ended up accepting it. At home, we have always tried to pass on to them that the most important thing is to do things out of vocation. We have never told them what they should study, nor have we tried to guide them towards a specific profession. And what path have they been taking?

— The older sister has studied 3D animation and special effects. She now works in this field and has participated in her first feature film. The younger sister has studied early childhood education and wants to continue her training by pursuing a university degree.

What concerns you about their future?

— What worries me most is not that they find obstacles, but that one day they reach the conclusion that it is not worth continuing. I would like them to know how to adapt, reinvent themselves and understand that hindrances are part of the journey, because it is often precisely here where opportunities arise. And I tell you this from experience.

Do you find similarities between Barcelona before the 1888 Exhibition and today's, where your daughters have to make their way?

— Both are cities that attract people looking for opportunities and a better future. The Barcelona of 1888 offered possibilities to those who wanted to prosper, thanks to industrialization and the city's growth, but it was also a deeply unequal society. Today's inequalities are different, but that doesn't mean they have disappeared. What unites Luis, the protagonist, with my daughters is, above all, the will to move forward and build a future for themselves. Luis arrives in a Barcelona in full expansion with the idea of social advancement as a tailor for the bourgeoisie, convinced that his talent can open doors for him, but also aware that his origin and skin color will be an obstacle. My daughters, although in a very different context, have similar aspirations for prosperity: they have been trained, they have studied, and, just like Luis, they know that nothing will be given to them for free.

How are you doing?

— I remember that, shortly after finishing my degree, Paula told me very seriously: "I don't know what I want to do." My first reaction was to worry. I remember asking her: "How can you be so lost, if you've only just left university?" Then she explained it to me and I understood that she wasn't talking to me about indecision, but about the freedom to keep searching. I suppose this is the most important reflection I've had. My generation had the need to define itself very early on; they have taught me that you can change paths, try different things, and continue building your future without having to have all the answers from day one.

What troubles you?

— Think if I have been a good enough father. No one teaches you and you learn as you find yourself in new situations that you have to face. In the end, you always have the doubt about whether you are right or not. Now that they are two women, I try to intervene as little as necessary and only give my opinion when asked. I am always attentive that they lack nothing, that's for sure, but I also try to respect their space.

And what makes you proud?

— They have become an improved version of who your mother and I are, with much more independence and freedom than we had. They have more tools, more training, and more options to choose from, but, at the same time, they live in a more uncertain, more demanding context with fewer guarantees. We had to fight hard to make our way in a more rigid but more predictable world. They start from greater freedom but in a more unstable environment.

A precious memory.

— Both of them, when you ask them about the happiest moments, always end up remembering the holidays we used to take in the Echo Valley, in the Aragonese Pyrenees: the excursions, the rivers, the picnics. In the end, the memories that really last are the simplest ones. When Martina was little, she observed a lot and questioned everything. One day she asked me: "Dad, do bats climb?".