MARINA ZVIDRIŅА
Filmmaker & Writer & Creator
As a citizen of Russia, I stand with my Ukrainian relatives from Odesa, with my Ukrainian friends and colleagues from all over Ukraine.
I demand the Russian invasion must be stopped and the guilty punished!
As a citizen of Russia, I stand with my Ukrainian relatives from Odesa, with my Ukrainian friends and colleagues from all over Ukraine.
I demand the Russian invasion must be stopped and the guilty punished!
Any image could be a story, any story could be imaged
Who is Marina Zvidriņa?
Former Moscow citizen, now based in Barcelona, I made my path to filmmaking through a good deal of expertise in different art departments.

Since I was knee-high, it seemed right to create stories of everything I saw. Either it was a home puppet theater, school drama club, or a paper doll made of old fly-spotted wallpaper and hidden between pages of geometry textbooks.
When the time came to choose after school graduation, like with so many others, I was told to apply to the university my parents thought would be more suitable for the girl.
I graduated with a master's degree in fashion design. I worked for fifteen years in the fashion industry as a stylist, photographer, and journalist.

After moving to Barcelona, I seriously tried my hand in fine art with a positive outcome. Still, I always knew my heart belonged to the movie industry.
Who is Marina Zvidriņa?
Former Moscow citizen, now based in Barcelona, I made my path to filmmaking through a good deal of expertise in different art departments.

Since I was knee-high, it seemed right to create stories of everything I saw. Either it was a home puppet theater, school drama club, or a paper doll made of old fly-spotted wallpaper and hidden between pages of geometry textbooks.
When the time came to choose after school graduation, like with so many others, I was told to apply to the university my parents thought would be more suitable for the girl.
I graduated with a master's degree in fashion design. I worked for fifteen years in the fashion industry as a stylist, photographer, and journalist.

A budget won't make a movie good, it's always about choosing the right people

A budget won't make a movie good, it's always about choosing the right people

I truly believe that it's not the schools, but diverse life experiences, produce good writers and directors

I truly believe that

it's not the schools, but diverse life experiences, produce good writers and directors

Any image could be a story, any story could be imaged
He knew he fell asleep quickly before actually having touched the pillow. The dream was kind of itchy and disturbing. Noises from the outer world were passing through the closed eyelids, bringing unnecessary pictures to his dreams. Which were already messy and not easy to follow:
Some old, wizened face woman with no mouth talked to him about the shoelace he was destined to untie. Huge shiny, glamorous insects were vomiting glitter. Someone or something clapped, disturbingly.
Finally, he was awake.
The air around was cold-moisture and heavy. Somehow, beneath him, was a bathroom floor, not the bed he clearly remembered to lay on yesterday night.
It was almost impossible to look around because of the steam.
He stood up on his feet, but before his glance reached the blurred mirror, he knew life would never be the same!
They have been in love since they could remember. That kind of love which isn't prohibited de facto, but still impossible.
They say you need two to love each other to move the mountain. It is not always true. At least for them, it was a stupid sarcastic irony. It doesn't work if you are a mountain yourself.
In the beginning, they didn't even have names for each other. Then people came and gave them names. But not the beautiful ones like everyone enjoy remembering, but just the North and South mountains.
Probably they would live their whole lives with these stupid names. But once the North mountain asked the South if she could call her Green Tear? Because of her adorable small waterfalls. "Of course!" agreed Green Tear, "Then I would love to call you the Dawn because of the sandstone that covers you. No matter what part of the day it is, if the sun touches you, you look like the dawn, and it always makes my waterfalls tear.»

Snow was sticky and looked more like the sponge which sucked in all the water than the fluffy frozen powder. The temperature constantly jumped from two degrees below zero to back to plus. It was the perfect time to build a snowman, but not a good time to walk in it wearing semi-season shoes.
Grey, dusty-transparent clouds lazy moved in the sky. Because they consumed all the sunlight, the landscape around seemed the same gray and impossibly boring.
That's why the carrot-colored bus changed everything when it's stopped in front of a park entrance.
I looked at it and thought if the bus can radiant with such a color among this weakling winter, I definitely should try too. Somehow, some why, I took off my shoes and put bare feet on the ground. My soles and my soul suddenly smiled toward this immediate cold.
Unexpectedly, this icy touch turned the whole world into a warmer place.
"Welcome!" says every sign of every train station in the world. Warming and comforting in all possible languages, talks to everyone and no one at the same time.
How sad it should be, exist for hospitality, but bein ignored most of the time!
However, how should I know! I'm just a metallic bench with an uneven surface, placed on the way station in a land with very constant cold weather.
I meant to be a place for the rest, but to be honest, I'm tearing myself apart between — being slightly uncomfortable or icy torturing. Questioning myself over and over, does this simply mean, or thoughtful, so they will never miss the train?
The truth is unknown.
Yellow-rusty fields of an earphone-berries. Just pieces of a small blue fragile plastic, not meanies at all. Free of any music. O-bla-bla? O-bla-don't!
Where do these all come from?
Endless island of silence and devastation. With no one to listen, but life goes on!
The last drop of the crimson sun sucked into the ground a minute ago, and the whole land lost the light. Now everything was tediously blue of the dusk.
She was dancing in the middle of the house of prayers, completely alone. It seemed like every living soul decided to go to talk with god, just because she needed to be with herself.
Stepping one foot in front of another, slightly waving hand palms, she swung forward and back.
Suddenly, among the steps and the music rhythm in her head, she started to hear her heartbeat and breath coming in and out of the lungs. She even heard how the wind rolled over the sand dust upon the ground.

That's how the silence sounded. Quiet, but not void.

He knew he fell asleep quickly before actually having touched the pillow. The dream was kind of itchy and disturbing. Noises from the outer world were passing through the closed eyelids, bringing unnecessary pictures to his dreams. Which were already messy and not easy to follow:
Some old, wizened face woman with no mouth talked to him about the shoelace he was destined to untie. Huge shiny, glamorous insects were vomiting glitter. Someone or something clapped, disturbingly.
Finally, he was awake.
The air around was cold-moisture and heavy. Somehow, beneath him, was a bathroom floor, not the bed he clearly remembered to lay on yesterday night.
It was almost impossible to look around because of the steam.
He stood up on his feet, but before his glance reached the blurred mirror, he knew life would never be the same!
They have been in love since they could remember. That kind of love which isn't prohibited de facto, but still impossible.
They say you need two to love each other to move the mountain. It is not always true. At least for them, it was a stupid sarcastic irony. It doesn't work if you are a mountain yourself.
In the beginning, they didn't even have names for each other. Then people came and gave them names. But not the beautiful ones like everyone enjoy remembering, but just the North and South mountains. 
Probably they would live their whole lives with these stupid names. But once the North mountain asked the South if she could call her Green Tear? Because of her adorable small waterfalls. "Of course!" agreed Green Tear, "Then I would love to call you the Dawn because of the sandstone that covers you. No matter what part of the day it is, if the sun touches you, you look like the dawn, and it always makes my waterfalls tear.»

Snow was sticky and looked more like the sponge which sucked in all the water than the fluffy frozen powder. The temperature constantly jumped from two degrees below zero to back to plus. It was the perfect time to build a snowman, but not a good time to walk in it wearing semi-season shoes.
Grey, dusty-transparent clouds lazy moved in the sky. Because they consumed all the sunlight, the landscape around seemed the same gray and impossibly boring.
That's why the carrot-colored bus changed everything when it's stopped in front of a park entrance.
I looked at it and thought if the bus can radiant with such a color among this weakling winter, I definitely should try too. Somehow, some why, I took off my shoes and put bare feet on the ground. My soles and my soul suddenly smiled toward this immediate cold.
Unexpectedly, this icy touch turned the whole world into a warmer place.
"Welcome!" says every sign of every train station in the world. Warming and comforting in all possible languages, talks to everyone and no one at the same time.
How sad it should be, exist for hospitality, but bein ignored most of the time!
However, how should I know! I'm just a metallic bench with an uneven surface, placed on the way station in a land with very constant cold weather.
I meant to be a place for the rest, but to be honest, I'm tearing myself apart between — being slightly uncomfortable or icy torturing. Questioning myself over and over, does this simply mean, or thoughtful, so they will never miss the train?
The truth is unknown.
Yellow-rusty fields of an earphone-berries. Just pieces of a small blue fragile plastic, not meanies at all. Free of any music. O-bla-bla? O-bla-don't!
Where do these all come from?
Endless island of silence and devastation. With no one to listen, but life goes on!
The last drop of the crimson sun sucked into the ground a minute ago, and the whole land lost the light. Now everything was tediously blue of the dusk.
She was dancing in the middle of the house of prayers, completely alone. It seemed like every living soul decided to go to talk with god, just because she needed to be with herself.
Stepping one foot in front of another, slightly waving hand palms, she swung forward and back.
Suddenly, among the steps and the music rhythm in her head, she started to hear her heartbeat and breath coming in and out of the lungs. She even heard how the wind rolled over the sand dust upon the ground.

That's how the silence sounded. Quiet, but not void.


Why choose me over others?
  • Writing my own screenplays
    With the experience of working as a journalist for almost fifteen years, with a current job of narration designer for 4D quests, and with a published book, I'm a pretty good writer.
  • Experience in photography
    I also worked as a photographer for a few years. I participated in multiple exhibitions, and I won first prize in a contest of one of them. Very peculiar time of my life in a pre-digital era.
  • Degree in fashion design
    Understanding how fabric behaves in the camera's lens and knowing costume design history is no less important than understanding other departments, I believe.
  • Team building
    As former editor-in-chief, store owner, and festival manager (yep, this one too) I know how to build a team on a basis of mutual respect, creativity, and efficiency.
  • Family legacy
    I came from the family of a ballet dancer mother and an artist/interior designer father. They both ingrained in me a passion for classic theater, architecture, and other facets of art.

Did you like what you've seen?
Can't wait to know!
Feel free to share your thoughts and offers!
  • Marina Zvidriņa
    Storyteller & Filmmaker & Creator
    E-mail: reina.marina.z@gmail.com
    Phone: +34 632 374 605
The former passions, I am also very proud of
1
It was a happy time when I backed my art kind of bread. I developed eleven unique recipes based on colors taken from vegetables.
2
It was time when I was writing a blog for professionals about the fashion industry. The video for that blog made by Katy Turkina and produced by me has reached 3,000,000 views on YouTube. It was 2011. It was huge.
3
For a short time after moving to Barcelona, I painted on canvas. It was a transit period of my life in both literal and actual meaning. I calmly stopped painting after a personal exhibition that was sold out. I decided it could be a good final for an old life and a space for the new.
4
During the years of search for my destiny, I also was editor-in-chief in a pdf-art magazine.
All photo, video, and text materials belong to ©MarinaZvidriņa and are used for demonstration purposes only. Please do not use them in commercial projects.
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