The experience of watching this short-yet-long loop was an unusual one, where first I tried to fit it all together but eventually my mind either gave up or moved on to other aspects of the work, and I unexpectedly found that I had forgotten one of the (very few) shots in the piece until it reared itself in a different place. The origins, struggle and outcome of this burst of images changes subtly each time, each part seems to have a different power with each re-arrangement, the carpet sometimes cut in two, sometimes formed from two into one, the objects one time flung at each other and another flung apart. Yet the randomization of the shots and Kaul's honed editing of them keeps the actual original (if there was one) order of the shots, the narrative being imagined, always possible but never precisely fitting.
In this loop, the scissors and carpet seem to forever fight an aborted duel in the sky, flying at each other and then coming apart in an explosion. That has yet to open so instead I went a-traveling away from it all. This year Guy Maddin and Evan Johnson, who are bringing their febrile The Forbidden Room to the festival, are practically taking over the ground floor of the Lightbox with their work. Luckily, the festival has thought of such things and has given me reasons to get away from the festival center.more films! The Wavelengths section, which curates a more radical type of cinema than the rest of the fest, has often featured video art pieces installed both near and far during the festival (you may recall last year I reported on a wonderful piece in Future Projections, the old name of the Wavelengths off-shoot for gallery art during the festival).
Hey Fernando, are you at a film right now? Sneaking away from the festival always feels so wrong, doesn't it? We're here to grind through, to fill every empty moment in our day with yet another film or another few dashed words of writing, and so stepping out of the multiplex to grab a leisurely meal with a friend or to explore a new neighborhood inspires in me nothing but guilt.
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