I am Rodolfo Báez, originally from Rancho Arriba, San José de Ocoa, Dominican Republic. I studied Social Communication with a focus on Journalism. I have master's degrees from Antonio de Nebrija University in Madrid, Spain, and from the Superior School of Design in Barcelona. Currently, I am working on my doctoral thesis at Complutense University of Madrid on "The transformation of media in the era of artificial intelligence: an analysis of the paradigm shift in the production and distribution of news, visual, and literary content."
Additionally, I am a professor at the Ibero-American University (UNIBE), the Pontifical Catholic University Mother and Teacher (PUCMM), and APEC University (UNAPEC). I teach a variety of subjects including Communication 1 and 2, Communication Workshop, 2D and 3D Animation, 3D Modeling and Printing, Screenwriting, Spanish 1 and 2, and Creative Writing... Learn more about me: About Me.
Services
I offer you a wide range of services to meet your creative needs:
Style and literary correction.
Layout design.
Web page design.
Cover design.
Illustration with artificial intelligence.
Basic and advanced courses on chatGPT and Gemini.
Creation of audiobooks using artificial intelligence.
Creation of music with AI.
Courses and consultancy on screenwriting.
Course and consultancy in creative writing.
2D and 3D animation courses (Opentoonz, After Effects, and Blender).Corrección de estilo y literaria.
Pieces of me
The Invasion of the Elephants (Story of a Disaster, Found in the Microchip of a Skeleton)
Story by Rodolfo Báez
Diario Libre
Santo Domingo - Nov. 05, 2020
I believe I am the last of the humans. I do not know if anyone else is alive elsewhere on the planet. I am unsure of how long I've been here. When it all began, it was the year 2124. The news reports talked about a meteorite falling somewhere in Africa, but I didn't pay much attention, thinking it was just another attempt to sensationalize. They said that elephants and other animals from a certain habitat were inexplicably growing due to some unknown radiation...
Sometimes Negro comes down from the countryside and dives into my mess of books and instruments. To not feel so lost, his immense soul asks me for some simplicity; a movie by Raymon and Miguel, a video of the world's most dangerous roads... or any of those things I never touch. To not disappoint him, I turn to the Internet for help. He's a child of both father and mother, because old Colón was as fruitful as Rancho Arriba, where he settled.
From the almanac, he inherited a name that contrasts with the lightness of his soul. Wenceslao, the paper says we should call him, but he will always be Negro, the one who cushions everything.
During the time he spends in my lair, he takes the opportunity to ask me things that the countryside hides from him. He doesn't know it, but in those moments, I cry, because I see myself before these books devoured me.
I ask him about the old man, the crops, and the animals, while unwrapping the sweet potato bread sent by the old lady (her name is Amantina, but I never call her that. Her kindness doesn't fit in that name).
He asks me about Luis, Lucy, and the others. I don't know why, since I always find out everything last compared to him. Listening to him, I compare the straightness of our words and lean towards his, pure as the water from the countryside. They fall softly on the ear with a gurgle.
If I could extend our dialogues, I would do it infinitely. I would trim the flat questions and answers I give and set his simple verses to music.
After these encounters, I miss my family. As we say goodbye, we exchange a thin hug, as Colón taught us. Then, in a hurry, I open the current book and begin the journey...
Madrilenian Chronicles of an International Student
Arriving in Madrid was like swallowing a liter of wine in one gulp. Here, the hours have wings. The day barely lasts long enough to have some churros with chocolate. The first thing? Amazement. Imagine suddenly finding yourself in front of a movie screen, where you are also part of the action. The movie? Strange. The first sequences gave the impression that everyone smoked (in my country, almost nobody smokes). So suddenly it seemed like the city was inhaling a thick cigarette. Weeks later, when a classmate mentioned in class that a pollution cloud covered Madrid, I perfected the image of the blonde smoker...
Narrators of Santo Domingo Celebrate the First Dominican Bloomsday
"Tonight we will learn more about the literary celebration that is enveloping the world," said Inés García - current coordinator of the Santo Domingo Narrators Literary Workshop - to around fifty admirers of James Joyce who had filled the courtyard of the Ministry of Culture bookstore to celebrate the first Dominican Bloomsday...
