Sunday, 09/05/2021

A rectangular light appears in the dark. A film screen, some other kind of object? Then another light, more rounded and slanted. A spark between them, and the sound of film rolling, along with closeups, a rotating reel, flickering light, camera machinery; more light, flashes of imagery,camera parts, an erect penis fades into an upside-down animated image of a woman bathing in a river. Then, a pair of hands, a white screen, and a snippet of a silent film, a tarantula, a bleeding lamb grasped by another pair of strong male hands and a shift to its dead eye. Internal organs, a hand nailed, a brick wall, a view of trees in the snow, a wrought iron fence, dirty snow and a small, arched window on another brick wall; a high-contrast profile of a person’s face, a ¾ view from below of an old woman’s dead-looking face, a naked adolescent boy under a sheet on a table against a blank white wall, a high-contrast image of a dead, drooping hand, as if from a morgue table. This is followed by that same dead old woman’s face in high-contrast from below, a similar view of an older, seemingly dead man, the sound of a door closing and faint ticking or drips, a close shot of what are perhaps his dead hands resting upon himself and clasped; a shot of dead human feet while a phone rings; an upside-down face from above of another, different old woman; a phone continues ringing while cutting to woman’s open eyes. Cut. A phone rings again, and the dead-looking boy lying on the table turns his head in the direction of the camera, but then turns his body away from the camera and onto his side, covering his head until he sits up to cover his feet. He seems restless, and can’t cover his feet. There is a closer shot as he sits and turns his head toward the camera and then down to put on eyeglasses. He reaches for a slim book, opens it, but looks away, upwards, as ominous music plays. Then, looking toward the camera, and reaches out toward it. Cut. Dorsal view. The camera is now behind him as he appears to feel or reach toward a blurred image of a woman’s face. He seems to caress it as it appears to morph into another woman, and back, and then back again, faster. Eyes closed. Titles appear as flashes of images of the boy’s face, two women, and other images, grass, rocky water’s edge, a silent film chase.

I think of the beginning of things, of the elemental. I think of uncertainty and the desire to make sense, to discern. The notion of one-ness and then two-ness comes to mind. I think of the beginning of life, of sacrifice, of death, of the body. I think of the beginning of cinema and image-making. I think of the shallow flatness of a film strip. Of acting and being. Of surface and depth. I think of youth and birth and childhood and development, of parenthood, of motherhood. I think of technology and communication, of its insistence, how it beckons and interrupts. I think of human and of body. Corpses, of life and lifelessness. There is knowledge and curiosity. There is body and image. Desire.