Rough cuts where the threads are showing. Blurry, out of focus photographs. Noises that have no business making the edit.

Things that “don’t work”, imperfections, accidents.

They are life rushing into the frame. They are telling something about what has happened outside of the frame.

An emotion which slipped through fingers, an ambiance, an atmosphere, a beating heart, a word that is worth a thousand images.

A little bit of space in a world way past the point of saturation, image-wise.

Let’s introduce decay and time in something polished and closed, in a work that should be balanced and controlled because, well, that’s the law.

Let’s welcome desequilibrium and unexpected blips as a way to wrench some carnal reality out of the digital ether.

Endless choices, visual frenzy, blindly numb.

It doesn’t have to be.

It could be, for example, taking the real measure of a slice of existence. Thick, complex like a black stream that lengthened you, made you tremble and fearful because it was something of death, something of an immense withdrawn wave that, there, gauged you.

Or it could be joy, the contented heart.

Everything but a rubbish continent of images, separated from existence, pre-packaged and one click away from oblivion.

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